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  • Title: Edward III (Quarto 1, 1596)
  • Editor: Sonia Massai

  • Copyright Sonia Massai. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Sonia Massai
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Edward III (Quarto 1, 1596)

    Edward the third.
    As if her cheekes by some inchaunted power,
    Attracted had the cherie blood from his,
    360Anone with reuerent feare, when she grew pale,
    His cheeke put on their scarlet ornaments,
    But no more like her oryent all red,
    Then Bricke to Corrall, or liue things to dead,
    Why did he then thus counterfeit her lookes,
    365If she did blush twas tender modest shame,
    Being in the sacred present of a King.
    If he did blush, twas red immodest shame,
    To waile his eyes amisse being a king;
    If she lookt pale, twas silly womans feare,
    370To beare her selfe in presence of a king:
    If he lookt pale, it was with guiltie feare,
    To dote a misse being a mighty king,
    Then Scottish warres farewell, I feare twill prooue
    A lingring English seege of peeuish loue,
    375Here comes his highnes walking all alone.
    Enter King Edward.
    King: Shee is growne more fairer far since I came thither,
    Her voice more siluer euery word then other,
    Her wit more fluent, what a strange discourse,
    380Vnfolded she of Dauid and his Scots:
    Euen thus quoth she, he spake, and then spoke broad,
    With epithites and accents of the Scot:
    But somewhat better then the Scot could speake,
    And thus quoth she, and answered then herselfe,
    385For who could speake like her but she herselfe:
    Breathes from the wall, an Angels note from Heauen:
    Of sweete defiance to her barbarous foes,
    When she would talke of peace me thinkes her tong,
    Commanded war to prison: when of war,
    390It wakened Cæsar from his Romane graue,
    To heare warre beautified by her discourse,
    Wisedome is foolishnes, but in her tongue,
    Beauty a slander but in her faire face,
    There is no summer, but in her cheerefull lookes,