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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    More in the clustering throng are prest to death,
    Then by the ennimie a thousand fold.
    K. Io: O haplesse fortune, let vs yet assay,
    1570If we can counsell some of them to stay.
    Enter King Edward and Audley.
    Ki, E: Lord Audley, whiles our sonne is in the chase,
    With draw our powers vnto this little hill,
    And heere a season let vs breath our selues,
    1575Au. I will my Lord.
    sound Retreat.
    K. Ed. Iust dooming heauen, whose secret prouidence,
    To our grosse iudgement is inscrutable,
    How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works,
    That hast this day giuen way vnto the right,
    1580And made the wicked stumble at them selues.
    Enter Artoys.
    Rescue king Edward, rescue, for thy sonne,
    Kin: Rescue Artoys, what is he prisoner?
    Or by violence fell beside his horse.
    1585Ar. Neither my Lord, but narrowly beset,
    With turning Frenchmen, whom he did persue,
    As tis impossible that he should scape.
    Except your highnes presently descend.
    Kin: Tut let him fight, we gaue him armes to day,
    1590And he is laboring for a knighthood man.
    Enter Derby.
    Da: The Prince my Lord, the Prince, oh succour him,
    Hees close incompast with a world of odds.
    Ki: Then will he win a world of honor to,
    1595If he by vallour can redeeme him thence,
    If not, what remedy, we haue more sonnes,
    Then one to comfort our declyning age.
    Enter Audley.
    Au, Renowned Edward, giue me leaue I pray,
    1600To lead my souldiers where I may releeue,
    Your Graces sonne, in danger to be slayne,
    The snares of French, like Emmets on a banke,