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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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    Allarum. Enter prince Edward and Artoys.
    Art: How fares your grace, are you not shot my Lord?
    Pri: No deare Artoys, but choakt with dust and smoake,
    2215And stept aside for breath and fresher aire.
    Art. Breath then, and too it againe, the amazed French
    are quite distract with gazing on the crowes,
    and were our quiuers full of shafts againe,
    Your grace should see a glorious day of this,
    2220O for more arrowes Lord, thats our want.
    Pri. Courage Artoys, a fig for feathered shafts,
    When feathered foules doo bandie on our side,
    What need we fight, and sweate, and keepe a coile,
    When railing crowes outscolde our aduersaries
    2225Vp, vp Artoys, the ground it selfe is armd,
    Fire containing flint, command our bowes
    To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew,
    and to it with stones, awaie Artoys, awaie,
    My soule doth prophesie we win the daie. Exeunt.
    2230Allarum. Enter king Iohn.
    Our multitudes are in themselues confounded,
    Dismayed, and distraught, swift starting feare
    Hath buzd a cold dismaie through all our armie,
    and euerie pettie disaduantage promptes
    2235The feare possessed abiect soule to flie,
    My selfe whose spirit is steele to their dull lead,
    What with recalling of the prophesie,
    and that our natiue stones from English armes
    Rebell against vs, finde my selfe attainted
    2240With strong surprise of weake and yeelding feare.
    Enter Charles.
    Fly father flie, the French do kill the French,
    Some that would stand, let driue at some that flie,
    Our drums strike nothing but discouragement,
    2245Our trumpets sound dishonor, and retire,
    The spirit of feare that feareth nought but death,
    Cowardly workes confusion on it selfe.
    Enter Phillip.
    Plucke out your eies, and see not this daies shame,
    2250An arme hath beate an armie, one poore Dauid
    Hath with a stone foild twentie stout Goliahs,
    Some twentie naked staruelings with small flints,
    Hath driuen backe a puisant host of men,
    Araid and fenst in al accomplements,
    2255Ioh: Mordiu they quait at vs, and kill vs vp,
    No lesse than fortie thousand wicked elders,
    Haue fortie leane slaues this daie stoned to death.
    Ch: O that I were some other countryman,
    This daie hath set derision on the French,
    2260and all the world wilt blurt and scorne at vs.
    Kin: What is there no hope left?
    Pr: No hope but death to burie vp our shame,
    Ki. Make vp once more with me the twentith part
    Of those that liue, are men inow to quaile,
    2265The feeble handfull on the aduerse part.
    Ch. Then charge againe, if heauen be not opposd
    We cannot loose the daie.
    Kin. On awaie. Exeunt
    Enter Audley wounded, & rescued by two squirs.
    2270Esq. How fares my Lord;
    Aud. Euen as a man may do
    That dines at such a bloudie feast as this.
    Esq. I hope my Lord that is no mortall scarre,
    Aud. No matter if it be, the count is cast,
    2275and in the worst ends but a mortall man,
    Good friends conuey me to the princely Edward
    That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud,
    I may become him with saluting him,
    Ile smile and tell him that this open scarre,
    2280Doth end the haruest of his Audleys warre. Ex.