What do you like about the ISE? What could we do better? Please tell us in this 10-minute survey!

Start Survey

Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    And with this other, Ile dispatch my loue,
    Which now lies fast a sleepe within my hart,
    1005When they are gone, then Ile consent to loue:
    Stir not lasciuious king to hinder me,
    My resolution is more nimbler far,
    Then thy preuention can be in my rescue,
    And if thou stir, I strike, therefore stand still,
    1010And heare the choyce that I will put thee to:
    Either sweare to leaue thy most vnholie sute,
    And neuer hence forth to solicit me,
    Or else by heauen, this sharpe poynted knyfe,
    Shall staine thy earth, with that which thou would staine:
    1015My poore chast blood, sweare Edward sweare,
    Or I will strike and die before thee heere.
    King. Euen by that power I sweare that giues me now,
    The power to be ashamed of my selfe,
    I neuer meane to part my lips againe,
    1020In any words that tends to such a sute.
    A rise true English Ladie, whom our Ile
    May better boast of then euer Romaine might,
    Of her whose ransackt treasurie hath taskt,
    The vaine indeuor of so many pens:
    1025Arise and be my fault, thy honors fame,
    Which after ages shall enrich thee with,
    I am awaked from this idle dreame,
    Warwike, my Sonne, Darby, Artoys and Audley,
    Braue warriours all, where are you all this while?
    1030Enter all.
    Warwike, I make thee Warden of the North,
    Thou Prince of Wales, and Audley straight to Sea,
    Scoure to New-hauen, some there staie for me:
    My selfe, Artoys and Darby will through Flaunders,
    1035To greete our friends there, and to craue their aide,
    This night will scarce suffice me to discouer,
    My follies seege, against a faithfull louer,
    For ere the Sunne shal guide the esterne skie,
    E Wele