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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    Not Peer Reviewed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
    2490Heere stood a battaile of ten tstousand horse,
    There twise as many pikes in quadrant wise,
    Here Crosbowes and deadly wounding darts,
    And in the midst like to a slender poynt,
    Within the compasse of the horison,
    2495as twere a rising bubble in the sea,
    A Hasle wand a midst a wood of Pynes,
    Or as a beare fast chaind vnto a stake,
    Stood famous Edward still expecting when
    Those doggs of Fraunce would fasten on his flesh
    2500Anon the death procuring knell begins,
    Off goe the Cannons that with trembling noyse,
    Did shake the very Mountayne where they stood,
    Then sound the Trumpets clangor in the aire,
    The battailes ioyne, and when we could no more,
    2505Discerne the difference twixt the friend and fo,
    So intricate the darke confusion was,
    Away we turnd our watrie eies with sighs,
    as blacke as pouder fuming into smoke,
    And thus I feare, vnhappie haue I told,
    2510The most vntimely tale of Edwards fall.
    Qu: Ah me, is this my welcome into Fraunce:
    Is this the comfort that I lookt to haue,
    When I should meete with my belooued sonne:
    Sweete Ned, I would thy mother in the sea
    2515Had been preuented of this mortall griefe.
    Ki: Content thee Phillip, tis not teares will serue,
    To call him backe, if he be taken hence,
    Comfort thy selfe as I do gentle Queene,
    With hope of sharpe vnheard of dyre reuenge,
    2520He bids me to prouide his funerall.
    And so I will, but all the Peeres in Fraunce,
    Shall mourners be, and weepe out bloody teares,
    Vntill their emptie vaines be drie and sere
    The pillers of his hearse shall be his bones,
    2525The mould that couers him, their Citie ashes,
    His knell the groning cryes of dying men,