Oh, Lorraine, say, what mean our men to fly?

8.31559Our number is far greater than our foes.

The garrison of Genoese, my lord,

8.51561That came from Paris, weary with their march,

8.61562Grudging to be suddenly employed,

8.71563No sooner in the forefront took their place

8.81564But straight retiring so dismayed the rest,

8.91565As likewise they betook themselves to flight;

8.101566In which, for haste to make a safe escape,

8.111567More in the clustering throng are pressed to death

8.121568Than by the enemy, a thousandfold.

O hapless fortune! Let us yet assay

8.141570If we can counsel some of them to stay.

Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase,

8.181573Withdraw our powers unto this little hill,

8.191574And here a season let us breathe ourselves.

I will, my lord.

Just-dooming heaven, whose secret providence

8.241577To our gross judgement is inscrutable,

8.251578How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works

8.261579That hast this day given way unto the right,

8.271580And made the wicked stumble at themselves.

Rescue, King Edward, rescue for thy son!

Rescue, Artois? What, is he prisoner?

8.311584Or by violence fell beside his horse?

Neither, my lord, but narrowly beset

8.331586With turning Frenchmen whom he did pursue,

8.341587As 'tis impossible that he should scape

8.351588Except your highness presently descend.

Tut, let him fight; we gave him arms today,

8.371590And he is laboring for a knighthood, man.

The Prince, my lord, the Prince! Oh, succor him!

8.401593He's close encompassed with a world of odds.

Then will he win a world of honor too,

8.421595If he by valor can redeem him thence;

8.431596If not, what remedy? We have more sons

8.441597Than one to comfort our declining age.

Renownèd Edward, give me leave, I pray,

8.471600To lead my soldiers where I may relieve

8.481601Your grace's son, in danger to be slain.

8.491602The snares of French, like emmets on a bank,

8.501603Muster about him whilst he, lion-like,

8.511604Entangled in the net of their assaults,

8.521605Franticly rends and bites the woven toil;

8.531606But all in vain, he cannot free himself.

Audley, content; I will not have a man,

8.551608On pain of death, sent forth to succor him.

8.561609This is the day, ordained by destiny,

8.571610To season his courage with those grievous thoughts,

8.581611That, if he breaketh out, Nestor's years on earth

8.591612Will make him savor still of this exploit.

Ah, but he shall not live to see those days.

Why then his epitaph is lasting praise.

Yet, good my lord, 'tis too much willfulness

8.631616To let his blood be spilt that may be saved.

Exclaim no more, for none of you can tell

8.651618Whether a borrowed aid will serve or no.

8.661619Perhaps he is already slain or ta'en;

8.671620And dare a falcon when she's in her flight,

8.681621And ever after she'll be haggard-like.

8.691622Let Edward be delivered by our hands

8.701623And still in danger he'll expect the like;

8.711624But if himself, himself redeem from thence,

8.721625He will have vanquished, cheerful, death and fear,

8.731626And ever after dread their force no more

8.741627Than if they were but babes or captive slaves.

O cruel father! Farewell Edward, then.

Farewell, sweet prince, the hope of chivalry.

Oh, would my life might ransom him from death.

But soft, methinks I hear

8.801632The dismal charge of trumpets' loud retreat.

8.811633All are not slain, I hope, that went with him,

8.821634Some will return with tidings, good or bad.

Oh, joyful sight -- victorious Edward lives!

Welcome, brave prince.

Welcome, brave prince. Welcome, Plantagenet.

First, having done my duty as beseemed,

8.881642Lords, I regreet you all with hearty thanks.

8.891643And now, behold, after my winter's toil,

8.901644My painful voyage on the boist'rous sea

8.911645Of war's devouring gulfs and steely rocks,

8.921646I bring my fraught unto the wishèd port,

8.931647My summer's hope, my travel's sweet reward.

8.941648And here with humble duty I present

8.951649This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword,

8.961650Cropped and cut down even at the gate of death:

8.971651The King of Boheme, father, whom I slew,

8.981652Whose thousands had entrenched me round about,

8.991653And lay as thick upon my battered crest

8.1001654As on an anvil with their ponderous glaives.

8.1011655Yet marble courage still did underprop,

8.1021656And when my weary arms with often blows,

8.1031657Like the continual laboring woodman's axe

8.1041658That is enjoined to fell a load of oaks,

8.1051659Began to falter, straight I would recover

8.1061660My gifts you gave me and my zealous vow,

8.1071661And then new courage made me fresh again;

8.1081662That, in despite, I carved my passage forth

8.1091663And put the multitude to speedy flight.

8.1111664Lo, thus hath Edward's hand filled your request

8.1121665And done, I hope, the duty of a knight.

Ay, well thou hast deserved a knighthood, Ned.

8.1141667And therefore with thy sword, yet reeking warm

8.1151668With blood of those that fought to be thy bane,

8.1161669Arise, Prince Edward, trusty knight at arms.

8.1171670This day thou hast confounded me with joy

8.1181671And proved thyself fit heir unto a king.

Here is a note, my gracious lord, of those

8.1201673That in this conflict of our foes were slain:

8.1211674Eleven princes of esteem, fourscore barons,

8.1221675A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand

8.1231676Common soldiers; and of our men, a thousand.

Our God be praised! Now, John of France, I hope

8.1251678Thou knowst King Edward for no wantonness,

8.1261679No love-sick cockney, nor his soldiers' jades.

8.1271680But which way is the fearful king escaped?

Towards Poitiers, noble father -- and his sons.

Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still,

8.1301683Myself and Derby will to Calais straight,

8.1311684And there begirt that haven town with siege.

8.1321685Now lies it on an upshot, therefore strike,

8.1331686And wistly follow whiles the game's on foot.

8.1341687What picture's this?

What picture's this? A pelican, my lord,

8.1351689Wounding her bosom with her crookèd beak,

8.1361690That so her nest of young ones might be fed

8.1371691With drops of blood that issue from her heart.

8.1381692The motto, Sic et vos: 'And so should you.'