Classic Audiobook Collection - The Reign of King Edward III by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [history]

Episode Date: May 2, 2025

The Reign of King Edward III by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: history In The Reign of King Edward III, England stands at a crossroads of pride, duty, and empire as King Edward presses his claim to the crown of France, igniting the early flames of what will become the Hundred Years' War. As courts argue over lineage and legitimacy, armies gather, alliances strain, and the sea itself becomes a battlefield. Amid the trumpet calls of campaign and conquest, the play follows Edward's shifting role as both monarch and man: a leader who must rally nobles and common soldiers alike, and a figure tested by temptation when he encounters the virtuous Countess of Salisbury. Parallel to the king's political and personal trials, the young Prince of Wales, later celebrated as the Black Prince, begins to define himself through feats of courage that will echo across Europe. Filled with sieges, challenges of honor, and hard choices where reputation can matter as much as victory, this chronicle-driven drama explores the costs of ambition and the fragile balance between desire, restraint, and royal responsibility. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:23:50) Chapter 2 (01:04:20) Chapter 3 (01:41:33) Chapter 4 (02:21:07) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The reign of King Edward III, attributed in part to William Shakespeare. Seen, dispersed, in England, Flanders and France. Act 1, Scene 1, London, a room of estate in the palace. Flourish Enter King Edward, Darby, Prince Edward, Audley and Artois. Robert of Artois, banished though thou be from France, thy native, country, yet with us thou shalt retain as great a signori, for we create the Earl of Richmond here.

And now go forwards with our pedigree. Who next succeeded Philip Leburo? Three sons of his, which all successfully did sit upon their father's regal throne, yet died and left no issue of their loins. But was my mother's sister unto those? She was, my lord, and only Isabel, was all the daughters that this Philip had, whom afterward your father took to wife, and from the fragrant garden of her womb, your gracious self, the flower of Europe's hope, derived its inheritor to France.

But note the rancour of rebellious minds. When thus the lineage of Lebeur was out, the French obscured your mother's privilege, and, though she were the next of blood, proclaimed John, of the house of Valois, now their king. The reason was, they say, the realm of France, replete with princes of great parentage, ought not admit a govern to rule, except he be descended of the male,

and that's the special ground of their contempt, wherewith they study to exclude your grace, but they shall find that forged ground of theirs to be but dusty heaps of brittle sand. Perhaps it would be thought a heinous thing, that I, a Frenchman, should discover this, but heaven I call to record of my vows. It is not hate nor any private wrong, but love unto my country and the right. Provokes my tongue, thus lavish in report.

You are the lineage watchman of our peace, and John of a valois indirectly climbs. What then should subjects but embrace their king? Ah! Wherein may our duty more be seen? then striving to rebate a tyrant's pride And place a true shepherd of our commonwealth This council, Artois, like to fruitful showers, Hath added growth unto my dignity,

And by the fiery vigour of thy words, Hot courage is engendered in my breast, Which heretofore was raked in ignorance, But now doth mount with golden wings of fame, And will approve fair Isabel's descent, able to yoke their stubborn necks with steel that spurn against my sovereignty in france sound a horn a messenger lord audley know from whence exit audley and returns the duke of lorraine having crossed the seas entreats he may have conference with your highness admit him lords that we may hear the news exeant lords king takes his state re-enter lords with lorraine attended say duke of lorraine wherefore art thou come

the most renowned prince king john of france doth greet thee edward and by me commands that for so much as by his liberal gift the guienne dukedom is entailed to thee thou do him lowly homage for the same and for that purpose here i summon thee repair to france within these forty days that there according as the custom is thou mayest be sworn true legman to our king or else thy title in that province dies and he himself will repossess the place see how occasion laughs me in the face no sooner minded to prepare for france but straight i am invited nay with threats upon a penalty enjoined to come twere but a childish part to say him nay lorraine return this answer to thy lord i mean to visit him as he requests but how not servile disposed to bend but like a conqueror to make him bow his lame unpolished shifts are come to light and truth hath pulled the a wizard from his face, that set a gloss upon his arrogance. Dare he command a fealty in me? Tell him the crown that he usurps is mine,

and where he sets his foot he ought to kneel. Tis not a petty dukedom that I claim, but all the whole dominions of the realm, which, if with grudging he refused to yield, I'll take away those borrowed plumes of his, and send him naked to the wilderness. Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy lords, I do pronounce defiance to thy face.

Defiance, French, man. We rebound it back even to the bottom of thy master's throat. And, be it spoke with reverence of the king, my gracious father and these other lords. I hold thy message but as scurrilus, and him that sent thee, like the lazy drone crept up by stealth unto the eagle's nest from whence we'll shake him with so rough a storm as others shall be warned by his harm bid him leave of the lion's case he wears lest meeting with the lion in the field he chanced to tear him piecemeal for his bride the soundest counsel i can give his grace is to surrender ere he be constrained a voluntary mischief hath less score

than one reproach with violence is born. Degenerate traitor! Viper to the place where thou was fostered in thy infancy! Bearest thou apart in this conspiracy? He draws his sword. Lorraine, behold the sharpness of this steel. Drawing his. Furbent desire that sits against my heart is far more thorny pricking than this blade, that with the nighting-gale I shall be scared.

I shall be scared as oft as I dispose myself to rest, until my colours be displayed in France. This is my final answer, so be gone. It is not that, nor any English brave afflicts me so, As doth his poisoned view, That is most false should most of all be true. Ixiant Lorraine and train. Now, Lord, our fleeting bark is under sale,

our gauges throne and war is soon begun, but not so quickly brought unto an end. Enter Montague. But wherefore comes, Sir William Montague? How stands the league between the Scot and us? Cracked and dissevered, my renowned lord, the treacherous king no sooner was informed of your withdrawing of your army back,

but straight, forgetting of his former oath, he made invasion on the bordering towns. Barwick is won, Newcastle spoiled and lost, and now the tyrant hath beguerate with siege at the castle of Roxborough, where enclosed the Countess Salisbury is like to perish. That is thy daughter Warwick, is it not? Whose husband hath in Britain served so long about the planting of Lord Mountford there? It is, my lord.

Ignoble David, hast thou none to grieve but silly ladies with thy threatening arms, but I will make you shrink your own. snaily horns. First, therefore, outly, this shall be thy grace. Go, levy footmen for our wars in France. And Ned, take muster of our men at arms, in every shire elect us several band. Let them be soldiers of a lusty spirit, such as dread nothing but dishonors blot. But wary, therefore, since we do commence a famous war, and with so mighty a nation. Derby, be thou ambassador for, us unto our father-in-law the earl of henau make him acquainted with our enterprise and likewise will him with our own allies that are in flanders to solicit to the emperor of elamane in our name myself whilst you are jointly thus employed will with these forces that i have at hand march and once more repulse the traitorous scot but sirs be resolute we shall have war's

on every side. And Ned, thou must begin now to forget thy study and thy books, and urge thy shoulders to an armor's weight. As cheerful sounding to my youthful spleen this tumult is of war's increasing broils, as at the coronation of a king the joyful clamors of the people are, when Ave Caesar they pronounce aloud. Within this school of honor I shall learn, either to sacrifice my foes to death or in a rightful quarrel spend my breath. Then cheerfully forward, each a several way, in great affairs tis not to use delay. Xient Act 1, Scene 2, Roxburgh, before the castle.

Enter the Countess. Alas! How much in vain my poor eyes gaze for succour that my sovereign should send! Ah, cousin Mountague, I fear thou want'st the lively spirit, sharply to solicit with vehement suit the king in my behalf. Thou dost not tell him what a grief it is to be the scornful captive of a Scot, either to be wooed with broad, untuned oaths, or forced by rough insulting barbarism. Thou dost not tell him if he here prevail how much they will. deride us in the north, and, in their wild, uncivil, skipping gigs, brave forth their conquest, and our overthrow even in the barren, bleak and fruitless air.

Enter David and Douglas, Lorraine. I must withdraw. The everlasting foe comes to the wall. I'll closely step aside, and list their babble, blunt and full of pride. my lord of lorraine to our brothers of france commend us as the man in christendom that we most reverence and entirely love touching our embassage return and say that we with england will not enter parley nor never make fair weather or take truce but burn our neighbour's towns and so persist with eager rods beyond their city york and never shall our bonny riders rest nor rusting cankers have time to eat the light-borns snaffles nor their nimble spurs nor lay aside their jacks of grimeholds male nor hang their staves of grained scottish axe in peaceful whys upon their city walls nor from their buttoned tawny leather belt dismiss their biting winiards tell your king cry out enough spare england now for pity farewell and tell him that you leave us here before the castle say you came from us even when we had not yield did to our hands. I take my leave and fairly will return your acceptable greeting to my king. Exit Lorraine.

Now Douglas, to our former task again, for the diversion of this certain spoil. Malige, I crave the lady and no more. Nay, soft ye, sir. First I must make my choice, and first I do bespeak her for myself. Why then, Malige? Let me enjoy her jewel. enjoy her jewels. And those are her own. She is liable to her, and who inherits her, hath those all. Enter a scot in haste. My liege, as we were pricking on the hills, to fetch in booty marching hitherward, we might descry a mighty host of men. The sun reflecting on the armour showed a field of plate, a wood of picks advanced.

Bethink, Your Highness, speedily herein, An easy march, within four hours. We'll bring the hindmost rank unto this place, my liege. Dislodge, dislodge, it is the king of England. Jemmy, my man, saddle my Bonnie Black. Means thou to fight, Douglas, we are too weak. I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly. My lords of Scotland, will ye stay?

and drink. She mocks us, Douglas, I cannot endure it. Say, good, my lord, which is he must have the lady, and which her jewels? I am sure, my lords, you will not hence, till you have shared the spoils. She heard the messenger and heard our talk, and now that comfort makes her scorn at us. Enter another messenger. Are, my good lord, oh, we are all surprised. After the French ambassador, my liege, and tell him that you dare not ride to York,

excuse it that your bonny horse is lame. She heard that too? Intolerable grief. Woman, farewell, although I do not stay. Xiont Scots Tis not for fear, and yet you run away. Oh, happy comfort, welcome to our house, the confident and boisterous boasts,

that swore before my walls they would not back for all the armed power of this land, with faceless fear that ever turns his back, turned hence against the blasting northeast wind upon the bare report and name of arms. Enter Mount Ague. Oh, summer's day, see where my cousin comes. How fares my aunt? We are not Scots. Why do you shut your gates against your friends? Well, may I give a welcome, cousin, to thee, for thou comest well to chase my foes from hence.

The king himself has come in person hither. Dear aunt, descend and gratulate His Highness. How may I entertain His Majesty to show my duty and his dignity? Exit from above. Enter King Edward, Warwick, Artois, and others. What are the stealing foxes fled and gone before we could uncouple at their heels? They are, my liege, but with a cheerful cry, hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels. Enter Countess.

This is the Countess, Warwick, is it not? Even she, my liege, whose beauty tyrants fear, as a may blossom with pernicious winds, hath sallied, withered, o'cast and done. Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is? My gracious king, fair is she not at all. if that herself were by to stain herself as i have seen her when she was herself what strange enchantment lurked in those her eyes when they excelled this excellence they have that now her dim decline hath power to draw my subject eyes from pursing majesty to gaze on her with doting admiration in duty lower than the ground i kneel and for my dull knees bowed my feeling heart, to witness my obedience to your highness, with many millions of a subject's

thanks for this your royal presence, whose approach hath driven war and danger from my gate. Ladies stand up, I come to bring thee peace, however thereby I have purchased war. No war to you, my liege, the Scots are gone, and gallop home toward Scotland with their hate. Least yielding here I pine and shameful love Come, we'll pursue the Scots Artois, away! A little while, my gracious sovereigns stay And let the power of a mighty king honour our roof

My husband in the wars When he shall hear it will triumph for joy Then dear my liege, Now niggard not thy state Being at the wall, enter our homely gate Pardon me, Countess, I will come no near. I dreamed tonight of treason, and I fear. Far from this place let ugly treason lie.

No farther off than her conspiring eye, Which shoots infected poison in my heart, Beyond repulse of wit or cure of art. Now in the sun alone it doth not lie, With light to take light from a mortal eye, For here, two-day stars that mine eyes would see More than the sun steals mine own light from me. Contemplative desire, desire to be in contemplation

That may master thee. Warwick, Artois, to horse and lets away. What might I speak to make my sovereign stay? What needs a tongue to such a speaking eye that more persuades than winning oratory. Let not thy presence, Like the April sun, Flatter our earth and suddenly be done.

More happy do not make our outward wall Than thou wilt grace our inner house with all. Our house, my liege, is like a country swain, Whose habit rude and manners blunt and plain Presageeth naught, Yet inly beautified with bounties, and fair hidden pride. For where the golden ore doth buried lie, the ground undect with nature's tapestry seems barren, sear, unfurtile, fructless dry, and where the upper turf

of earth doth boast his pied perfumes and party-coloured coat, delve there, and find this issue and their pride to spring from orduer and corruption's side. But to make up my all too long compare, these ragged walls no testimony are what is within, but like a cloak doth hide from weather's waste the under-garnished pride. More gracious than my terms can let thee be, entreat thyself to stay a while with me. As wise, as fair, what fond fit can be heard, when wisdom keeps the gate as beauty's guard. It shall attend while I attend on thee. come on my lords here will i host to-night xient end of act one act two of the reign of king edward the third attributed in part to william shakespeare

this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in a public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org scene one the same the same gardens of the castle. Enter Lottowice. I might perceive his eye and her eye lost, his ear to drink her sweet tongues utterance and changing passion, like in constant clouds that rack upon the carriage of the winds, increase and die in his disturbed cheeks.

Lo, when she blushed, even then did he look pale, as if her cheeks by some enchanted power attracted, had the cherry blood from his. Anon, with reverent fear when she grew pale, His cheeks put on their scarlet ornaments. But no more like her oriental red than brick to coral Or live things to dead.

Why did he then thus counterfeit her looks? If she did blush, t'was tender, modest shame, Being in the sacred presence of a king, If he did blush, t'was red, immodest shame, to veil his eyes amiss, being a king. If she looked pale, twas silly woman's fear to bear herself in presence of a king. If he looked pale, it was with guilty fear to dote amiss, being a mighty king. Then Scottish wars fare well. I fear t'will prove a lingering English siege of peevish love.

Here comes His Highness, walking all alone. Enter King Edward. She is grown more fairer far since I came hither. Her voice more silver every word than other. Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse unfolded she of David and his Scots! Even thus, quoth she, he spake, and then spoke broad with epithites and accents of the scot, but somewhat better than the scot could speak.

And thus quoth she, and answered then herself, for who could speak like her but she herself? Breathe's from the wall an angel's note from heaven of sweet defiance to her barbarous foes. When she would talk of peace, methinks her tongue commanded war to prison. When a war, it wakens Caesar from his Roman grave. To hear war, beautified by her discourse. Wisdom is foolishness, but in her tongue. Beauty a slander, but in her fair face. There is no summer but in her cheerful looks,

nor frosty winter but in her disdain. I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her, for she is all the treasure of our land, but call them cowards, that they ran away, having so rich and fair a cause to stay. Are thou there, Lodowick, give me ink and paper. I will my liege.

And bid the Lord's hold on their play at chess, for we will walk and meditate alone. I will, my sovereign. This fellow is well read in poetry, and hath a lusty and persuasive spirit. I will acquaint him with my passion, which he shall shadow with a veil of lawn, through which the queen of beauties,

queen shall see herself the ground of my infirmity. Exit Lottowke. Hast thou pen, ink and paper, ready, Lodewick? Ready, my liege? Then, in the summer arbor, sit by me, make it our council-house or cabinet. Since green our thoughts, green be the conventicle, where we will ease us by disburdening them. Now Lodewick, invocate some golden muse to bring thee hither an enchanted pen, that may for size set down true size indeed, talking of grief to make thee ready groan,

and when thou writest of tears, and couch the word before and after, with such sweet laments that it may raise drops in a tartar's eye, and make a flint-heart scy and pitiful, for so much moving hath a poet's pen, Then, if thou be a poet, move thou so, and be enriched by thy sovereign's love. For if the touch of sweet concordant strings could force attendance in the ears of hell, how much more shall the strains of poet's wit, beguile and ravish, soft and humane minds? To whom, my lord, shall I direct my style? To one that shames the fair and sots the wise,

Whose bod is an abstract or a brief contains each general virtue in the world. Better than beautiful thou must begin. Divise for fair, a fairer word than fair. And every ornament that thou wouldest praise, Fly it a pitch above the sore of praise. For flattery, fear thou not to be convicted. for were thy admiration ten times more ten times ten thousand more the worth exceeds of that thou art to praise thy praise's worth begin i will to contemplate the while forget not to set down how passionate how heart-sick and how full of languishment her beauty makes me write i to a woman

what beauty else could triumph over me or who but women do our love lays greet what thinkest thou i did bid thee praise a horse of what condition or state she is twere a requisite that i should know my lord of such a state that hers is as a throne and my estate the footstool where she treads then mayest thou judge what her condition is by the proportion of her mightiness write on while i peruse her in my thoughts her voice to music or the nightingale to music every summer leaping swaying compares his sunburnt lover when she speaks and why should i speak of the nightingale the nightingale sings of adulterate wrong and that compared is too satirical for sin though sin would not be so esteemed but rather virtue sin sin virtue deemed her hair far softer than the silkworms twist like to a flattering glass doth make more fair the yellow amber like a flattering glass comes in too soon for right to right of her eyes, I'll say that like a glass they catch the sun, and thence the hot reflection doth rebound, against the breast, and burns my heart within. Ah, what a word of descent makes my soul upon this voluntary ground of love.

Come, Lodewick, hast thou turned thy ink to gold? If not, write but in letters capital, my mistress's name. and it will gild thy paper read lord read fill thou the empty hollows of mine ears with the sweet hearing of thy poetry i have not to a period brought her praise her praise is as my love both infinite which apprehend such violent extremes that they disdain an ending period her beauty hath no match but my affection hers more than most mine most and more than more hers more to praise than tell the sea by drops nay more than drop the massy earth by sands and sand by sand print them in memory then wherefore talkest thou of a period to that which craves unended admiration read let us hear more fair and chase than is the queen of shades that line hath too false, gross and palpable. Comparest thou her to the pale queen of night, who being set in dark seems

therefore light? What is she when the sun lifts up his head, but like a fading taper, dim and dead? My love shall brave the eye of heaven at noon, and being unmasked, outshine the golden sun. What is the other fault, my sovereign lord? Read o'er the line again. More fair and chaste. I did not bid thee talk of chastity, To ransack so the treasure of her mind, For I had rather have her chasid than chaste.

Out with the moon-line, I will none of it, And let me have her likened to the sun, Say she hath thrice more splendor than the sun, That her perfections emulate the sun, emulate the sun, that she breeds sweets as plenteous as the sun, that she doth thaw cold winter like the sun, that she doth cheer fresh summer like the sun, that she doth dazzle gazers like the sun, and in this application to the sun, bid her be free and general as the sun, who smiles upon the basest weed that grows as lovingly as on the fragrant rose.

Let's see what follows that same moonlight line. More fair and chase than is the queen of shades, more bold in Constance. In Constance, then who? Then Judith was. Oh, monstrous line, put in the next a sword, And I shall woo her to cut of my head. Blot, blot, good Lordowick, let us hear the next.

There's all that yet is done. I thank thee, then. Thou hast done a little ill, but what is done is passing, passing ill. No, let the captain talk of boisterous war, the prisoner of immured dark constraint. The sick man best sets down the pangs of death, the man that stars the sweetness of a feast, the frozen soul the benefit of fire, and every grief his happy opposite. Love cannot sound well, but in lover's tongues. Give me the pen and paper. I will write.

Enter Countess. But soft, here comes the treasurer of my spirit. Lodewick, thou knowest not how to draw a battle. These wings, these flankers, and these squadrons, argue in thee defective discipline. Thou shouldest have placed this here, this other here. Pardon my boldness, my thrice gracious lords. Let my intrusion here be called,

my duty that comes to see my sovereign how he fares. Go, draw the same. I tell thee in what form? I go. Exit, Lord awake. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad. What may thy subject do to drive from thee thy gloomy consort, solemn melancholy? Ah, lady, I am blunt and cannot straw the flowers of solace in a ground of shame. Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged. Now God forbid that any in my house should think my sovereign wrong. Thrice, gentle king, acquaint me with your cause of discontent.

How near then shall I be to remedy? As near my liege as all my woman's power can pawn itself to buy thy remedy. If thou speak'st true, then have I my redress, engage thy power to rebuttie. redeem my joys, and I am joyful, Countess, else I die. I will, my liege. Swear, Countess, that thou wilt. By heaven I will. Then take thyself a little way aside, and tell thyself, a king doth dote on thee.

Say that within thy power it doth lie to make him happy, and that thou hast sworn to give him all the joy within thy power. This, and tell me when I shall be happy. All this is done, my thrice dread sovereign. That power of love that I have power to give thou hast with all devout obedience. Employ me how thou wilt in proof thereof. Thou hearst me say I do dot on thee. If on my beauty, take it if thou canst.

Though little I do prize it ten times less. If on my virtue, take it if thou canst. For virtue store by giving doth augment. Be it on what it will, that I can give, and thou canst take away, inherit it. It is thy beauty that I would enjoy. O, were it painted, I would wipe it off and dispossess myself to give it thee. But, sovereign, it is soldered to my life. Take one and both.

For like in humble shadow it haunts the sunshine of my summer's life. But thou mayest lend it me to sport withal? As easy may my intellectual soul be lent away, And yet my body live, As lend my body palace to my soul away from her, And yet retain my soul. My body is her bower, her court, her abbey, And she an angel, pure, divine, unspotted.

If I should leave her house, my lord, to thee, I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me. Didst thou not swear to give me what I would? I did, my liege, so what you would I could. I wish no more of thee than thou mayest give, nor beg I do not, but I rather buy, that is thy love, and for that love of thine and rich exchange I tender to thee mine. But that your lips were sacred, my lord, you would profane the holy name of love. That love you offer me you cannot give.

For Caesar owes that tribute to his queen. That love you beg of me I cannot give. For Sarah owes that duty to her lord. He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp shall die, my lord, and will your sacred self commit high treason against the king of heaven to stamp his image in forbidden metal, forgetting your allegiance and your oath? In violation, marriage, sacred law, you break a greater honour than yourself. To be a king is of a younger house than to be married. Your progenitor, so reigning Adam on the universe, by God was honoured for a married man, but not by him anointed for a king. It is a penalty to break your statutes, though not enacted with your highness hand. How much more to infringe the holy act

made by the mouth of God, sealed with his hand? I know, my son. in my husband's love, who now doth loyal service in his wars, doth but so try the wife of Salisbury, whether she will hear a wanton's tale or know, lest being therein guilty by my stay. From that, not from my liege, I turn away. Exit. Whether is her beauty by her words dying, or are her words sweet chaplains to her beauty, Like as the wind doth beautify a sail. And as a sail becomes the unseen wind, so do her words her beauties, beauty's words,

O that I were a honey-gathering bee to bear the comb of virtue from this flower, and not a poison-sucking envious spider to turn the juice I take to deadly venom. Religion is austere and beauty gentle, too strict a guardian for so fair award. Oh, that she were as is the heir to me! Why, so she is, for when I would embrace her, this do I, and catch nothing but myself. I must enjoy her, for I cannot beat with reason and reproof fond love away. Enter Warwick. her father I will work with him to bear my colors in this field of love.

How is it that my sovereign is so sad? May I, with pardon, know your highness's grief, that my old endeavor will remove it, it shall not come belong your majesty. A kind and voluntary gift thou profferedst, that I was forward to have begged of thee. But O thou world, great nurse of flattery, why dost thou tip men'st tongues with golden words, and peas their deeds with weight of heavy lead, that fair performance cannot follow promise. Oh, that a man might hold the heart's close book, and choke the lavish tongue when it doth

utter the breath of falsehood, not charactered there! Far be it from the honour of my age that I should owe bright gold and render lead. Age is a cynic, not a flatterer. I say again that if I knew your grief, and that by me it may be lessened, my proper harm should buy your highness good. These are the vulgar tenders of false men that never pay the duty of their words. Thou wilt not stick to swear what thou hast said. But even when thou knowest my grief's condition, this rash, disgorged vomit of thy word

thou wilt eat up again, and leave me helpless. By heaven I will not, though your majesty did bid me run upon your sword and die. Say that my grief is no way medicinal, but by the loss and bruising of thine honour. If nothing but that loss may vantage you, I would account that loss my vantage too. Thinks that thou canst unswear thy oath again? I cannot, nor I would not, if I could. But if thou dost, what shall thou dost? What shall I say to thee?

What may be said to any perjured villain That breaks the sacred warrant of an oath? What wilt thou say to one that breaks an oath? That he hath broke his faith with God and man, And from them both stands excommunicate. What office were it, To suggest a man to break a lawful and religious vow? An office for the devil, not for man.

That devil's office must thou. do for me, or break thy oath, or cancel all the bonds of love and duty twixt thyself and me. And therefore, Warwick, if thou art thyself, the Lord and master of thy word and oath, go to thy daughter, and in my behalf, command her, woo her, win her anyways, to be my mistress and my secret love. I will not stand to hear thee make reply, thy oath break hers, or let thy sovereign die. O doting king, O detestable office, well may I tempt myself to wrong myself, when he hath sworn me by the name of God, to break a vow made by the name of God.

What if I swear by this right hand of mine to cut this right hand off? The better way were to profane the idol than to confound it, but neither will I do. I'll keep mine oath, and to my daughter make a recantation of v. all the virtue I have preached to her. I'll say she must forget her husband Sorsbury if she remember to embrace the king. I'll say an oath may easily be broken, but not so easily pardoned, being broken. I'll say it is true charity to love, but not true love to be so charitable. I'll say his greatness may bear out the shame, but not his kingdom can buy a out the sin. I'll say it is my duty to persuade, but not her honesty to give consent.

Enter Countess. See where she comes. Was never father had against his child an embassage so bad. My lord and father, I have sought for you. My mother and the peers importune you to keep in presence of his majesty and do your best to make His Highness merry. Aside. How shall I enter this graceless arrant? I must not call her child, for where's the father that will in such a suit seduce his child? Then, wife of Salisbury, shall I so begin?

No, he's my friend, and where is found a friend that will do friendship such endamagement? To the Countess. Neither my daughter nor my dear friend's wife. I am not Warwick as thou think'st I am, but an attorney from the court of hell that thus have housed my spirit in his form to do a message to thee from the king.

The mighty king of England dotes on thee. He that hath power to take away thy life, hath power to take thy honour, then consent to pawn thine honour rather than thy life. Honour is often lost and got again, but life, once gone, hath no recovery. The sun that withers hay doth nourish grass. The king that would disdain thee will advance thee. The poets write that great Achilles' spear could heal the wound it made.

The moral is, what mighty men must do they can amend. The lion doth become his bloody jaws and grace his foragement by being mild when vassal fear lies trembling at his feet. The king will in his glory hide thy shame, and those that gaze on him to find out thee will lose their eyesight looking in the sun. What can one drop of poison harm the sea, whose huge vassures can digest the ill and make it lose his operation?

The king's great name will temper thy misdeeds and give the bitter potion of reproach a sugared, sweet and most delicious taste. Besides, it is no harm to do the thing, which, without shame, could not be left undone. Thus have I, in His Majesty's behalf, apparelled sin in virtuous sentences, and dwell upon thy answer in his suit. Unnatural besiege. Woe me unhappy!

To have escaped the danger of my foes, and to be ten times worse injured by friends. Have he no means to stain my honest blood, But to corrupt the author of my blood To be his scandalous and vile solicitor. No marvel, though the branches be then infected When poison hath encompassed the root. No marvel though the leprous infant die When the stern damon venometh the dug.

Why then give sin a passport to offend And youth the dangerous reign of liberty? Blot out the strict forbidding of the law and cancel every canon that prescribes a shame for shame or penance for offence. No, let me die. If his too boisterous will will have it so, before I will consent to be an actor in his graceless lust. Why, now thou speakst as I would have thee speak,

and mark how I unsay my words again, An honourable grave is more esteemed than the polluted closet of a king. The greater man, the greater is the thing, thing, be it good or bad, that he shall undertake. An unreputed moat flying in the sun presents a greater substance than it is. The freshest summer's day doth soonest taint the loathed carrion that it seems to kiss. Deep are the blows made with a mighty axe. That sin doth ten times aggravate itself that is committed in a holy place. An evil deed done by authority is sin and subornation. Deccan ape in tissue and the beauty of the robe adds but the greater scorn unto the beast.

A spacious field of reason could I urge between his glory, daughter, and thy shame. That poison shows worst in a golden cup. Dark nights seem darker by the lightning flash. Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds, and every glory that inclines to sin, the shame is treble by the opposite. So leave I with my blessing in thy bosom, which then convert to a most heavy curse, when thou convertest from honour's golden name to the black faction of bed-blotting shame. I'll follow thee, and when my mind turns so, my body sink my soul in endless woe. Xient Act two, seen two, the same, a room

in the castle. Enter at one door, Darby from France, at another door, Audley, with a drum. Thrice noble, oddly, well encountered here. How is it with our sovereign and his peers? Tis full a fortnight since I saw His Highness. What time he sent me forth to must a man, which I accordingly have done, and bring them hither in fair array before his majesty. What news, my lord of Darby from the emperor?

As good as we desire, the emperor hath yielded to His Highness's friendly aid, and makes our king, lieutenant-general, in all his lands and large dominions, then via for the spacious bounds of France. What does His Highness leap to hear these news? I have not yet found time to open them. The king is in his closet, malcontent. For what, I know not? But he gave in charge till after dinner, none should interrupt him.

The Countess Salisbury and her father Warwick, Archweiss and all look underneath the brows. Undoubtedly, then, something is amiss. Trumpet within. The trumpet sound, the king is now abroad. Enter the king. Here comes His highness.

Befall my sovereign, all my sovereign's wish. Ah, that thou wert a witch to make it so. The emperor greeteth you. Presenting letters. Would it were the countess? And hath accorded to your highness sweet. Thou liest. She hath not, but I would she had. All love and duty to my lord the king.

Well, all but one is none. What news with you? I have, my leech, levied those horse and foot according to your charge, and brought them hither. Then let those foot trudge hence, upon those horse, according to our discharge, and be gone. Darby, I'll look upon the countess's mind, and on. The countess's mind, my liege? I mean the Emperor. Leave me alone.

What is his mind? Let's leave him to his humor. Exciant. Thus from the heart's abundance speaks the tongue. Countess for Emperor, and indeed why not? She is as imperator over me, and I to her am as a kneeling vassal that observes the pleasure or displeasure of her eye. Enter Lodewick.

what says the more than cleopatra's match to caesar now that yet my liege ere knight she will resolve your majesty drum within What drum is this that thunders forth this march, to start the tender Cupid in my bosom? Poor, shipskin, how it brawls with him that beateth it! Go, break the thundering parchment bottom out, and I will teach it to conduct sweet lines unto the bosom of a heavenly nymph, for I will use it as my writing-paper, and so reduce him from a scolding drum to be the herald and dear counsel-bearer, twixt a goddess and a mighty king. Go, bid the drummer learn to touch the loot, or hang him in the braces of his drum, for now we think it an uncivil thing to trouble heaven with such harsh

resounds. Away! Exit! The quarrel that I have requires no arms, but these of mine, and these shall meet my foe in a deep march of penetrable groans. My eyes shall be my air, my airs, arrows, and my sighs shall serve me as the vantage of the wind, to whirl away my sweetest artillery. Ah, but alas! she wins the son of me, for that is she herself, and thence it comes that poets term the wanton warrior blind. But love hath eyes as judgment to his steps, till too much loved glory dazzles them. How now? My liege, the drum that stroked the lusty march, stands with Prince Edward, your thrice-valian son.

Enter Prince Edward. I see the boy. Oh, how his mother's face, modeled in his, corrects my strayed desire, and rates my heart and chides my thievish eye, who being rich enough in seeing her, yet seeks elsewhere, and basest theft is that which cannot cloak itself on poverty. Now, boy, what news? I have assembled, my dear Lord and Father, the choicest buds of all our English blood for our affairs in France,

and here we come to take direction from your majesty. Still do I see in him delineate his mother's visage, those his eyes are hers, who looking wistily on me make me blush, For faults against themselves give evidence. Lust is fire, and men like Lanthorns show light lust within themselves, even through themselves. Away loose silks of wavering vanity! Shall the large limit of Fair Britain, by me be overthrown, and shall I not master this little

mansion of myself? Give me an armour of eternal steel! I go to conquer kings, and shall I not be done? then subdue myself, and be my enemy's friend? It must not be. Come, boy, forward, advance. Let's with our colours, sweet the air of France. Enter Lottowice.

My liege, the countess with a smiling cheer, desires access unto your majesty. Why, there it goes, that very smile of hers hath ransomed captive France, and set the king, the dauphin, and the peers at liberty, Go leave me Ned, and revel with thy friends. Exit, Prince Edward. Thy mother is but black, and thou like her, dost put it in my mind how foul she is. Go, fetch the countess hither in thy hand,

and let her chase away these winter clouds, for she gives beauty both to heaven and earth. Exit, Lottowake. the sin is more to hack and hew poor men than to embrace in an unlawful bed the register of all rarities since letharne adam till this youngest hour inter countess escorted by lottewijk go lottewick put thy hand into my purse play spend give riot waste do what thou wilt so thou wilt hence awhile and leave me here Exit Lott awake. Now my souls, playfellow, art thou come to speak the more than heavenly word of yea to my objection in thy beauteous love? My father on his blessing hath commanded.

That thou shalt yield to me? I, dear my liege, you're due. And that, my dearest love, can be no less than right for right and tender love for love. wrong for wrong and endless hate for hate. But, Sith, I see your majesty so bent that, My unwillingness, my husband's love, your higher state, Nor no respect respected, can be my help, But that your mightiness will overbear and awe these dear regards.

I bind my discontent to my content, And what I would not, I'll compel, I will. Provided that yourself remove those letts that stand between your highness love and mine. Name them fair countess, and by heaven I will. It is their lives that stand between our love,

that I would have choked up, my sovereign. Whose lives, my lady? My thrice loving liege, your queen, and Salisbury, my wedded husband, who living hath that title in our love that we cannot bestow

but by their death. Thy opposition is being, our law. So is your desire. If the law can hinder you to execute the one, let it forbid you to attempt the other. I cannot think you love me as you say, unless you do make good which you have sworn. No more, thy husband and the queen shall die. Fairer thou art by far than hero was, beardless Leander not so strong as I.

He swam an easy current for his love. for his love, but I will through a hell's point of blood to arrive at Cestus where my hero lies. Nay, you'll do more. You'll make the river to with their heart bloods that keep our love

asunder, of which my husband and your wife are twain. Thy beauty makes them guilty of their death and gives in evidence that they shall die, upon which verdict I their judge condemn them. Aside.

O purged beauty, more corrupted judge. When to the great star chamber o'er our heads the universal sessions calls to count this packing evil, we both shall tremble for it. What says, my fair love, is she resolute? Resolute to be dissolute, and therefore this, Keep but thy word, great king, and I am thine. stand where thou dost I'll part a little from thee and see how I will yield me to thy hands

Turning suddenly upon him and showing two daggers Here by my side doth hang my wedding knives Take thou the one and with it kill thy queen And learn by me to find her where she lies And with this other I'll dispatch my love Which now lies fast asleep within my heart When they are gone, then I'll consent to love. Stir not lascivious king to hinder me.

My resolution is more nimble far than thy prevention can be in my rescue. And if thou stir I strike. Therefore stand still, and hear the choice that I will put thee to. Either swear to leave thy most unholy suit, and never henceforth to solicit me, or else by heaven, this sharp, pointed knife shall see, stain thy earth with that which thou wouldst stain, my poor chaste blood. Swear, Edward, swear, or I will strike and die before thee here. Even by that power, I swear, that gives me now the power to be ashamed of myself,

I never mean to part my lips again, in any words that tends to such a suit arise. True English lady, whom our isle may better boast of than ever Roman, might of her, whose ransacked treasury hath tasked the vain endeavor of so many pens, arise, and be my fault thy honor's fame, which after ages shall enrich thee with. I am awakened from this idle dream, Warwick, my son, Darby, Artois, and Audley, brave warriors all. Where are you all this while? Enter all.

Warwick! I make thee warden of the north. Thou, Prince of Wales, and oddly straight to sea, Scour to New Haven, Some there stay for me. Myself, Artois, and Darby, Will through Flanders to greet our friends there, And to crave their aid.

This night will scarce suffice a faithful lover. For ere the sun shall gild the eastern sky, We'll wake him with our martial harmony. exeant end of act two act three of the reign of king edward the third attributed in part to william shakespeare this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in a public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libivox dot org scene one flanders the french camp enter king john of france his two sons Charles of Normandy and Philip and the Duke of Lorraine. Here, till our navy of a thousand sail have made a breakfast to our foe by sea, let us encamp to wait their happy speed.

Lorraine, what readiness is Edward Inn? How hast thou heard that he provided is of martial furniture for this exploit? To lay aside unnecessary soothing and not to spend the time in circumstance, "'Tis brooded for a certainty, my lord, "'that he's exceedingly strongly fortified. "'His subject's flock is willingly to war "'as if unto a triumph they were led.' "'England was wont to harbour malcontents,

"'blood thirsty and seditious catelines, "'spend thrifts, "'and such as gape for nothing else "'but changing an alteration of the state, "'and is it possible that they are now so loyal in themselves? all but the scot who solemnly protests as heretofore i have informed his grace never to sheath his sword or take a truce Ah, that's the anchorage of some better hope. But, on the other side, to think what friends King Edward hath retained in Netherlands,

among those ever-bibbing epicures, those frothy Dutchmen, puffed with double beer, that drink and swill in every place they come, doth not a little aggravate mine ire. Besides we hear, the emperor conjoins and stalls him in his own authority. But all the mightier that there not be able to be. number is, the greater glory reaps the victory. Some friends have we beside domestic power, the stern Polonian and the warlike Dane, the King of Bohemia and of Sicily, are all become Confederates with us, and as I think are marching hither apace. Drum within. But soft, I hear the music of their drums, by which I guess that their approach is near.

enter the king of bohemia with danes and a polonian captain with other soldiers another way king john of france as league and neighborhood requires when friends are anyway distressed i come to aid thee with my country's force and from great moscow fearful to the turk and lofty poland nurse of hardy men i bring these servitors to fight for thee who willingly will venture in thy cause welcome bohemian king and welcome all this your great kindness i will not forget besides your plentiful rewards in crowns that from our treasury ye shall receive there comes a hair-brained nation decked in pride the spoil of whom will be a treble gain and now my hope is full my joy complete at sea we are as puissant as the force of agamemnon in the haven of troy by land with xerxes we compare of strength whose soldiers drank up rivers in their thirst then byard-like blind overweening ned to reach at our imperial diadem is either to be swallowed of the waves or hacked apiece when thou comest ashore intermarina near to the coast i have descried my lord as i was by in my watchful charge the proud armada of king edward's ships which at the first far off when i did ken seemed as it were a grove of withered pines but drawing near their glorious bright aspect their streaming ensigns wrought of coloured silk like to a meadow full of sundry flowers adorns the naked bosom of the earth majestic the order of their course figuring the horned circle of the moon and on the top gallant of the admiral and likewise all the handmaids of his train the arms of england and of france unite are quartered equally by herald's art

thus tightly carried with a merry gale they plough the ocean hitherward amain dare he already crop the flare de loose i hope the honey being gathered thence he with the spider after word approached, shall suck forth deadly venom from the leaves. But where's our navy? How are they prepared to wing themselves against this flight of ravens? They, having knowledge brought them by the scouts, did break from anchor straight and puffed with rage, no otherwise than were their sails with wind made forth, as when the empty eagle flies to satisfy his hungry griping more. There's for thy news. Return unto thy bark, and if thou scape the blood, stroke of war and do survive the conflict, come again and let us hear the manner of the fight. Exit Mariner

Mean space, my lords, tis best we be dispersed to several places, least they chance to land. First you, my lord, with your bohemian troops, shall pitch your bettis on the lower hand. My eldest son, the Duke of Normandy, together with the aid of Muscovites, shall climb the higher ground another way. Here in the Middle Coast betwixt you both, Philip, my youngest boy, and I will lodge. So, lores be gone, and look unto your charge. You stand for France, an empire fair and large. Hixient. Now tell me, Philip, what is thy concept touching the challenge that the English make? I say, my lord, claim Edward what he can, and bring he ne'er so plain a pedigree. Tis you are in the possession of the crown, and that's the surest point of all the law.

But were it not, yet ere he should prevail, I'll make a conduit of my dearest blood, or chase those straggling-up starts home again. Well said, young Philip, call for bread and wine that we may cheer our stomachs with repast, to look our foes more sternly in the face. A table and provisions brought in. The battle heard afar off. Now is begun the heavy day at sea. Fight, Frenchmen fight. Be like the field of bears when they defend their younglings in the caves. Stir, angry nemesis the happy helm, that with the sulfur battles of your rage the English fleet may be dispersed and sunk.

Shot. Oh, father, how this echoing cannon shot, like sweet harmony, digests my eats. Now, boy, thou hearest what thundering terror tis to buckle for a kingdom's sovereignty. The earth with giddy trembling when it shakes, or when the exhalations of the air breaks in extremity of lightning flash, affrights not more than kings when they dispose to show the rancor of their high swollen hearts. Retreat. Retreat is sounded.

One side hath the worse. O, if it be the rancorough. The French sweet fortune turn, and in thy turning change the forward winds that with advantage of a favoring sky our men may vanquish, and the other fly. Inter marina. My heart misgives. Say, mirror of pale death, to whom belongs the honor of this day. Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serve, the sad discourse of this discomfiture.

I will, my lord. My gracious sovereign, France, hath tain the foil, and boasting Edward triumphs with success. These iron-hearted navies, when last I was reported to your grace, both full of angry spleen, of hope and fear, hasting to meet each other in the face, at last conjoined, and by their admiral, our admiral, encountered many shot. By this, the other that beheld these twain gave earnest penny of a further rack, like fiery dragons took their haughty flight, and, likewise meeting from their smoky womb sent many grim ambassadors of death. Then gan the day to turn to gloomy night, and darkness did as well enclose the quick as those that were but newly raft of life.

No leisure served for friends to bid farewell, and if it had the hideous noise was such as each to other seemed deaf and dumb. Purple the sea, whose channel filled as fast with streaming gore that from the Mamid fell, as did her gushing moisture break into the crannied cleftures of the through-shot planks. Here flew ahead, deserred from the trunk. There mangled arms and legs were tossed aloft, as when a whirlwind takes the summer dust and scatters it in middle of the air. Then might you see the reeling vessels split and tottering sink into the ruthless flood, until their lofty tops were seen no more.

All shifts were tried, both for defence and hurt, and now the effect of valour and of force, of resolution and of cowardice, we lively pictures, how the one for fame the other by compulsion laid about. Much did the non-parail that brave ship. So did the black snake of bullion than which a bonnier vessel never yet spread sail. But all in vain, both sun, the wind, and tide, revolted all unto our foemen's side that we perforce were fain to give them way and they are landed thus my tale is done we have untimely lost and they have won

then rests there nothing but with present speed to join our several forces all in one and bid them battle ere they range too far come gentle philip let us hence depart The soldier's words have pierced thy father's heart. Xient. Act three, scene two. Piccadie. Fields near Cressy. Enter two Frenchmen, a woman and two little children meet them, and other citizens. Well, Matt, my masters, how now?

What's the news? And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuff? What, is it quarter a day that you remove, and carry bag and bag, baggage too? Quarter day, high, and quartering day, I fear. Have you not heard the news that flies abroad? What news? How the French Navy is destroyed at sea and that the English army has arrived.

What then? What then, Quoth you? Why, it's not time to fly, when envy and destruction is so nigh. Content thee, man, they are far enough from hints, and will be met, I warrant you, to their cost, before they break so far into the realm. Aye, so the grasshopper doth spend the time in mirthful jollity till winter come, and then too late he would redeem his time, when frozen cold hath nipped his careless head. He that no sooner will provide a cloak, than when he sees it doth begin to rain,

may, peradventure for his negligence, be thoroughly washed when he suspects it not. we that have charged and such a train as this must look in time to look for them and us least when we would we cannot be relieved Be like you then despair of all success And think your country will be subjugate We cannot tell It is good to fear the worst

Yet rather fight thin like unnatural sons forsake your loving parents in distress Tush They that have already taken arms are many fearful millions in respect of that small handful of our enemies but tis a rightful quarrel must prevail. Etrude is son unto our late king's sister, when John Valois is three degrees removed. Besides, there goes a prophecy abroad, published by one that was a friar once, whose oracles have many times proved true.

And now he says the time will shortly come, when, as a lion roused in the west, shall carry hence the fleur de luce of France. These I can tell you, and such like surmises, strike many Frenchmen cold into the heart. Enter a Frenchman. Fly, countrymen and citizens of France. Sweet flowering peace, the root of happy life, is quite abandoned and expulsed the land,

instead of whom ransacked constraining wars sits like the ravens upon your house's tops. Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets, and unrestrained make havocs. they pass, the form whereof, even now my self-beheld upon this fair mountain whence I came. For so far as I directed mine eyes, I might perceive five cities all on fire, cornfields and vineyards burning like an oven, and as the reeking vapour in the wind turned but aside, I likewise might discern the poor inhabitants escaped the flame, full numberless upon the soldiers, pikes.

Three ways these dreadful ministers of wrath do tread the measures of their tragic march. Upon the right hand comes the conquering king. Upon the left his hot, unbridled sun, and in the midst are nation's glittering host, all which, though distant yet, conspire in one, to leave a desolation where they come. Fly, therefore, citizens, if you be wise, seek out some habitation further off. Here if you stay, your wives will be abused, your treasure shared before your weeping eyes. Shelter yourselves, for now the storm doth rise. Away! Away!

Thinks I hear their drums. Ah, wretched France, I greatly fear thy fool. Thy glory shaketh like a tottering wall. Xient Act three, scene three. the same drums enter king edward and the earl of derby with soldiers and gobart de gray where's the frenchman by whose cunning guide we found the shallow of this river zome and had directions how to pass the sea Here, my good lord. How art thou called? Tell me thy name.

Gobind de Grey, if it please, Your Majesty. Then, Gobine, for the service thou hast done, we hear enlarge and give thee liberty. And for recompense beside this good, thou shalt receive five hundred marks and gold. I know not how we should have met our son, whom now in heart I wish I might behold. Enter Artois. Good news, my lord. The prince is hard as hand, and with him comes Lord Ordley and the rest, whom since our landing we could never meet. Enter Prince Edward, Lord Ordley, and soldiers.

Welcome, fair prince. How hast thou sped, my son, since thy arrival on the coast of France? Successfully, I thank the gracious heavens. Some of their strongest cities we have won, as Harflew, low, Crotay, and Carranty. and others wasted leaving at our heels a wide apparent field and beaten path for solitariness to progress in yet those that would submit we kindly pardoned but who in scorn refused our proffered peace endured the penalty of sharp revenge ah france why shouldest thou be thus obstinate against the kind embracement of thy friends how gently had we thought to touch thy breast and set our foot upon thy tender mould. But that in froward and disdainful pride, thou like a skittish and untamed colt, dost start aside and strike us with thy heels.

But tell me, Ned, in all thy warlike course, hast thou not seen the usurping King of France? yes my good lord and not two hours ago with full a hundred thousand fighting men upon the one side of the river's bank and on the other both his multitudes i feared he would have cropped our smaller power but happily perceiving your approach he hath withdrawn himself to cressy plains whereas it seemeth by his good array he means to bid us battle presently he shall be welcome that's the thing we crave Enter King John, Dukes of Normandy and Lorraine, King of Bohemia, Young Philip, and soldiers. Edward, know that John, the true king of France, musing thou shouldst encroach upon his land, and in thy tyrannous proceeding slay his faithful subjects and subvert his towns, spits in thy face, and in this manner following abrades thee with thine arrogant intrusion. First, I condemn thee for a fugitive, a thievish pirate, and a needy mate, one that hath either

no abiding place, or else inhabiting some barren soil where neither herb or fruitful grain is had, doest altogether live by pilfering. Next, in so much thou hast infringed thy faith, broke liege and solemn covenant made with me, I hold thee for a false pernicious wretch. And, last of all, although I scorn to cope with one so much inferior to myself, yet in respect thy thirst is all for gold, thy labor rather to be feared than loved, to satisfy thy lust in either part, here am I come, and with me have I brought exceeding store of treasure, pearl, and coin. Leave therefore now to persecute the weak, and armid entering conflict with the armed, let it be seen. mongest other petty thefts, how thou canst win this pillage manfully. If gall or wormwood have a pleasant taste, then is thy salutation honey sweet. But as the one hath

no such property, so is the other most satirical. Yet, what how I regard thy worthless taunts. If thou have uttered them to foil my fame or dim the reputation, of my birth, know that thy wolfish barking cannot hurt. If slyly to insinuate with the world, and with a strumpet's artificial line to paint thy vicious and deformed cause, be well assured, the counterfeit will fade, and in the end thy foul defects be seen. But if thou didst it to provoke me on, As who should say I were but timorous, or coldly negligent, did need a spur, bethink thyself how slack I was at sea, how since my landing I have won no towns, entered no further but upon the coast, and there have ever since securely slept.

But if I have been otherwise employed, imagine, Valois, whether I intend to skirmish not for pillage, but for the crown which thou dost wear, and that I vow to have, or one of us, shall fall into his grave. Look not for cross-invectives at our hands, or railing execrations of despite. Let creeping serpents hidden hollow banks sting with their tongues. We have remorseless swords, and they shall plead for us and our affairs. Yet thus much briefly by my father's leave, As all the immodest poison of thy throat is scandalous and most notorious lies, And our pretended quarrel is truly just. So, end the battle when we meet today.

May either of us prosper and prevail, Or luckless, cursed, receive eternal shame. That needs no further question. question and i know his conscience witnesseth it is my right therefore thou wast say wilt thou yet resign before the sickles thrust into the corn or that in kindled fury turn to flame edward i know what right thou hast in france and ere i basely will resign my crown this champion field shall be a pool of blood and all our prospect as a slaughter-house ay that approves thee tyrant what thou art no father king or shepherd of thy realm but one that tears her entrails with thy hands and like a thirsty tiger sucks her blood you peers of france why do you follow him that is so prodigal to spend your lives whom should they follow agent impotent but he that is their true born sovereign O breedest thou him because within his face, time hath engraved deep characters of age?

No, these grave scholars of experience, like stiff-grown oaks, will stand immovable, when whirlwind quickly turns up younger trees. Was ever any of thy father's house, king but thyself, before this present time? Edward's great lineage by the mother's side, five hundred years hath held the sceptre up. Judge then conspirators by this descent, which is the true-born sovereign, this or that? Father, range your battles, pray no more. These English fain would spend the time in words. That night approaching, they might escape on fought. Lord, sent my loving subjects, now's the time that your intended.

force must bide the touch. Therefore, my friends, consider this in brief. He that you fight for is your natural king. He against whom you fight, a foreigner. He that you fight for rules in clemency and reins you with a mild and gentle bit. He against whom you fight if he prevail will straight enthrone himself in tyranny, make slaves of you, and with a heavy hand curtail and curb your sweetest liberty. Then, to protect your country and your king, let but the haughty courage of your hearts answer the number of your able hands, and we shall quickly chase these fugitives. For what's this Edward but a belly-god, a tender and lascivious wantonness, that the other day was almost dead for love. And what I pray you is his goodly guard, such as but scant them of their chines of beef and

take away their downy feather beds, and presently they are as rusty stiff as twere a many overridden jades. Then Frenchmen scorn that such should be your lords, and rather bind ye them in captive bands. Vila Roy, God save King John of France. Now on this plain of Cressy spread yourselves, and Edward, when thou darest, begin the fight. Exeunt King John, Charles, Philip, Lorraine, Bohemia, and Forces. We presently will meet thee, John of France.

And English lords, let us resolve this day, either to clear us us of that scandalous crime, or be entombed in our innocence. And Ned, because this battle is the first that ever yet thou foughtest in Pitchfield, as ancient custom is of martialists, to dub thee with a tip of chivalry. In solemn manner we will give thee arms. Come, therefore, heralds, orderly, bring forth a strong attirement for the prince, my son. Enter four heralds, bringing in a coat of armour, a helmet, a lance, and a shield. Edward Plantagonet, in the name of God,

As with this armour I impale thy breast, So be thy noble unrelenting heart, Walled in with flint of matchless fortitude, That never base affections enter there. Fight and be valiant, Conquer where thou comest. now follow lords and do him honour to edward plantagenet prince of wales as i do set this helmet on thy head wherewith the chamber of thy brain is fenced so may the temples with bologna's hand be still adorned with laurel victory fight and be valiant conquer where thou comest

Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, receive this lance into thy manly hand. Use it in fashion of a brazen pen to draw forth bloody stratagems in France, and print thy valiant deeds in honour's book. Fight and be valiant. Vanquish where thou comst. Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales. Hold! Take this target, wear it on thy arm, and may the view thereof, like Pursu's shield,

Astonish and transform thy gazing foes, To senseless images of meagre death, Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou comst. Now wants their naught but knighthood, which deferred we leave, till thou hast won it in the field. My gracious father, and ye forward peers, This honour you have done me Animates and cheers My green, yet scarce appearing strength With comfortable good presaging signs

No otherwise than did old Jacob's words When as he breathed his blessings on his sons These hallowed gifts of yours When I profane or use them not To glory of my God To patronage the fatherless and poor Or for the benefit of England's peace Be numb my joints

Wax feeble both my arms. Wither my heart that like a sapless tree I may remain the map of infamy. Then thus our steeled battles shall be ranged. The leading of the wayward Ned is thine, To dignify whose lusty spirit, The more we temper it with Audley's gravity. That courage and experience joined in one, Your manage may be second unto none.

For the main battles, I will guide, myself and Darby in a rearward march behind, that orderly disposed and set in ray, let us to horse, and God grant us the day. Exeant Act three, scene four, the same, Alarum, enter a many Frenchman flying, after them, Prince Edward running, then enter King John and Duke of Lorraine. Oh Lorraine, say, what mean are men to fly? lie. Our number is far greater than our foes.

The garrison of Genoes, my lord, that came from Paris weary with their march, grudging to be so suddenly employed, no sooner in the forefront took their place, but straight retiring, so dismayed the rest, as likewise they betook themselves to flight, in which, for haste to make a safe escape, more in the clustering throng oppressed a death. than by the enemy, a thousandfold. Oh, hapless fortune, let us yet a-thay if we can counsel some of them to stay. Xient Act three, scene five.

The same, enter King Edward and Audley. Lord Audley, whilst our son is in the chase, withdraw our powers unto this little hill, and hear a season let us breathe ourselves. I will, my lord. Exit. Sound retreat. Just dooming heaven, whose secret provenance to our gross judgment is inscrutable, how are we bound to praise thy wondrous works?

That hast this day given way unto the right, and made the wicked stumble at themselves. Enter Artois. Rescue, King Edward. Rescue for thy son. Rescue, Artois? What? Is he prisoner? or by violence fell beside his horse. Neither, my lord, but narrowly beset, with turning Frenchmen whom he did pursue, as tis impossible that he should escape,

except your highness presently descend. Tut, let him fight. We gave him arms today, and he is laboring for a knighthood, man. Into Dhabi. The prince, my lord, the prince! O succor him! He is close in compassed,

with a world of odds. Then will he win a world of honor too, if he by valor can redeem him thence? If not, what remedy? We have more sons than one to comfort our declining age. Enter Audley. Renowned Edward, give me leave, I pray,

to lead my soldiers, where I may relieve your grace's son, in danger to be slain. the snares of french like emits on a bank muster about him whilst he lion-like entangled in the net of their assaults frantically rends and bites the woven toil but all in vain he cannot free himself audly content i will not have a man on pain of death sent forth to succor him that is the day ordained by destiny to season his courage with those grievous thoughts that if he breaketh out nestor's years on earth will 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 wilfulness to let his blood be spilt that may be saved exclaim no more for none of you can tell whether a borrowed aid will serve or no perhaps he is already slain otayin and dare a falcon when she's in her flight and ever after she'll be haggard like let edward be delivered by our hands and still in danger he'll expect the like but if himself himself redeem from thence he will have vanquished cheerful death and fear and ever after dread their force no more than if they were but babes or captive slaves

oh cruel father farewell edward then farewell sweet prince the hope of chivalry oh would my life might ransom him from death retreat sounded but soft methinks i hear the dismal charge of trumpets loud retreat all are not slain i hope that went with him some will return with tidings good or bad enter prince edward in triumph bearing in his hands his shivered lance and the king of bohemia born before wrapped in the colours they run and embrace him oh joyful sight victorious edward lives welcome brave prince welcome plantagonet nails and kisses his father's hand first having done my duty as beseemed lords i re-greet you all with hearty thanks and now behold after my winter's toil my painful voyage on the boisterous sea of wars devouring gulfs and steely rocks I bring my fraught unto the wished port, my summer's hope, my travel's sweet reward. And here, with humble duty, I present this sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword, cropped and cut down even at the gate of death, the king of bohem, father, whom I slew,

whose thousands had entrenched me round about, and lay as thick upon my battered crest as on an anvil with their ponderous glaves. yet marble courage still did underprop, And when my weary arms with often blows, Like the continual laboring woodman's axe That isn't joined to fell a load of oaks, Began to falter, Straight I would record my gifts, You gave me, and my zealous vow,

And then new courage made me fresh again, That in despite I carved my passage forth, And put the multitude to speedy flight, lo thus hath edward's hand filled your request and done i hope the duty of a knight ay well thou hast deserved a knighthood ned and therefore with thy sword yet reeking warm his sword borne by a soldier with blood of those that fought to be thy bane arise prince edward trusty knight at arms this day thou hast confounded me with joy and prud thyself fit air unto a king. Here is a note, my gracious Lord, of those that in this conflict of our foes were slain. Eleven princes of esteem, four score barons, a hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand common soldiers, and of our men, a thousand.

Our God be praised. Now, John of France, I hope, thou knowest King Edward for no wantonness. no love-sick cockney nor his soldiers jades but which way is the fearful king escaped towards poitiers noble father and his sons ned thou and oudley shall pursue them still myself and derby will to callus straight and there be begirt that haven town with siege now lies it on an upshot therefore strike and wistly follow whilst the games on foot what pictures this a pelican my lord wounding her bosom with her crooked beak that so her nest of young ones may be fed with drops of blood that issue from her heart the motto sick at voss and so should you exeunt end of act three act four of the reign of king edward the third attributed in part to william shakespeare this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in a public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org scene one britannu camp of the english enter lord mountford with a coronet in his hand

with him the Earl of Salisbury. My Lord of Salisbury, since by your aid mine enemy Sir Charles of Blois slain, and I again am quietly possessed in Britain's dukedom, know that I resolve for this kind furtherance of your king and you to swear allegiance to His Majesty. In sign whereof receive this coronet, bear it unto him, and withal mine oath, never to be but Edward's faithful friend.

i take it mountfort thus i hope ere long the whole dominions of the realm of france will be surrendered to his conquering hand exit mountford now if i knew but safely how to pass i would at calise gladly meet his grace whether i am by letter certified that he intends to have his host removed it shall be so this policy will serve ho who's within bring villiers to me enter villiers villiers thou knowest thou art my prisoner and that i might for ransom if i would require of thee a hundred thousand francs or else retain and keep thee captive still but so it is that for a smaller charge thou mayst be quit and if thou wilt thyself and this it is procure me but a passport of charles the duke of norman that I, without restraint, may have recourse to Calais through all the countries where he hath to do, which thou mayst easily obtain, I think, by reason I have often heard thee say

he and thou were students once together, and then thou shalt be set at liberty. How sayest thou? Wilt thou undertake to do it? I will, my lord, but I must speak with him. Why, so thou shalt. Take horse, and post from hence, only before thou goest swear by thy faith

that, if thou canst not compass my desire, thou wilt return my prisoner back again, and that shall be sufficient warrant for me. To that condition I agree, my lord, and I will unfandedly perform the same. Exit. Farewell, Villiers. Thus once I mean to try a French man's faith.

Exit. Exit. act four scene two piccadie the english camp before calais enter king edward and derby with soldiers since they refuse our proffered league my lord and will not open their gates and let us in we will entrench ourselves on every side that neither vitals nor supply of men may come to succor this accursed town Famine shall combat where our swords are stopped. Enter six poor Frenchmen. The promised aid that made them stand aloof is now retired and gone another way. It will repent them of their stubborn will.

But what of these ragged slaves, my lord? Ask what they are. It seems they come from Calais. You wretched patterns of despair and woe, what are you? What are you, living men or gliding ghost, crept from your graves to walk upon the earth? No ghost, my lord, but men that breathe a life far worse than is the quiet sleep of death. We are distressed, poor inhabitants, that long have been diseased, sick, and lame. And now, because we are not fit to serve, the captain of the town has thrust us forth that so expensive victuals may be saved.

A charitable deed, no doubt, and worthy praise. But how do you imagine then to speed? We are your enemies. In such a case we can no less but put ye to the sword, since when we proffered truce it was refused. And if your grace no otherwise vouchsafed, as welcome death is unto us as life. poor silly men much wronged and more distressed go derby go and see that they be relieved command that vitals be appointed them and give to every one five crowns apiece xient dabby and frenchman

the lion scorns to touch the yielding prey and edward's sword must flesh itself in such as wilful stubbornness hath made perverse Enter Lord Percy. Lord Percy, welcome, what's the news in England? The Queen, my Lord, comes here to your grace, and from Her Highness and the Lord Visergens, I bring this happy tiding of success. David of Scotland, lately up in arms, thinking, belike, he soon should prevail,

Your Highness being absent from the realm is, by the fruitful service of your peers, and the painful travel of the Queen herself, that, Big with Child, was every day in arms, vanquished, subdued, and taken prisoner. Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart. What was he, took him prisoner in the field? At Esquire, my lord, John Copland is his name, who, entreated by Her Majesty, denies to make surrender of his prize to any, but unto your grace alone, whereat the Queen is grievously displeased. well then we'll have a pursuing dispatch to summon Copeland hither out of hand

and with him he shall bring his prisoner king The queens my lord herself by this at the sea and purposeth As soon as winds will serve to land at Calais and to visit you She shall be welcome and to wait her coming I'll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore Enter a French captain The Burgesses of Cali mighty king have, by a council, willingly decreed, to yield the town and castle to your hands. Upon condition, it will please your grace, to grant them benefit of life and goods.

They will so. Then be like they may command, dispose, elect, and govern as they list. No, sirrah, tell them, since they did refuse our princely clemency, at first proclaimed, they shall not have it now. Although they would, I will accept of naught but fire and sword, except within these two days, six of them, that are the wealthiest merchants in the town, come naked, all but for their linen shirts, with each a halter hanged about his neck, and prostrate yield themselves upon their knees, to be afflicted, hanged, or what I please. and so you may inform their masterships. Exeunt Edward and Percy

Why this it is to trust a broken staff Had we not been persuaded, John, our king, would with his army have relieved the town? We had not stood upon defiance, so, But now, it is past that no man can recall, And better some do go, to rack them all. Exit. Act four, scene three.

puatier fields near poitiers the french camp tent of the duke of normandy enter charles of normandy and villiers i wonder villiers thou shouldest importune me for one that is our deadly enemy not for his sake my gracious lord so much i may become an earnest advocate as that thereby my ransom will be quit thy ransom man why needest thou talk that, art thou not free, and are not all occasions that happen for advantage of our foes to be accepted of and stood upon? No, good my lord, except the same be just, for profit must with honour be commixed, or else our actions are but scandalous, but letting past their intricate objections, would please, Your Highness, to subscribe, or no? Villiers, I will not, nor I cannot do it.

Salisbury shall not have his will so much to claim a passport, how it pleaseth himself. Why, then I know the extremity, my lord. I must return to prison once I came. Return? I hope thou wilt not. What bird that hath escaped the fowler's gin will not beware how she's ensnared again? Or what is he so senseless and secure, that having hardly passed a dangerous girl will put himself in peril there again.

Ah, but it is mine oath, my gracious Lord, which I in conscience may not violate, or else a kingdom should not draw me hence. Thine oath? Why, tatt doth bind thee to abide, hast thou not sworn obedience to thy prince? In all zings that uprightly he commands, but either to persuade or threaten me,

not to perform the covenant of my word, is lawless, and I need not to obey. Why is it lawful for a man to kill, and not to break a promise with his foe? To kill, my lord, when war is once proclaimed, so that our quarrel be for wrongs received. No doubt is lawfully permitted us. But in an oath we must be well advised.

How do we swear, and when we have sworn, not to infringe it, though we die, therefore. Therefore, my lord, as willing I return, as if I were to fly to paradise. Stay, my villiers. Thine honorable men deserve to be eternally admired. Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferred. Give me the paper. I'll subscribe to it.

And wherefore I loved thee as villiers, Hereafter I'll embrace thee as myself. Stay, and be still in favor with thy lord. I humbly thank you, Grace. I must dispatch, and send his passport first onto the earl. And then I will attend to your highness' pleasure. Do so, Villiers. And Charles, when he hath need,

be such his soldiers, howsoever he speed. Exit Villiers. Enter King John. Come Charles and arm thee. Edward is entrapped. The Prince of Wales is fallen into our hands, and we have compassed him. He cannot escape. But will Your Highness fight today?

What else, my son? He's scarce 8,000 strong, and we are threescore thousand at the least. I have a prophecy, my gracious Lord, wherein is written what success is like to happen us in this outrageous war. It was delivered me at Cressus Field by one that is an aged hermit there. Reads. When feathered fowl shall make thine army tremble, And flinted stone rise and break the battle ray, Then think on him that doth not now dissemble,

For that shall be the hapless dreadful day. Yet, in the end, thy foot thou shalt advance as far in England as thy foe in France. By this it seems we shall be fortunate, for as it is impossible that stones should ever rise and break the battle-ray or airy foul make men in arms to quake so is it like we shall not be subdued or say this might be true yet in the end since he doth promise we shall drive him hence and forage their country as they have done ours by this revenge that loss will seem the less but all our frivolous fancies toys and dreams once we are are sure we have ensnared the sun, catch we the father after how we can. Xient. Act four, scene four. The same, the English camp. Enter Prince Edward, Audley, and others. Oddly, the arms of death embrace us round. And comfort have we none, save that to die we pay

sour earnest for a sweeter life. At Cressyfield, our clouds of warlike smoke, choked up those french mouths and dissevered them but now their multitudes of millions hide masking as twere the beauteous burning sun leaving no hope to us but sullen dark and eyeless terror of all ending night this sudden mighty and expedient head that they have made fair prince is wonderful before us in the valley lies the king van tis with all that heaven and earth can yield. His party stronger battled than our whole. His son, the braving duke of Normandy, hath trimmed the mountain on our right hand up in shining plate, that now the aspiring hill shows like a silver quarry,

or an orb, aloft the witch, the banners, bannets, and new replenished pendants, cuff the air, and beat the winds that for their gaudiness struggles to kiss them. On our left hand lies Philip, the younger issue of the king, coating the other hill in such a ray that all his gilded upright pikes do seem straight trees of gold, the pendants leaves, and their device of antique heraldry quartered in colours seeming sundry fruits, makes it the orchard of the Asperides. Behind us too the hill doth bear his height, for like a half-moon, opening but one way, it rounds us in, there at our backs are lodged

the fatal crossbows, and the battle there is governed by the rough Chattillion. And thus it stands, The valley for our flight the king binds in. The hills, on either hand, are proudly royalised by his sons, and on the hill behind stand certain death in pay and service with Chattillion. Death's name is much more mighty than his deeds. Thy parceling this power hath made it more. As many sands as these my hands can hold, are but my handful of so many sands, then all the world, and call it but a power, easily

tane up, and quickly thrown away. But if I stand to count them sand by sand, the number would confound my memory and make a thousand millions of a task, which briefly is no more indeed than one. These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments before, behind us, and on either hand, are but a power. When we name a man, his hand, his foot, his head hath several strengths, and being all but one self-instant strength, while all this many oddly, is but one, and we can call it all, but one man's strength. He that hath far to go, tells it by miles, if he should tell the steps, it kills his heart. The drops are infinite that make a flood, and yet thou knowest we call it but a reign.

There is but one France, one king of France. That France hath no more kings, and that same king hath but the puissant legion of one king, and we have one. Then apprehend no odds, for one to one is fair equality. Enter a herald from King John. What tidings, messenger. Be plain and brief.

The King of France, my sovereign Lord and Master, greets by me his foe, the Prince of Wales. If thou call forth a hundred men of name, of lords, knights, squires, and English gentlemen, and with thyself and those kneel at his feet, he straight will fold his bloody colours up, and ransom shall redeem lives forfeited. If not, this day shall drink more English blood,

then heir was buried in our British earth. What is the answer to his proffered mercy? This heaven that covers France contains the mercy that draws from me, submissive horizons. That such base breath should vanish from my lips to urge the plea of mercy to amen, the Lord forbid. Return and tell the king my tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg my may, mercy on his coward burgannet tell him my colours are as red as his my men as bold our english arms as strong return him my defiance in his face i go exit enter another herald what news with thee the duke of normandy my lord and master pitying thy youth is so ingirt with peril by me hath sent a nimble-jointed janet as swift as ever yet thou didst bestride, and therewith all he counsels thee to fly, else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die.

Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him. Tell him I cannot sit a coward's horse, bid him to-day bestride the jade himself, for I will stain my horse quite o'er with blood and double-gild my spurs, but I will catch him. So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone. Exit Herald. Enter another herald. Edward of Wales, Philip, the second son, to the most mighty Christian king of France. Seeing thy body's living date expired, all full of charity and Christian love,

commends this book, full fraught with prayers, to thy fair hand, and for thy hour of life entreats thee that thou meditate therein, and arm thy soul for her long journey towards. Thus have I done his bidding and return. Herald of Philip, greet thy lord from me. All good that he can send, I can receive. But thinks thou not the unadvised boy hath wronged himself in thus far tendering me.

Happily, he cannot pray without the book. I think him no divine extemporal. Then render back this common, place of prayer to do himself good in adversity. Beside, he knows not my sin's quality, and therefore knows no prayers for my avail. Ere Knight, his prayer may be to pray to God to put it in my heart to hear his prayer. So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone. I go.

Exit. How, how confident their strength and number makes them. Now, oddly, sound those silver wings of thine, and let those milk-white messengers of time show thy times learning in this dangerous time. Thyself art bruised and bit with many broils, and stratagems fore-past with iron pens are texted in thine honorable face. Thou art a married man in this distress, but danger wooze me as a blushing maid. me an answer to this perilous time.

To die is all as common as to live. The one incewise, the other holds in chase, for from the instant we begin to live, we do pursue and hunt the time to die. First bud we, then we blow, and after seed, then presently we fall. And as a shade follows, body, so we follow death.

If then we hunt for death, why do we fear it? If we fear it, why do we follow it? If we do fear, how can we shun it? If we do fear, with fear we do but aid the thing we fear to seize on us the sooner. If we fear not, then no resolved proffer can overthrow the limit of our fate. For whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall, as we do draw the lottery of our doom. Ah, good old man. A thousand, thousand armours these words of thine have buckled on my back. Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of life to seek the thing it fears! And how disgraceed the imperial

victory of murdering death, since all the lives his conquering arrows strike seek him, and he not them, to shame his glory. I will not give a penny for a life, nor half a haypenny to shun grim death, since for to live is but to seek to die, and dying but beginning of new life. Let come the hour when he that rules it will, to live or die, I hold indifferent. exeant act four scene five the same the french camp enter king john and at charles a sudden darkness hath defaced the sky the winds are crept into their caves for fear the leaves move not the world is hushed and still the birds cease singing and the wandering brooks murmur no wonted greeting to their shores Silence attends some wonder, and expecteth that heaven should pronounce some prophecy. Where or from whom proceeds this silence, Charles?

Our men with open mouths and staring eyes look on each other, as they did attend each other's words, and yet no creature speaks. A tongue-tied fear hath made a midnight hour, and speech asleep through all the waking regions. But now the pompous son in all his pride looked through his golden coach upon the world, and on a sudden hath he hid himself, that now the under-earth is as a grave, dark, deadly, silent, and uncomfortable. A clamour of ravens.

Hark, what a deadly outcry do I hear. Here comes my brother Philip. All dismayed. Into Philip. What fearful words are those. thy looks presage. A flight, a flight! Coward, what flight!

Thou liest, there needs no flight? A flight! Awake thy craven powers, and tell on the substance of that very fear indeed, which is so ghastly printed in thy face. What is the matter? A flight of ugly ravens do croak and hover o'er our soldiers' heads and keep in triangles and cornered squares, right as our forces are embattled.

With their approach, there can't. this sudden fog, which now hath hid the airy floor of heaven, and made at noon a night unnatural, upon the quaking and dismayed world. In brief our soldiers have let fall their arms and stand like metamorphosed images, bloodless and pale, one gazing on another. Aye, now I call to mind the prophecy, but I must give no entrance to a fear. Return and harden up these yielding souls. Tell them the raven seeing, them in arms so many fare against a famished few, come but to dine upon their handiwork, and prey upon the carrion that they kill. For when we see a horse laid down to die,

although he be not dead, the ravenous birds sit watching the departure of his life. Even so these ravens for the carcasses of those poor English that are marked to die, hover about, and if they cry to us, tis but for meat that we must kill for them. Away, and comfort up my soldiers, and sound the trumpets, and at once dispatch this little business of a silly fraud. Exit, Philip. Another noise, Salisbury brought in by a French captain. Behold my liege, this night and forty more, of whom the better part are slain and fled,

with all endeavours sought to break our ranks, and make their way to the encompassed prince. Dispose of him as please your majesty. go and the next bow soldier that thou seest disgrace it with his body presently for i do hold a tree in france too good to be the gallows of an english thief my lord of normandy i have your pass and warrant for my safety through this land villiers procured it for thee did he not he did and it is currant thou shalt freely pass i freely to the gallows to be hanged without denial or impediment, away with him. I hope Your Highness will not so disgrace me, and dash the virtue of my seal at arms. He hath my never-broken name to show, charactered with this princely hand of mine, and rather let me leave to be a prince, than break the stable verdict of a prince.

I do beseech you, let him pass in quiet. Thou and thy word lie both in my command. What canst thou promise that I cannot break? Which of these twain is greater infamy To disobey thy father, or thyself? Thy word nor no man's may exceed his power, Nor that same man doth never break his word That keeps it to the utmost of his power.

The breach of faith dwells in the soul's consent, Which if thyself without consent do break, Thou art not charged with the breach of faith. Go, hang him, For thy license lies in me, and my constraint stands the excuse for thee. What? Am I not a soldier in my word? Then alms adieu and let them fight that list. Shall I not give my girdle from my waist?

But with the guardian I shall be controlled, to say I may not give my things away. Upon my soul had Edward Prince of Wales engaged his word, writ down his noble hand for all your knights to pass his father's land, the royal king, to grace his warlike son, would not alone safe conduct give to them, but with all bounty feasted them and theirs. Dwell'st thou on precedence, then be it so.

Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art? An earl in England, though a prisoner here, and those that know me call me Salisbury. Then Salisbury, say whither thou art bound. To Calais, where my liege, King Edward is. To callous, Salisbury. Then to Calus pack, and bid the king prepare a noble grave to put his princely son, Black Edward, in.

And as thou travellers westward from this place, some two leagues hence there is a lofty hill whose top seems topless, for the embracing sky doth hide his high head in her azure bosom, upon whose tall top, when thy foot attains, Look back upon the humble veil beneath, Humble of late, but now made proud with arms, And thence behold the wretched prince of Wales,

Hooped with a bond of iron round about, After which sight, to callous spur a mane, And say the prince was smothered and not slain, and tell the king this is not all his ill, for I will greet him ere he thinks I will. Away, begone. The smoke but of our shot will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not. Exit Act four, scene six.

The same, a part of the field of battle. Alarum, enter Prince Edward and Artois. How fair, Your Grace. I will not shot, my lord. No, dear Arctaw. but choked with dust and smoke and stepped aside for breath and fresher air. Breathe a den, and to it again. The amazed French are quite distract with gazing on the crows,

and where our quivers full of shafts again, your grace should see a glorious day of this. Oh, for more arrows, Lord, that's our want. Courage, Artois, a fig for feathered shafts, when feathered fowls do bandy on our side. what need we fight and sweat and keep a coil when railing crows out scold our adversaries up up artois the ground itself is armed with fire-containing flint command our bows to hurl away their pretty-coloured yew and to it with stones away art i my soul doth prophesy we win the day act four scene seven the same another part of the field of battle alarum enter king jong our multitudes are in themselves confounded dismayed and distraught swift-starting fear hath buzzed a cold dismay through all our army

and every petty disadvantage prompts the fear-possessed abject soul to fly. Myself, whose spirit is steel to their dull lead, what with recalling of the prophecy, and that our native stones from English arms rebel against us, find myself attainted with strong surprise of weak and yielding fear. Enter Charles. Fly, Father Fly. The French do kill the French.

Some that would stand like drive at some that fly. Our drums strike nothing but discouragement. Our trumpets sound dishonour and retire. The spirit of fear that feareth not but death. Cowardly works confusion on itself. Enter Philip. Pluck out your eyes and see not this day's shame. An arm hath beat an army.

One poor David hath with a stone-foiled twenty stout Goliaths. Some twenty nymphs. Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints hath driven back a puissant host of men, arrayed and fenced in all accolements. Mordieu they quaint at us and kill us up. No less than forty thousand wicked elders have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death. O that I was some other countrymen. This day hath set derision on the French and all the world will blurt and scorn at us.

What is there no hope left? No hope, but death, to bury up our shame. Make up once more with me, the twentieth part of those that live are men in now to quail the feeble handful on the adverse part. Then charge again, if heaven be not opposed, we cannot lose the day. On, away. Excient

Act four, scene eight, the same, another part of the field of back, enter orderly wounded and rescued by two squires how fares my lord even as a man may do that dines at such a bloody feast as this i hope my lord that is no mortal scar no matter of it be the count is cast and in the worst ends but a mortal man good friends convey me to the princely edward that in the crimson bravery of my blood I may become him with saluting him. I'll smile and tell him that this open scar doth end the harvest of his Audley's war. Exeunt Act four, Scene 9, The Same, the English Camp. End to Prince Edward, King's.

John, Charles, and all with ensigns spread. Now, John in France, and lately John of France, Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours, and you, high vaunting Charles of Normandy, that once today sent me a horse to flee, are now the subjects of my clemency. Fy, lords, is it not a shame that English boys whose early days are yet not worth a beard, should in the bosom of your kingdom, thus one against

twenty, beat you up together. Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquered us. An argument that heaven aids the right. Enter Artois with Philip. See, see, Artre doth bring with him along the late good counsel-giver to my soul. Welcome Artois, and welcome Artoe, and welcome. Philip II, who now of you or I have need to pray? Now is the proverb verified in you, too bright a morning breeds a lowering day.

Sound trumpets, enter Audley. But say, what grim discouragement comes here! Alas! What thousand armoured men of friends have writ that note of death in Audley's face? Speak, thou that wooest death with thy careless smile, and looked so merrily upon thy grave as if thou were enamored on thine end. What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face, and lopped a true friend from my loving soul. O prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech to me is as a mournful knell to one dead sick. Dear, oddly, if my tongue wring out thy end,

My arms shall be thy grave. What may I do to win thy life, Or to revenge thy death? If thou wilt drink the blood of captive kings, Or that it were restorative, Command a health of king's blood, And I'll drink to thee. If honor may dispense for thee with death,

The never-dying honor of this day share wholly oddly to thyself, and live. Victorious prince, that thou art so, behold a Caesar's fame in king's captivity. If I could hold him death but at a bay, Till I did see my liege thy royal father, My soul should yield this castle of my flesh. This mangled tribute,

with all willingness to darkness consummation, dust and worms. Cheerily, bold man, thy soul is all too proud to yield her city for one little breach. Should be divorced from her earthly spouse by the soft temper of a French man's sword? Lo, to repair thy life, I give to thee three thousand marks a year in English land. i take thy gift to pay the debts i owe these two poor esquires redeemed me from the french with lusty and dear hazard of their lives what thou hast given me i give to them And as thou lovest me, Prince, lay thy consent to this bequeath in my last testament. Renowned oddly, live and have from me this gift twice doubled to these esquires and thee. But live or die what thou hast given away to these and theirs shall lasting freedom stay.

Come, gentlemen, I will see my friend bestowed within any. easy litter. Then we'll march proudly toward callous, with triumphant pace, unto my royal father, and there bring the tribute of my wars, Fair France's king. Exit End of Act 4 Act 5 of the reign of King Edward III, attributed in part to William Shakespeare. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in a public domain. for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org scene one piccadie the english camp before calais enter king edward queen philip derby soldiers

no more queen philip pacify yourself copeland except he can excuse his fault shall find displeasure written in our looks and now unto this proud resisting town soldiers assault i will no longer stay to be deluded by their false delays put all to sword and make the spoil your own enter six citizens in their shirts barefoot with halters about their necks mercy gilward mercy gracious lord contemptuous villains call ye now for truce mine ears are stopped against your bootless cries sound drums alarm draw threatening swords ah noble prince take pity on this town and hear us mighty king we claim the promise that your highness has made the two days respite is not yet expired and we are come with willingness to bear, what torturing death or punishment you please, so that the trembling multitude be saved. My promise? Well, I do confess as much, but I do require the chiefest citizens and men of most account that should submit. You, peradventure, are but servile grooms, or some felonious

robbers on the sea, whom apprehended law will. execute, albeit severity laid dead in us, no, no, ye cannot overreach us thus. The sun, dread lord, that in the western fall beholds us now, lo-broad through misery, did in the orient purple of the morn salute our coming forth when we were known, or may our portion be with damned fiends? If it be so, then let our covenant stand. We take possession of the town in peace. But for yourselves, look you for no remorse.

But as imperial justice hath decreed, Your bodies shall be dragged about these walls, And after, feel the stroke of quartering steel. This is your doom. Go, soldiers, see it done. Ah, be more mild unto these yielding men. It is a glorious thing to establish peace, and kings approach the nearest unto God by giving life.

and safety unto men. As thou intendest to be king of France, so let her people live to call thee king. For what the sword cuts down, or fire hath spoiled, is held in reputation none of ours. Although experience teach us this is true, that peaceful quietness brings most delight, when most of all abuses are controlled, yet inasmuch it shall be known that we as well can master our affections as conquer other by the dint of sword. Philip prevail, we yield to thy

request. These men shall live to boast of clemency, and tyranny strike terror to thyself. Long live your highness, happy be your reign. Go, get you hence,

return unto the town, and if this kindness hath deserved your love, learn then to reverence Edward as your king. Excient citizens. Now might we hear of our affairs abroad. We would till gloomy winter were or spent, dispose our men in garrison a while.

But who comes here? Enter Copeland and King David. Copeland, my lord, and David King of Scots. Is this the proud of. presumptuous Esquire of the North that would not yield his prisoner to my queen? I am my legion northern Esquire indeed, but neither proud nor insolent I trust.

What moved thee, then, to be so obstinate to contradict our royal queen's desire? No willful disobedience, mighty Lord, but my desert and public law at arms. I took the king myself in single fight, and like a soldier's would be loath to lose the least pre-eminence that I had won. And Copeland's straight upon your highness' charge has come to France, and with a lowly mind doth veil the bonnet of his victory.

Receive, dread lord, the custom of my fraught, the wealthy tribute of my labouring hands, which should long since have been surrendered up, had but your gracious self been there in place. But Copeland, thou didst score in the king's command, neglecting our commission in his name. His name I reverence, but his person more. His name shall keep me in allegiance still,

But to his person I will bend my knee. I pray thee, Philip, let displeasure pass. This man doth please me, and I like his words. For what is he that will attempt great deeds, And lose the glory that ensues the same? All rivers have recourse under the sea, and copland's faith relation to his king kneel therefore down now rise king edward's knight and to maintain thy state i freely give five hundred marks a year to thee and thine into salisbury welcome lord salsbury what news from britain this mighty king the country we have won

and John de Mountford regent of that place presents Your Highness with this coronet protesting true allegiance to your grace We thank thee for thy service valiant Earl Challenge our favor For we owe it thee But now, my lord As this is joyful news

So must my voice be tragical again And I must sing of doleful accidents What have our men the overthrow at Poitiers, or is our son beset with too much odds? He was, my lord, and as my worthless self with forty other serviceable knights, under safe conduct of the Dauphin's seal, did travel that way, finding him distressed, a troop of lances met us on the way, surprised, and brought us prisoners to the king, who, proud of this, and, and, you know, proud of this and eager for revenge, commanded straight to cut off all our heads,

and surely we had died, but that the Duke, more full of honor than his angry sire, procured our quick deliverance from thence. But, ere we went, salute your king, quoth he, bid him provide a funeral for his son. Today our sword shall cut his threat of life,

and, sooner than he thought, thinks we'll be with him to quittance those displeasures he hath done this said we passed not daring to reply our hearts were dead our looks diffused and wan wandering at last we climbed unto a hill from whence although our grief were much before yet now to see the occasion with our eyes did thrice so much increase our heaviness for there There, my lord, oh, there we did descry down in a valley how both armies lay. The French had cast their trenches like a ring, and every barricado's open front was thick embossed with brazen ordinance. Here stood a battalion of ten thousand horse. There, twice as many pikes in quadrant-wise.

Here crossbows and deadly wounding darts, and in the midst, light to a slender point within the compass of the horizon, as twere a rising bubble in the sea, a hustle wand amidst a wood of pines, or as a bear fast-chained unto a stake, stood famous Edward, still expecting when those dogs of France would fasten on his flesh. Anon the death-procuring now begins,

off go the cannons That with trembling noise Did shake every mountain where they stood Then sound the trumpets clangor in the air The battles join And when we could no more discern The difference twixt the friend and foe So intricate the dark confusion was

Away we turned our watery eyes with sighs As black powder fuming into smoke And thus I fear unhappy have I told the most untimely tale of Edwards fall oh me is this my welcome into France is this the comfort that I looked to have when I should meet with my beloved son sweet Ned I would thy mother in the sea had been prevented of this mortal grief content thee Philip tis not tears will serve to call him back if he be taken hence. Comfort thyself as I do, gentle queen, with hope of sharp, unheard of dire revenge.

He bids me to provide his funeral, and so I will, but all the peers in France shall mourners be and weep out bloody tears, until their empty veins be dry and sere. The pillars of his hearse shall be his bones, the mow that covers him their city ashes, his knell the groaning cries of dying men, and in the stead of tapers on his tomb, an hundred fifty towers shall burning blaze while we bewail our valiant son's decease. After a flourish, sounded within, enter an herald. Rejoice, my lord, ascend the imperial throne. The mighty and redoubted prince of Wales, great servitor to bloody Mars in arms, the Frenchman's terror, and his country's fame, triumphant rideth like a Roman peer.

And lowly to stirrup comes afoot, King John of France together with his son in captive bonds, whose diadem he brings, to crown thee with, and to proclaim thee king. Away with morning Philip, wipe thine eyes. Sound trumpets, welcome in Plantagonet. Enter Prince Edward, King John Philip, Ordly Artois. As things long lost when they are found again, so doth my son rejoice his father's heart,

for whom even now my soul was much perplexed. Be this a token to express my joy. Kisses him. For inward passion will not let me speak. My gracious father, here receive the gift. Presenting him with King John's crown. This wreath of conquest and reward of war got with as mickle peril of our lives as air

was thing of price before this day. Install your highness in your proper right, and herewithal I render to your hands, these prisoners chief occasion of our strife. So, John of France, I see you keep your word. You promised to be sooner with ourselves than we did think for, and tis so indeed. But had you done at first as now you do,

how many civil towns had stood untouched, that now are turned to ragged heaps of stones, how many people's lives mightst thou have saved that are untimely sunk into their graves. Edward, recount not things irrevocable. Tell me what ransom thou requir'st to have. Thy ransom, John, hereafter, shall be known. But first to England thou must cross the seas,

to see what entertainment it affords, how ere it falls it cannot be so bad as ours hath been since we arrived in France. A cursed man, of this I was foretold, But did Miss Conster what the prophet told. Now, Father, this petition Edward makes to thee, Whose grace hath been his strongest shield, That as thy pleasure chose me for the man

To be the instrument to show thy power, So thou wilt grant that many princes more, Bread and brought up within that little isle, May still be famous for like victories. And for my part, the bloody scars I bear and weary nights that I have watched in field, the dangerous conflicts I have often had, the fearful menaces were proffered me, the heat and cold, and what else might displease, I wish were now redoubled twentyfold. So that hereafter ages, when they read the painful traffic of my tender youth,

might thereby be inflamed with such resolve as not the territories of France alone, but likewise Spain, Turkey, and what countries else that justly would provoke Fair England's ire might, at their presence, tremble and retire. Here, English, lords, we do proclaim a rest. An intercession of our painful arms. Sheathe up your swords, refresh your weary limbs, peruse your spoils, and after we have breathed a day or two within this hate. town god willing then for england will be shipped where in a happy hour i trust we shall arrive three kings two princes and a queen

end of act five end of the reign of king edward the third attributed in part to william shakespeare