[Scene 12]
12.11916Enter Prince Edward, Audley and others. Audley, the arms of death embrace us round,
12.31918And comfort have we none save that to die
12.41919We pay sour earnest for a sweeter life.
12.51920At Crécy field our clouds of warlike smoke
12.61921Choked up those French mouths and dissevered them,
12.71922But now their multitudes of millions hide,
12.81923Masking as 'twere the beauteous burning sun,
12.91924Leaving no hope to us but sullen dark
12.101925And eyeless terror of all-ending night.
This sudden, mighty, and expedient head
12.121927That they have made, fair Prince, is wonderful.
12.131928Before us in the valley lies the King,
12.141929Vantaged with all that heaven and earth can yield,
12.151930His party stronger battled than our whole.
12.161931His son, the braving Duke of Normandy,
12.171932Hath trimmed the mountain on our right hand up
12.181933In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill
12.191934Shows like a silver quarry, or an orb
12.201935Aloft the which the banners, bannerets,
12.211936And new-replenished pendants cuff the air
12.221937And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness
12.231938Struggles to kiss them. On our left hand lies
12.241939Philip, the younger issue of the King,
12.261941That all his gilded upright pikes do seem
12.271942Straight trees of gold; the pendants, leaves,
12.281943And their device of antique heraldry,
12.291944Quartered in colors seeming sundry fruits,
12.301945Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides.
12.311946Behind us too the hill doth bear his height,
12.321947For like a half-moon opening but one way,
12.331948It rounds us in -- there at our backs are lodged
12.341949The fatal crossbows, and the battle there
12.361951Then thus it stands: the valley for our flight
12.371952The King binds in, the hills on either hand
12.391954And on the hill behind stands certain death
Death's name is much more mighty than his deeds;
12.421957Thy parcelling this power hath made it more.
12.431958As many sands as these my hands can hold
12.441959Are but my handful of so many sands;
12.451960Then, all the world, and call it but a power,
12.461961Easily ta'en up and quickly thrown away.
12.471962But if I stand to count them sand by sand,
12.491964And make a thousand millions of a task
12.501965Which briefly is no more indeed than one.
12.511966These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments,
12.521967Before, behind us, and on either hand,
12.531968Are but a power. When we name a man,
12.541969His hand, his foot, his head hath several strengths,
12.551970And being all but one self instant strength.
12.561971Why, all this many, Audley, is but one,
12.571972And we can call it all but one man's strength.
12.581973He that hath far to go, tells it by miles;
12.591974If he should tell the steps, it kills his heart.
12.601975The drops are infinite that make a flood,
12.611976And yet thou knowst we call it but a rain.
12.621977There is but one France, one King of France:
12.631978That France hath no more kings, and that same king
12.641979Hath but the puissant legion of one king;
12.651980And we have one. Then apprehend no odds,
12.681983What tidings, messenger? Be plain and brief.
The King of France, my sovereign lord and master,
12.701985Greets by me his foe, the Prince of Wales.
12.711986If thou call forth a hundred men of name,
12.721987Of lords, knights, esquires and English gentlemen,
12.731988And with thyself and those kneel at his feet,
12.741989He straight will fold his bloody colors up
12.751990And ransom shall redeem lives forfeited.
12.761991If not, this day shall drink more English blood
12.771992Then e're was buried in our Breton earth.
12.781993What is the answer to his proffered mercy?
This heaven that covers France contains the mercy
12.801995That draws from me submissive orisons;
12.811996That such base breath should vanish from my lips
12.831998The Lord forbid. Return and tell thy king
12.841999My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg
12.862001Tell him my colors are as red as his,
12.872002My men as bold, our English arms as strong:
I go.
What news with thee?
The Duke of Normandy, my lord and master,
12.942008Pitying thy youth is so engirt with peril,
12.952009By me hath sent a nimble-jointed jennet,
12.962010As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride,
12.972011And therewithal he counsels thee to fly,
12.982012Else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die.
Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him!
12.1012015Bid him today bestride the jade himself,
12.1022016For I will stain my horse quite o'er with blood
12.1032017And double gild my spurs, but I will catch him.
12.1042018So tell the cap'ring boy, and get thee gone.
Edward of Wales, Philip the second son
12.1082021To the most mighty Christian King of France,
12.1112024Commends this book full fraught with prayers
12.1122025To thy fair hand, and, for thy hour of life,
12.1132026Entreats thee that thou meditate therein
12.1142027And arm thy soul for her long journey towards.
12.1152028Thus have I done his bidding, and return.
Herald of Philip, greet thy lord from me.
12.1172030All good that he can send I can receive,
12.1192032Hath wronged himself in thus far tend'ring me?
12.1222035Then render back this commonplace of prayer
12.1252038And therefore knows no prayers for my avail.
12.1262039Ere night his prayer may be to pray to God
12.1272040To put it in my heart to hear his prayer --
12.1282041So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone.
I go.
How confident their strength and number makes them!
12.1322044Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of thine
12.1332045And let those milk-white messengers of time
12.1342046Show thy time's learning in this dangerous time.
12.1352047Thyself art busy and bit with many broils,
12.1382050Thou art a married man in this distress,
12.1402052Teach me an answer to this perilous time.
To die is all as common as to live,
12.1422054The one in choice, the other holds in chase;
12.1452057First bud we, then we blow, and after seed,
12.1482060If then we hunt for death, why do we fear it?
12.1522064The thing we fear to seize on us the sooner.
12.1532065If we fear not, then no resolvèd proffer
12.1552067For whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall,
Ah, good old man, a thousand thousand armors
12.1582070These words of thine have buckled on my back.
12.1592071Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of life
12.1602072To seek the thing it fears; and how disgraced
12.1612073The imperial victory of murd'ring death,
12.1622074Since all the lives his conquering arrows strike
12.1632075Seek him, and he not them, to shame his glory.
12.1652077Nor half a halfpenny to shun grim death;
12.1662078Since for to live is but to seek to die,
12.1682080Let come the hour when he that rules it will,