The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
5.5.22526But stayed, and made the western welkin blush
5.5.32527When English measured backward their own ground
5.5.42528In faint retire. Oh bravely came we off,
5.5.52529When with a volley of our needless shot,
5.5.62530After such bloody toil, we bid good night,
5.5.72531And wound our tott'ring colors clearly up,
5.5.82532Last in the field, and almost lords of it.
Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Here. What news?
The Count Melun is slain. The English lords,
5.5.112537By his persuasion, are again fall'n off,
5.5.122538And your supply, which you have wished so long,
5.5.132539Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Ah foul, shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!
5.5.162542As this hath made me. Who was he that said
5.5.182544The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Well: keep good quarter and good care tonight.