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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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    The Raigne of king
    But with all bountie feasted them and theirs.
    Kin: Dwelst thou on presidents, then be it so,
    Say Englishman of what degree thou art.
    2190Sa: An Earle in England, though a prisoner here,
    And those that knowe me call me Salisburie.
    Kin: Then Salisburie, say whether thou art bound.
    Sa. To Callice where my liege king Edward is.
    Kin: To Callice Salisburie, then to Callice packe,
    2195and bid the king prepare a noble graue,
    To put his princely sonne blacke Edward in,
    and as thou trauelst westward from this place,
    Some two leagues hence there is a loftie hill,
    Whose top seemes toplesse, for the imbracing skie,
    2200Doth hide his high head in her azure bosome,
    Vpon whose tall top when thy foot attaines,
    Looke backe vpon the humble vale beneath,
    Humble of late, but now made proud with armes,
    and thence behold the wretched prince of Wales,
    2205Hoopt with a bond of yron round about,
    After which sight to Callice spurre amaine,
    and saie the prince was smoothered, and not slaine,
    and tell the king this is not all his ill,
    For I will greet him ere he thinkes I will,
    2210Awaie be gone, the smoake but of our shot,
    Will choake our foes, though bullets hit them not. Exit.
    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