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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    The Raigne of King
    250After the French embassador my liege,
    And tell him that you dare not ride to Yorke,
    Excuse it that your bonnie horse is lame.
    K. He heard that to, intollerable griefe:
    Woman farewell although I do not stay.
    Exunt Scots.
    255Count: Tis not for feare, and yet you run away,
    O happie comfort welcome to our house,
    The confident and boystrous boasting Scot,
    That swore before my walls they would not backe,
    For all the armed power of this land,
    260With facelesse feare that euer turnes his backe:
    Turnd hence againe the blasting North-east winde:
    Vpon the bare report and name of Armes.
    Enter Mountague.
    Mo: O Sommers day, see where my Cosin comes:
    265How fares my Aunt? we are not Scots,
    Why do you shut your gates against your friends?
    Co: Well may I giue a welcome Cosin to thee:
    For thou comst well to chase my foes from hence.
    Mo: The king himselfe is come in person hither:
    270Deare Aunt discend and gratulate his highnes.
    Co: How may I entertayne his Maiestie,
    To shew my duety, and his dignitie.
    Enter king Edward, VVarwike, Artoyes, with others.
    K. Ed: What are the stealing Foxes fled and gone
    275Before we could vncupple at their heeles.
    War: They are my liege, but with a cheereful cry,
    Hot hunds and hardie chase them at the heeles.
    Enter Countesse.
    K. Ed: This is the Counte{sse Warwike, is it not.
    280War: Euen shee liege, whose beauty tyrants feare,
    As a May blossome with pernitious winds,
    Hath sullied, withered ouercast and donne.
    K. Ed: Hath she been fairer Warwike then she is?
    War: My gratious King, faire is she not at all,
    285If that her selfe were by to staine herselfe,