EDWARD III

Speaker	Line
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND	OTHERS
FIRST	heard of in the Stationers’ Register for I December 1595, The Reign of King Edward the Third was published anonymously in the following year, with the statement that it had been ‘sundry times played about the City of London’. As was usual, there are no act and scene divisions; we divide it only into scenes. It could have been written at any time between the Armada of 1588 and 1595. Like other plays of this period, including Shakespeare’s I Henry VI, Richard II, and King John, it is composed entirely in verse, much of it formal and rhetorical in style. Shakespeare seems at least to have known the play, since a historical error placing King David of Scotland among Edward’s prisoners at Calais (10.40-56, 18.63.1) occurs also in Henry V (1.2.160-2). The play’s omission from the First Folio is good presumptive evidence against Shakespeare’s sole authorship. It was, however, attributed to him in a totally unreliable catalogue of 1656; better worth taking seriously is the attribution to Shakespeare by Edward Capell, expressed in 1760. Since then various scholars have proposed that Shakespeare wrote at least the scenes involving the Countess of Salisbury (Scene 2, Scene 3). When the Oxford edition first appeared, its editors remarked that ‘if we had attempted a thorough reinvestigation of candidates for inclusion in the early dramatic canon, it would have begun with Edward III’ (Textual Companion, p. 137). Since then intensive application of stylometric and other tests of authorship, along with an increased willingness to acknowledge that Shakespeare collaborated with other writers, especially early and late in his career, has strengthened the case for including it among the collected works. We believe, however, that Shakespeare was responsible only for Scene 2 (from the entrance of Edward III) and Scene 3, and for Scene 12 (which includes a Hamlet-like meditation on the inevitability of death), and possibly Scene 13, and that one or more other authors wrote the rest of the play. The play’s treatment of history, deriving principally from Lord Berners’s translation (1535) of Froissart’s Chronicles, is loose. As with Henry V, the opening episode shows the English king seeking reassurance about his claims to the throne of France. Lorraine’s subsequent demand that Edward swear allegiance to the French king meets with derision. Attention turns to England’s relations with Scotland, where King David, France’s ally, has besieged the castle of Roxburgh, imprisoning the Countess of Salisbury. Edward instructs his son Edward (Ned) the Black Prince to raise troops against France; Edward himself will march against the Scots. At Roxburgh the King rescues and attempts to seduce the Countess, who is also desired by King David and Sir William Douglas. In the principal scenes ascribed to Shakespeare, the enraptured King expresses his passion in attractively lyrical verse recalling that of The Two Gentlemen of Verona. He attempts to persuade the Earl of Warwick, the Countess’s father, to further his suit, but the Countess, virtuous (and married), repudiates his adulterous desires, threatening to kill herself if he persists. Penitent, he reverts to the French conflict. This, presented in episodes of ambitious rhetoric rather than of violent action, reaches its first climax in young Edward’s conquest over the King of Bohemia, for which his father knights him. Edward’s queen, Philippa, who with her followers has overcome the Scots, joins him, and persuades him to show mercy to the burghers of the besieged town of Calais. Young Edward, believed dead, is revealed as the conqueror of the French, and the play ends with a jingoistic English triumph. It has had a few modern productions, including one by the Royal Shakespeare Company in
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY The English
QUEEN	PHILIPPA, his wife Edward, PRINCE OF WALES, their eldest son The EARL OF SALISBURY The COUNTESS OF SALISBURY, his wife The EARL OF WARWICK, the Countess’s father Sir William de MONTAGUE, Salisbury’s nephew The EARL OF DERBY Sir James AUDLEY Henry, Lord PERCY John COPLAND, an esquire, later knighted LODOWICK, King Edward’s secretary Two SQUIRES A HERALD to King Edward from the Prince of Wales Four heralds who bear the Prince of Wales’s armour Soldiers Allied with the English Robert, COMTE D’ARTOIS and Earl of Richmond Jean, COMTE DE MONTFORT, later Duc de Bretagne
GOBIN	de Grace, a French Prisoner The French Jean II de Valois, KING OF FRANCE Prince Charles, Jean’s eldest son, Duc de Normandie, the DAUPHIN
PRINCE	PHILIPPE, Jean’s younger son The DUC DE LORRAINE VILLIERS, a prisoner sent as an envoy by the Earl of Salisbury to the Dauphin The CAPTAIN OF CALAIS Another FRENCH CAPTAIN A MARINER Three HERALDS to the Prince of Wales from the King of France, the Dauphin and Prince Philippe Six POOR MEN, residents of Calais Six SUPPLICANTS, wealthy merchants and citizens of Calais Five other FRENCHMEN A FRENCIIWOMAN with two children Soldiers Allied with the French The KING OF BOHEMIA A POLISH CAPTAIN Polish and Muscovite soldiers David II, KING OF SCOTLAND Sir William DOUGLAS Two Scottish MESSENGERS The Reign of King Edward the Third Sc. 1
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward, the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Warwick, Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and the Comte d’Artois
KING EDWARD	Robert of Artois, banished though thou be From France thy native country, yet with us Thou shalt retain as great a seigniory: For we create thee Earl of Richmond here. And now go forwards with our pedigree: Who next succeeded King Philippe of Beau?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Three sons of his, which all successively Did sit upon their father’s regal throne, Yet died and left no issue of their loins.
KING EDWARD	But was my mother sister unto those?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	She was, my lord, and only Isabel Was all the daughters that this Philippe 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 is inheritor to France. But note the rancour of rebellious minds: When thus the lineage of Beau was out The French obscured your mother’s privilege And, though she were the next of blood, proclaimed Jean 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 governor 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.
KING EDWARD	But they shall find that forged ground of theirs To be but dusty heaps of brittle sand.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Perhaps it will 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 lineal watchman of our peace, And Jean of Valois indirectly climbs. What then should subjects but embrace their king? Ah, wherein may our duty more be seen Than striving to rebate a tyrant’s pride And place thee, the true shepherd of our commonwealth?
KING EDWARD	This counsel, 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.
(didascalia)	Sound a horn
KING EDWARD	A messenger. Lord Audley, know from whence.
(didascalia)	Enter a messenger, the Duc de Lorraine
AUDLEY	The Duke of Lorraine, having crossed the seas, Entreats he may have conference with your highness.
KING EDWARD	Admit him, lords, that we may hear the news. (To Lorraine) Say, Duke of Lorraine, wherefore art thou come? 55
DUC DE LORRAINE	The most renowned prince, King Jean of France, Doth greet thee, Edward, and by me commands That, forsomuch 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 mayst be sworn true liegeman to our king; Or else thy title in that province dies And he himself will repossess the place.
KING EDWARD	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 servilely disposed to bend, But like a conqueror to make him bow. His lame unpolished shifts are come to light, And truth hath pulled the vizard 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 refuse to yield I’ll take away those borrowed plumes of his, And send him naked to the wilderness.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy lords, I do pronounce defiance to thy face.
PRINCE OF WALES	Defiance, Frenchman? 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 scurrilous, 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.
EARL OF WARWICK	(to Lorraine) Bid him leave off the lion’s case he wears Lest, meeting with the lion in the field, He chance to tear him piecemeal for his pride.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	(to Lorraine) The soundest counsel I can give his grace Is to surrender ere he be constrained. A voluntary mischief hath less scorn Than when reproach with violence is borne.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Regenerate traitor, viper to the place Where thou wast fostered in thine infancy! Bear’st thou a part in this conspiracy?
(didascalia)	Lorraine draws his sword
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD drawing his sword
DUC DE LORRAINE	Lorraine, behold the sharpness of this steel: Fervent desire that sits against my heart Is far more thorny-pricking than this blade That, with the nightingale, I shall be scarred As oft as I dispose myself to rest Until my colours be displayed in France. This is thy final answer. So be gone.
DUC DE LORRAINE	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. Exit
KING EDWARD	Now, lords, our fleeting barque is under sail, Our gage is thrown, and war is soon begun, But not so quickly brought unto an end.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William Montague
KING EDWARD	But wherefore comes Sir William Montague? (To Montague) How stands the league between the Scot and us?
MONTAGUE	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. Berwick is won, Newcastle spoiled and lost, And now the tyrant hath begirt with siege The Castle of Roxburgh, where, enclosed, The Countess Salisbury is like to perish.
KING EDWARD	(to Warwick) That is thy daughter, Warwick, is it not? Whose husband hath in Bretagne served so long About the planting of Lord Montfort there?
EARL OF WARWICK	It is, my lord.
KING EDWARD	Ignoble David, hast thou none to grieve But seely ladies with thy threat’ning arms? But I will make you shrink your snaily horns. (To Audley) First, therefore, Audley, this shall be thy charge: Go levy footmen for our wars in France. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, take muster of our men-at-arms. In every shire elect a several band. Let them be soldiers of a lusty spirit, Such as dread nothing but dishonour’s blot. Be wary therefore, since we do commence A famous war, and with so mighty a nation. (To Derby) Derby, be thou ambassador for us Unto our father-in-law, the Earl of Hainault. Make him acquainted with our enterprise, And likewise will him, with our own allies That are in Flanders, to solicit, too, The Emperor of Almagne 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 wars On every side. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, thou must begin Now to forget thy study and thy books, And ure thy shoulders to an armour’s weight.
PRINCE OF WALES	As cheerful sounding to my youthful spleen This tumult is of war’s increasing broils, As at the coronation of a king The joyful clamours of the people are When ‘Ave Caesar’ they pronounce aloud.
(didascalia)	Within this school of honour I shall learn
PRINCE OF WALES	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 naught to use delay. Exeunt Sc. 2
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury, above
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Alas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze For succour that my sovereign should send. Ah, cousin Montague, I fear thou wants 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 to 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 vile, uncivil, skipping jigs Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow Even in the barren, bleak and fruitless air—
(didascalia)	Enter below David King of Scotland and Sir William Douglas with soldiers, meeting the Due de Lorraine
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(Aside) I must withdraw. The everlasting foe Comes to the wall. I’ll closely step aside And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. The Countess withdraws
KING OF SCOTLAND	My lord of Lorraine, to our brother of France Commend us as the man in Christendom That we most reverence and entirely love. Touching your embassage, return and say That we with England will not enter parley, Nor never make fair weather, or take truce, But burn their neighbour towns, and so persist With eager roads beyond their city York; And never shall our bonny riders rest, Nor rusting canker have the time to eat Their light-borne snaffle, nor their nimble spur, Nor lay aside their jacks of gimmaled mail, Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash In peaceful wise upon their city walls, Nor from their buttoned tawny leathern belts Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your King Cry out, ‘Enough! Spare England now for pity!’ Farewell, and tell him that you leave us here, Before this castle; say you came from us Even when we had that yielded to our hands.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Take I my leave, and fairly will return Your acceptable greeting to my King. Exit
KING OF SCOTLAND	(to Douglas) Now, Douglas, to our former task again For the division of this certain spoil.
DOUGLAS	My liege, I crave the lady, and no more.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make my choice, And first I do bespeak her for myself.
DOUGLAS	Why then, my liege, let me enjoy her jewels.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Those are her own, still liable to her; And who inherits her hath those with all.
(didascalia)	Enter a Scottish messenger in haste
MESSENGER	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 will bring The hindmost rank unto this place, my liege.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Dislodge! Dislodge! It is the King of England!
(didascalia)	DOUGLAS to the Messenger
KING OF SCOTLAND	Jemmy, my man, saddle my bonny black.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Mean’st thou to fight, Douglas? We are too weak.
DOUGLAS	I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(coming forward above) My lords of Scotland, will ye stay and drink?
KING OF SCOTLAND	She mocks us, Douglas. I cannot endure it.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Say, good my lord, which is he must have the lady, And which her jewels? I am sure, my lords, Ye will not hence till you have shared the spoils.
KING OF SCOTLAND	She heard the messenger and heard our talk, And now that comfort makes her scorn at us.
(didascalia)	Enter another Scottish messenger
SECOND MESSENGER	Arm, my good lord! O we are all surprised! After the French ambassador, my liege, And tell him that you dare not ride to York.
(didascalia)	COUNTESS OF SALISBURY (to the King of Scotland)
SECOND MESSENGER	Excuse it that your bonny horse is lame.
(didascalia)	KING OF SCOTLAND aside
SECOND MESSENGER	She heard that too! Intolerable grief! (To the Countess) Woman, farewell, although I do not stay—
(didascalia)	‘Tis not for fear, and yet you run away. Exeunt Scots
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O happy comfort, welcome to our house! The confident and boist’rous boasting Scot, 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 north-east wind Upon the bare report and name of arms!
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William de Montague with soldiers
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O summer’s day! See where my cousin comes!
MONTAGUE	How fares my aunt? We are not Scots— Why do you shut your gates against your friends?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Well may I give a welcome, coz, to thee, For thou com’st well to chase my foes from hence.
MONTAGUE	The King himself is come in person hither. Dear aunt, descend, and gratulate his highness.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	How may I entertain his majesty To show my duty and his dignity?
(didascalia)	Exit from above
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward, the Earl of Warwick and the Comte d’Artois, with others, including Lodowick
KING EDWARD	What, are the stealing foxes fled and gone Before we could uncouple at their heels?
EARL OF WARWICK	They are, my liege, but with a cheerful cry Hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury below
KING EDWARD	This is the Countess, Warwick, is it not?
EARL OF WARWICK	Even she, my liege, whose beauty tyrants’ fear— As a May blossom with pernicious winds— Hath sullied, withered, overcast and done.
KING EDWARD	Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is?
EARL OF WARWICK	My gracious King, fair is she not at all If that her self were by to stain herself As I have seen her when she was her self.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF WARWICK	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 piercing majesty To gaze on her with doting admiration?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(kneeling before King Edward) In duty, lower than the ground I kneel, And fore my dull knees bow 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.
KING EDWARD	Lady, stand up. I come to bring thee peace, However thereby I have purchased war.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(rising) No war to you, my liege. The Scots are gone And gallop home toward Scotland with their hate.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Lest yielding here I pine in shameful love— (Aloud) Come, we’ll pursue the Scots. Artois, away!
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	A little while, my gracious sovereign, 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.
KING EDWARD	Pardon me, Countess, I will come no near: I dreamed tonight of treason, and I fear.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Far from this place let ugly treason lie.
KING EDWARD	(aside) 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. (Aloud) Warwick, Artois, to horse and let’s away!
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	What might I speak to make my sovereign stay?
KING EDWARD	(aside) What needs a tongue to such a speaking eye That more persuades than winning oratory?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 withal. Our house, my liege, is like a country swain, Whose habit rude, and manners blunt and plain, Presageth naught, yet inly beautified With bounty’s riches and fair hidden pride. For where the golden ore doth buried lie, The ground, undecked with nature’s tapestry, Seems barren, sere, unfertile, fruitless, dry; And where the upper turf of earth doth boast His pride, perfumes and parti-coloured cost, Delve there and find this issue and their pride To spring from ordure and corruptious stied. 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.
KING EDWARD	As wise as fair—what fond fit can be heard When wisdom keeps the gate as beauty’s guard? Countess, albeit my business urgeth me It shall attend while I attend on thee. Come on, my lords, here will I host tonight.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Lodowick
LODOWICK	I might perceive his eye in her eye lost, His ear to drink her sweet tongue’s utterance, And changing passion, like inconstant 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, ‘twas tender modest shame Being in the sacred presence of a king. If he did blush, ’twas rude immodest shame To vail his eyes amiss, being a king. If she looked pale, ‘twas seely 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, farewell. I fear ’twill prove A ling’ring English siege of peevish love.
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward
LODOWICK	Here comes his highness, walking all alone.
(didascalia)	Lodowick withdraws
KING EDWARD	(aside) 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 epithets 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 Breathes 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 of war, It wakened 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. (Aloud) Art thou there, Lod’wick?
(didascalia)	Lodowick comes forward
KING EDWARD	Give me ink and paper.
LODOWICK	I will, my liege.
KING EDWARD	And bid the lords hold on their play at chess, For we will walk and meditate alone.
LODOWICK	I will, my sovereign. Exit
KING EDWARD	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 beauty’s queen shall see Herself the ground of my infirmity.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick, with pen, ink and paper
KING EDWARD	Hast thou pen, ink and paper ready, Lod’wick?
LODOWICK	Ready, my liege.
KING EDWARD	Then in the summer arbour sit by me; Make it our council house or cabinet: Since green our thoughts, green be the conventicle Where we will ease us by disburd’ning them.
(didascalia)	They sit. Lodowick prepares to write
KING EDWARD	Now, Lod‘wick, invocate some golden muse To bring thee hither an enchanted pen That may for sighs set down true sighs indeed, Talking of grief, to make thee ready groan, And when thou write’st of tears, encouch the word Before and after with such sweet laments That it may raise drops in a Tartar’s eye, And make a flint-heart Scythian 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 poets’ wit Beguile and ravish soft and human minds?
LODOWICK	To whom, my lord, shall I direct my style?
KING EDWARD	To one that stains the fair and sots the wise, Whose body is an abstract or a brief, Contains each general virtue in the world. ‘Better than beautiful’, thou must begin, Devise for fair a fairer word than ‘fair’, And every ornament that thou wouldst praise, Fly it a pitch above the soar 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.
LODOWICK	Write I to a woman?
KING EDWARD	What beauty else could triumph over me, Or who but women do our love-lays greet? What think’st thou I did bid thee praise? A horse?
LODOWICK	Of what condition or estate she is ’Twere requisite that I should know, my lord.
KING EDWARD	Of such estate that hers is as a throne, And my estate the footstool where she treads. Then mayst thou judge what her condition is By the proportion of her mightiness. Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts.
(didascalia)
KING EDWARD	Her voice to music or the nightingale. To music every summer-leaping swain Compares his sunburnt lover when she speaks, And why should I speak of the nightingale? The nightingale sings of adulterate wrong And that compare 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 silkworm’s twist, Like to a flattering glass doth make more fair The yellow amber—‘like a flattering glass’ Comes in too soon: for writing of her eyes I’ll say that like a glass they catch the sun, And thence the hot reflection doth rebound Against my breast and burns my heart within. Ah, what a world of descant makes my soul Upon this voluntary ground of love! Come, Lod’wick: hast thou turned thy ink to gold? If not, write but in letters capital My mistress’ name, and it will gild thy paper. Read, Lod’wick, read! Fill thou the empty hollows of mine ears With the sweet hearing of thy poetry!
LODOWICK	I have not to a period brought her praise.
KING EDWARD	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 talk’st thou of a period To that which craves unended admiration? Read. Let us hear.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) That line hath two faults, gross and palpable. Compar’st 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!
LODOWICK	What is the other fault, my sovereign lord?
KING EDWARD	Read o’er the line again.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) I did not bid thee talk of chastity, To ransack so the treasure of her mind, For I had rather have her chased 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 splendour than the sun, That her perfections emulates 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.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades, More bold in constancy’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) In constancy than who?
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘…than Judith was.’
KING EDWARD	O monstrous line! Put in the next a sword And I shall woo her to cut off my head! Blot, blot, good Lod’wick. Let us hear the next.
LODOWICK	There’s all that yet is done.
KING EDWARD	I thank thee then. Thou hast done little ill, But what is done is passing passing ill. No, let the captain talk of boist’rous war, The prisoner of emurèd dark constraint; The sick man best sets down the pangs of death, The man that starves the sweetness of a feast, The frozen soul the benefit of fire, And every grief his happy opposite. Love cannot sound well but in lovers’ tongues. Give me the pen and paper. I will write. Lodowick gives him the pen and paper.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury
KING EDWARD	(Aside) But soft—here comes the treasurer of my spirit. (Aloud to Lodowick, showing him the paper in his hand) Lod‘wick, thou know’st not how to draw a battle! These wings, these flankers and these squadrons Argue in thee defective discipline. Thou shouldst have placed this here, this other here—
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Pardon my boldness, my thrice-gracious lords. Let my intrusion here be called my duty That comes to see my sovereign how he fares.
KING EDWARD	(to Lodowick, giving him the paper) Go, draw the same, I tell thee in what form.
LODOWICK	I go. Exit
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Sorry I am to see my liege so sad. What may thy subject do to drive from thee Thy gloomy consort, sullen melancholy?
KING EDWARD	Ah, lady, I am blunt and cannot strew The flowers of solace in a ground of shame. Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Now God forbid that any in my house Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice-gentle King, Acquaint me with thy cause of discontent.
KING EDWARD	How near, then, shall I be to remedy?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	As near, my liege, as all my woman’s power Can pawn itself to buy thy remedy.
KING EDWARD	If thou speak’st true, then have I my redress. Engage thy power to redeem my joys, And I am joyful, Countess; else I die.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I will, my liege.
KING EDWARD	Swear, Countess, that thou wilt.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	By heaven, I will.
KING EDWARD	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- Do this, and tell me when I shall be happy.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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.
KING EDWARD	Thou hear’st me say that I do dote on thee.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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’s store, by giving, doth augment. Be it on what it will that I can give, And thou canst take away, inherit it.
KING EDWARD	It is thy beauty that I would enjoy.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 an humble shadow, It haunts the sunshine of my summer’s life—
KING EDWARD	But thou mayst lend it me to sport withal.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 lend her house, my lord, to thee, I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me.
KING EDWARD	Didst thou not swear to give me what I would?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I did, my liege, so what you would I could.
KING EDWARD	I wish no more of thee than thou mayst give, Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy— That is, thy love; and for that love of thine In rich exchange I tender to thee mine.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	But that your lips were sacred, good 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 ‘gainst the king of heaven To stamp his image in forbidden metal, Forgetting your allegiance and your oath? In violating 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, Sole reigning Adam o’er 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 sovereign—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 no. Lest being therein guilty by my stay, From that, not from my liege, I turn away. Exit
KING EDWARD	Whether is her beauty by her words divine, 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 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 venoml Religion is austere, and beauty gentle— Too strict a guardian for so fair a ward. O, that she were as is the air to me! Why, so she is: for when I would embrace her, This do I (embracing the air), and catch nothing but myself. I must enjoy her, for I cannot beat With reason and reproof fond love away.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Warwick
KING EDWARD	(Aside) Here comes her father. I will work with him To bear my colours in this field of love.
EARL OF WARWICK	How is it that my sovereign is so sad? May I, with pardon, know your highness’ grief? An that my old endeavour will remove it, It shall not cumber long your majesty.
KING EDWARD	A kind and voluntary gift thou proffer’st That I was forward to have begged of thee. But, O, thou world, great nurse of flattery, Why dost thou tip men’s tongues with golden words, And peise their deeds with weight of heavy lead That fair performance cannot follow promise? O, 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!
EARL OF WARWICK	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.
KING EDWARD	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 when thou know’st my griefs condition This rash disgorged vomit of thy word Thou wilt eat up again, and leave me helpless.
EARL OF WARWICK	By heaven, I will not, though your majesty Did bid me run upon your sword and die!
KING EDWARD	Say that my grief is no way medicinable But by the loss and bruising of thine honour?
EARL OF WARWICK	If nothing but that loss may vantage you I would account that loss my vantage too.
KING EDWARD	Think’st that thou canst unswear thy oath again?
EARL OF WARWICK	I cannot, nor I would not if I could.
KING EDWARD	But if thou dost, what shall I say to thee?
EARL OF WARWICK	What may be said to any perjured villain That breaks the sacred warrant of an oath.
KING EDWARD	What wilt thou say to one that breaks an oath?
EARL OF WARWICK	That he hath broke his faith with God and man, And from them both stands excommunicate.
KING EDWARD	What office were it to suggest a man To break a lawful and religious vow?
EARL OF WARWICK	An office for the devil, not for man.
KING EDWARD	That devil’s office must thou do for me, Or break thy oath and 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 any ways 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. Exit
EARL OF WARWICK	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 confound it, But neither will I do. I’ll keep mine oath And to my daughter make a recantation Of all the virtue I have preached to her. I’ll say she must forget her husband, Salisbury— 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 out the sin. I’ll say it is my duty to persuade— But not her honesty to give consent.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury
EARL OF WARWICK	(Aside) See where she comes. Was never father had Against his child an embassage so bad.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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.
EARL OF WARWICK	(aside) How shall I enter in this graceless errand? 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 the 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 distain thee, will advance thee. The poets write that great Achilles’ spear Could heal the wound it made; the moral is, What mighty men misdo 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 hugy vastures 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.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Unnatural besiege! Woe me unhappy, To have escaped the danger of my foes And to be ten times worse envir‘ned by friends! Hath 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 branch be then infected, When poison hath encompassed the root; No marvel though the leprous infant die, When the stern dame envenometh the dug. Why then, give sin a passport to offend, And youth the dangerous rein 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 boist’rous will Will have it so, before I will consent To be an actor in his graceless lust.
EARL OF WARWICK	Why, now thou speak‘st 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, Be it good or bad, that he shall undertake. An unreputed mote 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. Deck an ape In tissue, and the beauty of the robe Adds but the greater scorn unto the beast. A spacious field of reasons could I urge Between his glory, daughter, and thy shame: That poison shows worst in a golden cup; Dark night seems darker by the lightning flash; Lilies 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 convert’st from honour’s golden name To the black faction of bed-blotting shame.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I’ll follow thee, and when my mind turns so, My body sink my soul in endless woe. Exeunt Sc. 3
(didascalia)	Enter at one door the Earl of Derby from France. At another door, enter Lord Audley with a drummer
EARL OF DERBY	Thrice-noble Audley, well encountered here. How is it with our sovereign and his peers?
AUDLEY	‘Tis full a fortnight since I saw his highness, What time he sent me forth to muster men, Which I accordingly have done, and bring them hither, In fair array, before his majesty. What news, my lord of Derby, from the Emperor?
EARL OF DERBY	As good as we desire. The Emperor Hath yielded to his highness friendly aid, And makes our king lieutenant-general In all his lands and large dominions. Then via for the spacious bounds of France!
AUDLEY	What, doth his highness leap to hear these news?
EARL OF DERBY	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, Artois, and all, look underneath the brows.
AUDLEY	Undoubtedly, then, something is amiss.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets within
EARL OF DERBY	The trumpets sound. The King is now abroad.
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Here comes his highness.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the King) Befall my sovereign all my sovereign’s wish.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF DERBY	Ah, that thou wert a witch to make it so.
EARL OF DERBY	The Emperor greeteth you—
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside Would it were the Countess.
EARL OF DERBY	—And hath accorded to your highness’ suit.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF DERBY	Thou liest. She hath not, but I would she had.
AUDLEY	All love and duty to my lord the King.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
AUDLEY	Well, all but one is none. (To Audley) What news with you?
AUDLEY	I have, my liege, levied those horse and foot, According as your charge, and brought them hither.
KING EDWARD	Then let those foot trudge hence upon those horse, According to our discharge, and be gone. Derby, I’ll look upon the Countess’ mind anon.
EARL OF DERBY	The Countess’ mind, my liege?
KING EDWARD	I mean the Emperor. Leave me alone.
AUDLEY	(to Derby) What is his mind?
EARL OF DERBY	Let’s leave him to his humour.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Derby and Audley
KING EDWARD	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.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
KING EDWARD	(To Lodowick) What says the more-than-Cleopatra’s match To Caesar now?
LODOWICK	That yet, my liege, ere night She will resolve your majesty.
(didascalia)	Sound drum within
KING EDWARD	What drum is this that thunders forth this march To start the tender Cupid in my bosom? Poor sheepskin, how it brawls with him that beateth it! Go, break the thund’ring 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, Betwixt a goddess and a mighty king. Go, bid the drummer learn to touch the lute, 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!
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	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 arrows, and my sighs Shall serve me as the vantage of the wind To whirl away my sweet’st artillery. Ah, but alas, she wins the sun of me, For that is she herself, and thence it comes That poets term the wanton warrior blind. But love hath eyes as judgement to his steps, Till too much loved glory dazzles them—
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
KING EDWARD	How now?
LODOWICK	My liege, the drum that struck the lusty march Stands with Prince Edward, your thrice-valiant son.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter Edward, Prince of Wales
(didascalia)	I see the boy. Aside O, how his mother’s face,
KING EDWARD	Modelled in his, corrects my strayed desire, And rates my heart, and chides my thievish eye, Who, being rich enough in seeing her, Yet seek elsewhere; and basest theft is that Which cannot cloak itself in poverty. (To the Prince) Now, boy, what news?
PRINCE OF WALES	I have assembled, my dear lord and father, The choicest buds of all our English blood For our affairs to France, and here we come To take direction from your majesty.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Still do I see in him delineate His mother’s visage. Those his eyes are hers, Who looking wistly on me make me blush. For faults against themselves give evidence; Lust is a fire, and men, like lanterns, show Light lust within themselves, even through themselves. Away, loose silks o’er wavering vanity! Shall the large limit of fair Brittany 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 then Subdue myself and be my enemy’s friend? It must not be. (To the Prince) Come, boy! Forward! Advance! Let’s with our colours sweet the air of France.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
LODOWICK	(to the King) My liege, the Countess, with a smiling cheer, Desires access unto your majesty.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Why there it goes. That very smile of hers Hath ransomed captive France and set the King, The Dauphin and the peers at liberty. (To the Prince) Go, leave me, Ned, and revel with thy friends.
(didascalia)	Exit the Prince of Wales
KING EDWARD	(Aside) Thy mother is but black, and thou, like her, Dost put it in my mind how foul she is. (To Lodowick) Go, fetch the Countess hither in thy hand—
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	And let her chase away these winter clouds, For she gives beauty both to heaven and earth. The sin is more to hack and hew poor men Than to embrace in an unlawful bed The register of all rarieties Since leathern Adam till this youngest hour.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick leading in by the hand the Countess of Salisbury
KING EDWARD	Go, Lod’wick, put thy hand into my purse— Play, spend, give, riot, waste, do what thou wilt So thou wilt hence awhile and leave me here.
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	(To the Countess) Now, my soul’s playfellow, art thou come To speak the more-than-heavenly word of ‘yea’ To my objection in thy beauteous love?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	My father on his blessing hath commanded—
KING EDWARD	That thou shalt yield to me.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Ay, dear my liege, your due.
KING EDWARD	And that, my dearest love, can be no less Than right for right, and render love for love.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Than wrong for wrong, and endless hate for hate. But sith I see your majesty so bent That my unwillingness, my husband’s love, Your high estate, nor no respect respected Can be my help, but that your mightiness Will overbear and awe these dear regards, I bind my discontent to thy content, And what I would not ill compel I will, Provided that yourself remove those lets That stand between your highness’ love and mine.
KING EDWARD	Name them, fair Countess, and by heaven I will.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	It is their lives that stand between our love That I would have choked up, my sovereign.
KING EDWARD	Whose lives, my lady?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	My thrice-loving liege, Your Queen and Salisbury, my wedded husband, Who, living, have that title in our love That we cannot bestow but by their death.
KING EDWARD	Their opposition is beyond our law.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 what you have sworn.
KING EDWARD	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, But I will through a Hellespont of blood To arrive at Sestos, where my Hero lies.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Nay, you’ll do more. You’ll make the river too With their heart bloods that keep our love asunder, Of which my husband and your wife are twain.
KING EDWARD	Thy beauty makes them guilty of their death, And gives in evidence that they shall die— Upon which verdict I, their judge, condemn them.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O, perjured 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.
KING EDWARD	What says my fair love? Is she resolute?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Resolved to be dissolved, and therefore this: Keep but thy word, great King, and I am thine. Stand where thou dost—I’ll part a little from thee— She moves away from the King
(didascalia)	kneeling And see how I will yield me to thy hands.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Here, by my side, doth hang my wedding knives. She reveals two knives Take thou the one, She offers a knife to the King and with it kill thy Queen, And learn by me to find her where she lies; And with this other She turns the other knife on herself 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 nimbler far Than thy prevention can be in my rescue. An 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 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.
KING EDWARD	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 endeavour of so many pens. Arise, and be my fault thy honour’s fame Which after-ages shall enrich thee with. I am awakèd from this idle dream.
(didascalia)	The Countess stands
KING EDWARD	(Calling) Warwick, my son, Derby, Artois and Audley— Brave warriors all, where are you all this while?
(didascalia)	Enter all the peers: the Earl of Warwick, the
KING EDWARD	Prince of Wales, the Earl of Derby, the Comte d’Artois and Lord Audley Warwick, I make thee Warden of the North. Thou, Prince of Wales, and Audley, straight to sea, Scour to Newhaven—some there stay for me. Myself, Artois and Derby will through Flanders To greet our friends there and to crave their aid. This night will scarce suffice me to discover My folly’s siege against a faithful lover, For ere the sun shall gild the eastern sky We’ll wake him with our martial harmony.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING EDWARD	Sc. 4
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France, his two sons (the Dauphin and Prince Philippe) and the Duc de Lorraine
KING OF FRANCE	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 in? How hast thou heard that he provided is Of martial furniture for this exploit?
DUC DE LORRAINE	To lay aside unnecessary soothing, And not to spend the time in circumstance, ’Tis bruited for a certainty, my lord, That he’s exceeding strongly fortified. His subjects flock as willingly to war As if unto a triumph they were led.
DAUPHIN	England was wont to harbour malcontents, Bloodthirsty and seditious Catilines, Spendthrifts, and such as gape for nothing else But change and alteration of the state. And is it possible That they are now so loyal in themselves?
DUC DE LORRAINE	All but the Scot, who solemnly protests, As heretofore I have informed his grace, Never to sheathe his sword or take a truce.
KING OF FRANCE	Ah, that’s the anch’rage of some better hope. But on the other side, to think what friends King Edward hath retained in Netherland, 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 their 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 Bohême, and of Sicily, Are all become confederates with us And, as I think, are marching hither apace—
(didascalia)	Sound drums within
KING OF FRANCE	But soft, I hear the music of their drums, By which I guess that their approach is near.
(didascalia)	Enter at one door the King of Bohemia with Danish soldiers and a drummer. Enter at another door a Polish captain with Muscovite and Polish soldiers and a drummer
KING OF BOHEMIA	King Jean of France, as league and neighbourhood Requires when friends are any way distressed, I come to aid thee with my country’s force.
POLISH CAPTAIN	(to the King of France) 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 harebrained 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, Bayard-like, blind overweening Ned, To reach at our imperial diadem Is either to be swallowed of the waves, Or hacked a-pieces when thou com’st ashore.
(didascalia)	Enter a French Mariner
MARINER	Near to the coast I have descried, my lord, As I was busy 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. Majestical the order of their course, Figuring the hornèd 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 titely carried with a merry gale They plough the ocean hitherward amain.
KING OF FRANCE	Dare he already crop the fleur-de-lis? I hope, the honey being gathered thence, He, with the spider, afterward 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?
MARINER	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 maw.
KING OF FRANCE	(giving money) There’s for thy news. Return unto thy barque, And if thou scape the bloody 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, lest they chance to land. (To the King of Bohemia) First you, my lord, with your Bohemian troops, Shall pitch your battles on the lower hand.
(didascalia)	(To the Dauphin and the Polish captain)
KING OF FRANCE	My eldest son, the Duke of Normandy, Together with this aid of Muscovites, Shall climb the higher ground another way. Here in the middle coast, betwixt you both, Philippe, my youngest boy, and I will lodge. So, lords, be gone, and look unto your charge, You stand for France, an empire fair and large.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the King of France and Prince Philippe
KING OF FRANCE	Now tell me, Philippe, what is thy conceit Touching the challenge that the English make?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	I say, my lord, claim Edward what he can, And bring he ne‘er so plain a pedigree, ’Tis you are in 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 upstarts home again.
(didascalia)	Well said, young Philippe! To an attendant Call for bread and wine
KING OF FRANCE	That we may cheer our stomachs with repast To look our foes more sternly in the face. Bread and wine are brought forth. The battle is heard afar off. The King and Prince Philippe sup Now is begun the heavy day at sea. Fight, Frenchmen, fight! Be like the field of bears When they defend their younglings in their caves. Steer, angry Nemesis, the happy helm That with the sulphur battles of your rage The English fleet may be dispersed and sunk. A cannon shot within
PRINCE PHILIPPE	O, father, how this echoing cannon shot, Like sweet harmony, digests my cates!
KING OF FRANCE	Now, boy, thou hear‘st what thund’ring 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 rancour of their high-swoll’n hearts.
(didascalia)	Retreat sounds within
(didascalia)	Retreat is sounded—one side hath the worse.
KING OF FRANCE	O, if it be the French, sweet fortune turn, And in thy turning, change the froward winds That, with advantage of a favouring sky, Our men may vanquish, and the other fly.
(didascalia)	Enter the French Mariner
KING OF FRANCE	My heart misgives. (To the Mariner) Say, mirror of pale death, To whom belongs the honour of this day? Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serve The sad discourse of this discomfiture.
MARINER	I will, my lord. My gracious sovereign, France hath ta‘en the foil, And boasting Edward triumphs with success. These iron-hearted navies, When last I was reporter 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 Give earnest-penny of a further wreck, Like fiery dragons took their haughty flight; And likewise meeting, from their smoky wombs 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 reft 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 maimed fell, As did her gushing moisture break into The cranny cleftures of the through-shot planks. Here flew a head dissevered 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 ye 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 fear, Of resolution and of cowardice, We lively pictured—how the one for fame, The other by compulsion, laid about. Much did the Nonpareil, that brave ship; So did the Black Snake of Boulogne, 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 Philippe, let us hence depart; This soldier’s words have pierced thy father’s heart.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING OF FRANCE	Sc. 5
(didascalia)	Enter at one door two Frenchmen without baggage. Enter at another door, meeting them, other Frenchmen and a Frenchwoman with two little children, all with baggage
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Well met, my masters. How now? What’s the news, And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuff? What, is it quarter-day, that you remove, And carry bag and baggage too?
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	Quarter-day, ay, and quartering day I fear. Have ye not heard the news that flies abroad?
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	What news?
SECOND FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	How the French navy is destroyed at sea, And that the English army is arrived.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	What then?
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	‘What then,’ quoth you? Why, is’t not time to fly, When envy and destruction is so nigh?
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Content thee, man, they are far enough from hence, And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost, Before they break so far into the realm.
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	Ay, 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 throughly washed when he suspects it not. We that have charge, and such a train as this, Must look in time to look for them and us, Lest, when we would, we cannot be relieved.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Belike you then despair of ill success, And think your country will be subjugate.
SECOND FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	We cannot tell. ’Tis good to fear the worst.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Yet rather fight, than like unnatural sons Forsake your loving parents in distress.
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	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: Edward is son unto our late king’s sister, Where Jean Valois is three degrees removed.
FRENCHWOMAN	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 Whenas a lion roused in the west Shall carry hence the fleur-de-lis of France. These, I can tell ye, and such like surmises, Strike many Frenchmen cold unto the heart.
(didascalia)	Enter a Frenchman in haste
FLEEING FRENCHMAN	Fly, countrymen and citizens of France! Sweet-flow’ring peace, the root of happy life, Is quite abandoned and expulsed the land. Instead of whom, ransack-constraining war Sits like to ravens upon your houses’ tops. Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets And, unrestrained, make havoc as they pass, The form whereof, even now, myself beheld Upon this fair mountain, whence I came. For so far off 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 Y-turnèd but aside, I likewise might discern The poor inhabitants, escaped the flame, Fall 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 son, And in the midst their 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 you yourselves, for now the storm doth rise. Away, away! Methinks I hear their drums! Ah, wretched France, I greatly fear thy fall; Thy glory shaketh like a tottering wall.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
FLEEING FRENCHMAN	Sc. 6
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and the Earl of Derby with soldiers and Gobin de Grace
KING EDWARD	Where is the Frenchman by whose cunning guide We found the shallow of this river Somme, And had direction how to pass the sea?
GOBIN	Here, my good lord.
KING EDWARD	How art thou called? Tell me thy name.
GOBIN	Gobin de Grace, if please your excellence.
KING EDWARD	Then, Gobin, for the service thou hast done We here enlarge and give thee liberty, And for a recompense, beside this good, Thou shalt receive five hundred marks in gold. (To Derby) I know not how we should have missed our son, Whom now in heart I wish I might behold.
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Good news, my lord! The Prince is hard at hand, And with him comes Lord Audley and the rest Whom, since our landing, we could never meet.
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and soldiers
KING EDWARD	Welcome, fair Prince. How hast thou sped, my son, Since thy arrival on the coast of France?
PRINCE OF WALES	Successfully, I thank the gracious heavens. Some of their strongest cities we have won— As Harfleur, Lô, Crotoy and Carentan— 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, For who in scorn refused our proffered peace Endured the penalty of sharp revenge.
KING EDWARD	Ah, France, why shouldst thou be this 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?
PRINCE OF WALES	Yes, my good lord, and not two hours ago, With full a hundred thousand fighting men Upon the one side with 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 Crécy plains, Where, as it seemeth by his good array, He means to bid us battle presently.
KING EDWARD	He shall be welcome. That’s the thing we crave.
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France, the Dauphin, the
KING EDWARD	Duc de Lorraine, the King of Bohemia, young Prince Philippe and soldiers
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, know that Jean, 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, Upbraids 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, Dost altogether live by pilfering. Next, insomuch thou hast infringed thy faith, Broke league 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 labour 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 armed ent‘ring conflict with the armed, Let it be seen, ’mongst other petty thefts, How thou canst win this pillage manfully.
KING EDWARD	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 wot how I regard thy worthless taunts. If thou have uttered them to soil my fame, Or dim the reputation of my birth, Know that thy wolvish barking cannot hurt. If slyly to insinuate with the world, And with a strumpet’s artificial lime 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Look not for cross invectives at our hands, Or railing execrations of despite. Let creeping serpents hid in 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.
KING EDWARD	That needs no further question, and I know His conscience witnesseth it is my right. Therefore, Valois, say: wilt thou yet resign Before the sickle’s thrust into the corn, Or that enkindled fury turn to flame?
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, I know what right thou hast in France, And ere I basely will resign my crown This champaign field shall be a pool of blood, And all our prospect as a slaughterhouse.
PRINCE OF WALES	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, suck’st her blood.
AUDLEY	You peers of France, why do you follow him That is so prodigal to spend your lives?
DAUPHIN	Whom should they follow, aged impotent, But he that is their true-born sovereign?
KING EDWARD	Upbraid’st thou him because within his face Time hath engraved deep characters of age? Know that these grave scholars of experience, Like stiff-grown oaks, will stand immovable When whirlwind quickly turns up younger trees.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the King of France) Was ever any of thy father’s house King but thyself before this present time? (To the French generally) 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.
PRINCE PHILIPPE	(to the King of France) Father, range your battles. Prate no more. These English fain would spend the time in words That, night approaching, they might scape unfought.
KING OF FRANCE	Lords and 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 reigns 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 th‘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 resty-stiff As ’twere a many overridden jades. Then, Frenchmen, scorn that such should be your lords, And rather bind ye them in captive bands.
ALL THE FRENCH	Vive le roil God save King Jean of Francel
KING OF FRANCE	Now, on this plain of Crécy, spread yourselves. And, Edward, when thou dar’st, begin the fight!
(didascalia)	Exit with the French
KING EDWARD	(calling after) We presently will meet thee, Jean of France! (To the English) And, English lords, let us resolve the day Either to clear us of that scandalous crime Or be entombed in our innocence. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, because this battle is the first That ever yet thou fought’st in pitched field, As ancient custom is of martialists To dub thee with the type of chivalry, In solemn manner we will give thee arms. Come, therefore, heralds; orderly bring forth A strong attirement for the Prince my son.
(didascalia)	Enter four heralds bringing in a coat armour, a helmet, a lance and a shield
KING EDWARD	Edward Plantagenet, 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.
(didascalia)	The Prince of Wales is invested in armour
KING EDWARD	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st. (To Derby, Audley and Artois) Now follow, lords, and do him honour too.
EARL OF DERBY	Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, As I do set this helmet on thy head Wherewith the chamber of thy brain is fenced, So may thy temples with Bellona’s hand Be still adorned with laurel victory.
(didascalia)	The helmet is placed on the Prince of Wales
EARL OF DERBY	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.
AUDLEY	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.
(didascalia)	The lance is given to the Prince of Wales
AUDLEY	Fight and be valiant; vanquish where thou com’st.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, Hold, take this target; wear it on thy arm. And may the view thereof, like Perseus’ shield, Astonish and transform thy gazing foes To senseless images of meagre death.
(didascalia)	The shield is given to the Prince of Wales
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.
KING EDWARD	Now wants there naught but knighthood, which deferred We leave till thou hast won it in the field.
PRINCE OF WALES	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 Whenas 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 mine arms, Wither my heart that, like a sapless tree, I may remain the map of infamy.
KING EDWARD	Then thus our steeled battles shall be ranged. (To the Prince of Wales) The leading of the vanguard, 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 manège may be second unto none. (To all) For the main battles I will guide myself, And Derby in the rearward march behind, That orderly disposed and set in ’ray Let us to horse, and God grant us the day!
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING EDWARD	Sc. 7
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter and exit a many Frenchmen flying. Chasing after them, enter and exit Edward Prince of Wales running. Then enter Jean King of France and the Due de Lorraine
KING OF FRANCE	O Lorraine, say: what mean our men to fly? Our number is far greater than our foes.
DUC DE LORRAINE	The garrison of Genoese, 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 are pressed to death Than by the enemy a thousandfold.
KING OF FRANCE	O, hapless fortune! Let us yet assay If we can counsel some of them to stay.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING OF FRANCE	Sc. 8
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and Lord Audley
KING EDWARD	Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase, Withdraw our powers unto this little hill, And here a season let us breathe ourselves.
AUDLEY	I will, my lord. Exit
(didascalia)	Sound retreat within
KING EDWARD	Just-dooming heaven, whose secret providence To our gross judgement 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?
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Rescue, King Edward! Rescue for thy son!
KING EDWARD	Rescue, Artois? What, is he prisoner, Or fell by violence beside his horse?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Neither, my lord, but narrowly beset With turning Frenchmen, whom he did pursue, As ’tis impossible that he should scape Except your highness presently descend.
KING EDWARD	Tut, let him fight. We gave him arms today, And he is labouring for a knighthood, man!
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Derby
EARL OF DERBY	The Prince, my lord, the Prince! O, succour him! He’s close encompassed with a world of odds.
KING EDWARD	Then will he win a world of honour too If he by valour can redeem him thence. If not, what remedy? We have more sons Than one to comfort our declining age.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Audley
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 emmets on a bank, Muster about him whilst he, lion-like, Entangled in the net of their assaults, Franticly rends and bites the woven toil. But all in vain. He cannot free himself.
KING EDWARD	Audley, content. I will not have a man, On pain of death, sent forth to succour him. This is the day ordained by destiny To season his green courage with those grievous thoughts That, if he breaketh out, Nestor’s years on earth Will make him savour still of this exploit.
EARL OF DERBY	Ah, but he shall not live to see those days!
KING EDWARD	Why, then, his epitaph is lasting praise.
AUDLEY	Yet, good my lord, ’tis too much wilfulness To let his blood be spilt, that may be saved.
KING EDWARD	Exclaim no more, for none of you can tell Whether a borrowed aid will serve or no. Perhaps he is already slain or ta’en. 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.
AUDLEY	O cruel father! Farewell Edward, then.
EARL OF DERBY	Farewell, sweet Prince, the hope of chivalry.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	O, would my life might ransom him from death!
(didascalia)	Trumpets sound retreat within
KING EDWARD	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.
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales in triumph, bearing in his hand his shivered lance. The body of the King of Bohemia is borne before, wrapped in the colours of Bohemia. The English run and embrace the Prince
AUDLEY	O, joyful sight! Victorious Edward lives!
EARL OF DERBY	Welcome, brave Prince.
KINC EDWARD	Welcome, Plantagenet. The Prince kneels and kisses his father’s hand
PRINCE OF WALES	First, having done my duty as beseemed, Lords, I regreet you all with hearty thanks. And now behold after my winter’s toil My painful voyage on the boist’rous sea Of war’s devouring gulfs and steely rocks I bring my freight unto the wished port, My summer’s hope, my travail’s sweet reward. (Pointing at Bohemia’s body) 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 Bohême, 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 glaives. Yet marble courage still did underprop, And when my weary arms with often blows, Like the continual labouring woodman’s axe That is enjoined to fell a load of oaks, Began to falter, straight I would recover 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. His sword borne forth by a soldier
KING EDWARD	Ay, well thou hast deserved a knighthood, Ned, He takes the sword And therefore, with thy sword yet reeking warm With blood of those that fought to be thy bane, He knights the Prince Arise Prince Edward, trusty knight-at-arms. This day thou hast confounded me with joy And proved thyself fit heir unto a king.
PRINCE OF WALES	(rising, and then giving the King a paper) Here is a note, my gracious lord, of those That in this conflict of our foes were slain: Eleven princes of esteem, fourscore barons, A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand Common soldiers—and of our men, a thousand.
KING EDWARD	Our God be praised! Now, Jean of France, I hope Thou know’st King Edward for no wantonness, No love-sick cockney, nor his soldiers jades. But which way is the fearful King escaped?
PRINCE OF WALES	Towards Poitiers, noble father, and his sons.
KING EDWARD	Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still. Myself and Derby will to Calais straight, And there begirt that haven town with siege. Now lies it on an upshot: therefore, strike, And wistly follow whiles the game’s on foot. Exeunt Sc. 9
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte de Montfort with a coronet in his hand and with him the Earl of Salisbury
COMTE DE MONTFORT	My lord of Salisbury, since by your aid Mine enemy Sir Charles of Blois is slain, And I again am quietly possessed In Bretagne’s dukedom, know that I resolve, For this kind furtherance of your king and you, To swear allegiance to his majesty— He offers Salisbury the coronet In sign whereof receive this coronet. Bear it unto him, and withal mine oath Never to be but Edward’s faithful friend.
EARL OF SALISBURY	(taking the coronet) I take it, Montfort. Thus I hope ere long The whole dominions of the realm of France Will be surrendered to his conquering hand.
(didascalia)	Exit Montfort
EARL OF SALISBURY	Now, if I knew but safely how to pass, I would at Calais gladly meet his grace, Whither I am by letters certified That he intends to have his host removed. It shall be so. This policy will serve. (Calling) Ho, who’s within? Bring Villiers to me.
(didascalia)	Enter Villiers
EARL OF SALISBURY	Villiers, thou know’st 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, an if thou wilt thyself. And this it is: procure me but a passport Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, 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 sayst thou? Wilt thou undertake to do it?
VILLIERS	I will, my lord. But I must speak with him.
EARL OF SALISBURY	Why, so thou shalt! Take horse and post from hence— Only before thou go’st, 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.
VILLIERS	To that condition I agree, my lord, And will unfeignedly perform the same.
(didascalia)	Exit
EARL	or SALISBURY Farewell, Villiers! Thus once I mean to try a Frenchman’s faith.
(didascalia)	Exit
EARL	Sc. 10
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and the Earl of Derby with soldiers
KING EDWARD	Since they refuse our proffered league, my lord, And will not ope their gates and let us in, We will entrench ourselves on every side, That neither victuals nor supply of men May come to succour this accursed town. Famine shall combat where our swords are stopped.
(didascalia)	Enter six poor Frenchmen
EARL OF DERBY	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 are these poor, ragged slaves, my lord?
KING EDWARD	Ask what they are. It seems they come from Calais.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the poor Frenchmen) You wretched patterns of despair and woe— What are you? Living men, or gliding ghosts Crept from your graves to walk upon the earth?
POOR MAN	No ghosts, 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 hath thrust us forth That so expense of victuals may be saved.
KING EDWARD	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.
POOR MAN	An if your grace no otherwise vouchsafe, As welcome death is unto us as life.
KING EDWARD	Poor seely men, much wronged, and more distressed! Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieved. Command that victuals be appointed them, And give to every one five crowns apiece.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the Earl of Derby and the six poor Frenchmen
KING EDWARD	The lion scorns to touch the yielding prey, And Edward’s sword must fresh itself in such As wilful stubbornness hath made perverse.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Percy
KING EDWARD	Lord Percy, welcome. What’s the news in England?
PERCY	The Queen, my lord, commends her to your grace, And from her highness and the lord vicegerent I bring this happy tidings of success: David of Scotland, lately up in arms, Thinking belike he soonest should prevail— Your highness being absent from the realm— Is by the fruitful service of your peers And painful travail of the Queen herself— That, big with child, was every day in arms— Vanquished, subdued and taken prisoner.
KING EDWARD	Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart! What was he took him prisoner in the field?
PERCY	A squire, my lord. John Copland is his name, Who, since entreated by her majesty, Denies to make surrender of his prize To any but unto your grace alone— Whereat the Queen is grievously displeased.
KING EDWARD	Well then, we’ll have a pursuivant dispatched To summon Copland hither out of hand, And with him he shall bring his prisoner-king.
PERCY	The Queen, my lord, herself by this at sea, And purposeth, as soon as wind will serve, To land at Calais, and to visit you.
KING EDWARD	She shall be welcome, and to wait her coming I’ll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore.
(didascalia)	Enter a Captain of Calais
CAPTAIN OF CALAIS	The burgesses of Calais, 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.
KING EDWARD	They will so? Then, belike, 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the Captain
CAPTAIN OF CALAIS	Why, this it is to trust a broken staff. Had we not been persuaded Jean, our king, Would, with his army, have relieved the town, We had not stood upon defiance so. But now ’tis past that no man can recall, 84 And better some do go to wreck than all.
(didascalia)	Exit
CAPTAIN OF CALAIS	Sc. 11
(didascalia)	Enter the Dauphin and Villiers with a paper
DAUPHIN	I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldst importune me For one that is our deadly enemy.
VILLIERS	Not for his sake, my gracious lord, so much Am I become an earnest advocate As that, thereby, my ransom will be quit.
DAUPHIN	Thy ransom, man? Why need’st thou talk of that? Art thou not free? And are not all occasions That happen for advantage of our foes To be accepted of and stood upon?
VILLIERS	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 pass these intricate objections, Will’t please your highness to subscribe or no?
DAUPHIN	Villiers, I will not nor I cannot do it. Salisbury shall not have his will so much To claim a passport how it pleaseth him.
VILLIERS	Why then, I know the extremity, my lord. I must return to prison, whence I came.
DAUPHIN	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 gulf, Will put himself in peril there again?
VILLIERS	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.
DAUPHIN	Thine oath? Why, that doth bind thee to abide. Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy Prince?
VILLIERS	In all things 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.
DAUPHIN	Why, is it lawful for a man to kill, And not to break a promise with his foe?
VILLIERS	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 we do swear, and when we once have sworn, Not to infringe it, though we die therefor. Therefore, my lord, as willing I return As if I were to fly to paradise. He begins to leave
DAUPHIN	Stay, my Villiers. Thine honourable mind Deserves to be eternally admired. Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferred. Give me the paper. I’ll subscribe to it. Villiers gives him the paper, which the Dauphin signs And wheretofore I loved thee as Villiers, Hereafter I’ll embrace thee as myself. Stay, and be still in favour with thy lord.
VILLIERS	(receiving back the paper) I humbly thank your grace. I must dispatch And send this passport first unto the Earl, And then I will attend your highness’ pleasure.
DAUPHIN	Do so, Villiers. And Charles, when he hath need, Be such his soldiers, howsoever he speed.
(didascalia)	Exit Villiers
(didascalia)	Enter ean King of France
KING OF FRANCE	Come, Charles, and arm thee. Edward is entrapped. The Prince of Wales is fall’n into our hands, And we have compassed him. He cannot scape.
DAUPHIN	But will your highness fight today?
KING OF FRANCE	What else, my son? He’s scarce eight thousand strong, And we are threescore thousand at the least.
DAUPHIN	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 Crécy’s field By one that is an aged hermit there: ‘When feathered fowl shall make thine army tremble, And flintstones 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.’
KING OF 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 fowl 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 scourge their country as they have done ours, By this revenge that loss will seem the less. But all are frivolous fancies, toys and dreams. Once we are sure we have ensnared the son, Catch we the father after how we can.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING OF FRANCE	Sc. 12
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and others
PRINCE OF WALES	Audley, 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 Crécy field 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.
AUDLEY	This sudden, mighty and expedient head That they have made, fair Prince, is wonderful. Before us, in the valley, lies the King, Vantaged 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 which the banners, bannerets And new-replenished pennants cuff the air And beat the winds that, for their gaudiness, Struggles to kiss them. On our left hand lies Philippe, the younger issue of the King, Coating the other hill in such array That all his gilded upright pikes do seem Straight trees of gold; the pendant ensigns, leaves, And their device of antique heraldry, Quartered in colours seeming sundry fruits, Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides. Behind us too the hill doth rear 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 Châtillion. Then thus it stands: the valley for our flight The King binds in, the hills on either hand Are proudly royalizèd by his sons, And on the hill behind stands certain death In pay and service with Châtillion.
PRINCE OF WALES	Death’s name is much more mighty than his deeds. Thy parcelling this power hath made it more Than all the world! Call it but a power. As many sands as these, my hands, can hold Are but my handful of so many sands, Eas‘ly ta’en 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 in deed 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-instanced strength, Why, all this many, Audley, 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 know’st, we call it but a rain. There is but one France, and 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.
(didascalia)	Enter
PRINCE OF WALES	a Herald from Jean King of France What tidings, messenger? Be plain and brief.
HERALD	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 Than e’er was buried in our British earth. What is thy answer to his proffered mercy?
PRINCE OF WALES	This heaven that covers France contains the mercy That draws from me submissive orisons. That such base breath should vanish from my lips To urge the plea of mercy to a man, The Lord forbid. Return and tell thy King: My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg My mercy on his coward burgonet. 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.
HERALD	I go.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald from the Dauphin (Prince Charles of Normandy)
PRINCE OF WALES	What news with thee?
SECOND HERALD	The Duke of Normandy, my lord and master, Pitying thy youth is so engirt with peril, By me hath sent a nimble-jointed jennet, As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride, And therewithal he counsels thee to fly, Else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die.
PRINCE OF WALES	Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him! Tell him I cannot sit a coward’s horse. Bid him today 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 cap’ring boy, and get thee gone.
SECOND HERALD	I go.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald from Prince Philippe, carrying a book
THIRD HERALD	Edward of Wales, Philippe, 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 He offers the book to the Prince Commends this book full fairly 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Herald of Philippe, greet thy lord from me. All good that he can send I can receive. But think’st thou not the unadvised boy Hath wronged himself in thus far tendering me? Haply he cannot pray without the book; I think him no divine extemporal. Then render back this commonplace of prayer To do himself good in adversity. Besides, he knows not my sins’ quality, And therefore knows no prayers for my avail. Ere night 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.
THIRD HERALD	I go. Exit
PRINCE OF WALES	How confident their strength and number makes them! Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of thine, And let those milk-white messengers of time Show thy time’s learning in this dangerous time. Thyself art bruised and bit with many broils, And stratagems fore-past with iron pens Are texted in thine honourable face. Thou art a married man in this distress, But danger woos me as a blushing maid. Teach me an answer to this perilous time.
AUDLEY	To die is all as common as to live. The one enchased 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 the 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 follow it, 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	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 disgraced Th‘imperial victory of murd’ring 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 halfpenny 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 still.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
PRINCE OF WALES	Sc. 13
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France and the Dauphin
KING OF FRANCE	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 wand’ring 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?
DAUPHIN	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 speeches sleep through all the waking regions.
KING OF FRANCE	But now the pompous sun 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!
(didascalia)	Enter Prince Philippe
DAUPHIN	Here comes my brother Philippe—
KING OF FRANCE	All dismayed. (To Philippe) What fearful words are those thy looks presage?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	A flight, a flight—
KING OF FRANCE	Coward, what flight? Thou liest. There needs no flight.
PRINCE PHILIPPE	A flight—
KING OF FRANCE	Awake thy craven powers, and tell on The substance of that very fear in deed Which is so ghastly printed in thy face. What is the matter?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	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 embattelèd. With their approach there came 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.
(didascalia)	KING OF FRANCE aside
PRINCE PHILIPPE	Ay, now I call to mind the prophecy— But I must give no utterance to a fear. (To Philippe) Return, and hearten up these yielding souls! Tell them the ravens, seeing them in arms— So many fair 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 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 Prince Philippe Another noise. Enter the Earl of Salisbury brought in by a French Captain
FRENCH CAPTAIN	Behold, my liege, this knight and forty more, Of whom the better part are slain and fled, With all endeavour sought to break our ranks And make their way to the encompassed Prince. Dispose of him as please your majesty.
KING OF FRANCE	Go, and the next bough, soldier, that thou seest, Disgrace it with his body presently, Fore I do hold a tree in France too good To be the gallows of an English thief.
EARL OF SALISBURY	(to the Dauphin) My lord of Normandy, I have your pass And warrant for my safety through this land.
DAUPHIN	Villiers procured it for thee, did he not?
EARL OF SALISBURY	He did.
DAUPHIN	And it is current. Thou shalt freely pass.
KING OF FRANCE	Ay, freely to the gallows to be hanged Without denial or impediment! Away with him.
DAUPHIN	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, Charàctered 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 licence lies in me, And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.
DAUPHIN	What, am I not a soldier in my word? Then arms, adieu, and let them fight that list. Shall I not give my girdle from my waist But with a 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.
KING OF FRANCE	Dwell’st thou on precedents? Then be it so. (To Salisbury) Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.
EARL OF SALISBURY	An earl in England, though a prisoner here. And those that know me, call me Salisbury.
KING OF FRANCE	Then, Salisbury, say whither thou art bound.
EARL OF SALISBURY	To Calais, where my liege, King Edward, is.
KING OF FRANCE	To Calais, Salisbury? Then to Calais pack, And bid thy King prepare a noble grave To put his princely son, black Edward, in. And as thou travell’st 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 vale beneath— Humble of late, but now made proud with arms— And thence behold the wretched Prince of Wales Hooped with a band of iron round about. After which sight, to Calais spur amain, And say the Prince was smothered and not slain. And tell thy King, this is not all his ill, For I will greet him ere he thinks I will. Away, be gone. The smoke but of our shot Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING OF FRANCE	Sc. 14
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter Edward Prince of Wales and the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	How fares your grace? Are you not shot, my lord?
PRINCE OF WALES	No, dear Artois, but choked with dust and smoke, And stepped aside for breath and fresher air.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Breathe then, and to it again!The amazed French Are quite distract with gazing on the crows, And, were our quivers full of shafts again, Your grace should see a glorious day of this. O, for more arrows, Lord—that’s our one want!
PRINCE OF WALES	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 outscold our adversaries? Up, up, Artois! The ground itself is armed With fire-containing flint. Command our bows To hurl away their parti-coloured yew, And to it with stones! Away, Artois, away! My soul doth prophesy we win the day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
PRINCE OF WALES	Sc. 15
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter Jean King of France
KING OF FRANCE	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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Dauphin
DAUPHIN	Fly, father, fly! The French do kill the French: Some that would stand let drive at some that fly; Our drums strike nothing but discouragement; Our trumpets sound dishonour and retire; The spirit of fear, that feareth naught but death, Cowardly works confusion on itself.
(didascalia)	Enter Prince Philippe
PRINCE PHILIPPE	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 naked starvelings with small flints Hath driven back a puissant host of men Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements.
KING OF FRANCE	Mort dieu! They quoit at us and kill us up! No less than forty thousand wicked elders Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death.
DAUPHIN	O, that I were some other countryman! This day hath set derision on the French, And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.
KING OF FRANCE	What, is there no hope left?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	No hope but death, to bury up our shame.
KING OF FRANCE	Make up once more with me: the twenti’th part Of those that live are men enough to quail The feeble handful on the adverse part.
DAUPHIN	Then charge again! If heaven be not opposed We cannot lose the day.
KING	or FRANCE On, on, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt
KING	Sc. 16 Enter Lord Audley wounded and rescued by two Squires
SQUIRE	How fares my lord?
AUDLEY	Even as a man may do That dines at such a bloody feast as this.
SQUIRE	I hope, my lord, that is no mortal scar.
AUDLEY	No matter if 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 Sc. 17
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales with his prisoners: jean King of France and the Dauphin, and all with ensigns spread. Retreat sounded
PRINCE OF WALES	(to the King and then the Dauphin) Now, Jean in France, and lately Jean of France, Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours— And you, high-vaunting Charles of Normandy, That once today sent me a horse to fly, Are now the subjects of my clemency. 5 Fie, 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?
KING OF FRANCE	Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquered us.
PRINCE OF WALES	An argument that heaven aids the right.
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois with Prince Philippe
PRINCE OF WALES	See, see—Artois doth bring with him along The late good counsel-giver to my soul. Welcome, Artois, and welcome Philippe too! Who now, of you or I, have need to pray? Now is the proverb verified in you— ‘Too bright a morning breeds a louring day’.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets. Enter Lord Audley supported by the two Squires
PRINCE OF WALES	But say, what grim discouragement comes here? Alas, what thousand armèd men of France Have writ that note of death in Audley’s face? (To Audley) Speak thou, that woo‘st death with thy careless smile, And look’st so merrily upon thy grave As if thou wert enamoured on thine end. What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face And lopped a true friend from my loving soul?
AUDLEY	O, Prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech to me Is as a mournful knell to one dead sick.
PRINCE OF WALES	(embracing him) Dear Audley, if my tongue ring 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 honour may dispense for thee with death, The never-dying honour of this day Share wholly, Audley, to thyself, and live.
AUDLEY	Victorious Prince—that thou art so, behold A Caesar’s fame in kings’ captivity— If I could hold dim 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Cheerly, bold man. Thy soul is all too proud To yield her city for one little breach.
(didascalia)
PRINCE OF WALES	Should be divorced from her earthly spouse By the soft temper of a Frenchman’s sword. Lo, to repair thy life I give to thee Three thousand marks a year in English land.
AUDLEY	I take thy gift to pay the debts I owe. These two poor squires 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 lov’st me, Prince, lay thy consent To this bequeath in my last testament.
PRINCE OF WALES	Renowned Audley, live, and have from me This gift twice doubled to these squires and thee. But live or die, what thou hast given away To these and theirs shall lasting freedom stay. (To the Squires) Come, gentlemen, I’ll see my friend bestowed
(didascalia)	Within an easy litter. Then we’ll march
PRINCE OF WALES	Proudly toward Calais with triumphant pace, Unto my royal father, and there bring The tribute of my wars: fair France his king.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
PRINCE OF WALES	Sc. 18
(didascalia)	Enter fat one door, as Supplicants, six citizens of Calais in their shirts, barefoot, with halters about their necks. Enter fat another door King Edward speaking with Queen Philippa. Enter with them the Earl of Derby and soldiers
KING EDWARD	No more, Queen Philip—pacify yourself. Copland, 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.
(didascalia)	ALL SIX SUPPLICANTS coming forward
KING EDWARD	Mercy, King Edward! Mercy, gracious lord!
KING EDWARD	Contemptuous villains, call ye now for truce? Mine ears are stopped against your bootless cries.
(didascalia)	Sound drums alarum, draw threat’ning swords!
FIRST SUPPLICANT	Ah, noble prince, take pity on this town, And hear us, mighty King. We claim the promise that your highness 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.
KING EDWARD	My promise—well, I do confess as much. But I 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 would execute, Albeit severity lay dead in us. No, no—ye cannot overreach us thus.
SECOND SUPPLICANT	The sun, dread lord, that in the western fall Beholds us now low-brought through misery, Did, in the orient purple of the morn, Salute our coming forth when we were known
(didascalia)
SECOND SUPPLICANT	Or may our portion be with damned fiends.
KING EDWARD	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. (To the soldiers) Go, soldiers, see it done.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	A Ah, be more mild unto these yielding men! It is a glorious thing to stablish 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.
KING EDWARD	Although experience teach us this is true— That peaceful quietness brings most delight When most of all abuses are controlled— Yet, insomuch 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.
SECOND SUPPLICANT	Long live your highness! Happy be your reign!
KING EDWARD	(to the six Supplicants) Go, get you hencel Return unto the town. And if this kindness hath deserved your love, Learn then to reverence Edward as your king.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the six Supplicants
KING EDWARD	Now might we hear of our affairs abroad, We would till gloomy winter were o’erspent Dispose our men in garrison a while.
(didascalia)	Enter Copland, with David King of Scotland as his prisoner
KING EDWARD	But who comes here?
EARL OF DERBY	Copland, my lord, and David King of Scots.
KING EDWARD	Is this the proud, presumptuous squire of the north That would not yield his prisoner to my Queen?
COPLAND	I am, my liege, a northern squire indeed, But neither proud nor insolent, I trust.
KING EDWARD	What moved thee, then, to be so obstinate To contradict our royal Queen’s desire?
COPLAND	No wilful disobedience, mighty lord, But my desert, and public law at arms. I took the King, myself, in single fight, And, like a soldier, would be loath to lose The least pre-eminence that I had won. And Copland, straight upon your highness’ charge, Is come to France, and with a lowly mind Doth vail the bonnet of his victory. Receive, dread lord, the custom of my freight, The wealthy tribute of my labouring hands, Which should long since have been surrendered up, Had but your gracious self been there in place.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	But, Copland, thou didst scorn the King’s command, Neglecting our commission in his name.
COPLAND	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.
KING EDWARD	(to the Queen) 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 fame? All rivers have recourse unto the sea, And Copland’s faith, relation to his king. (To Copland) Kneel therefore down. He knights him Now rise, King Edward’s knight. And to maintain thy state, I freely give 96 Five hundred marks a year to thee and thine.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury, with a coronet
KING EDWARD	Welcome, Lord Salisbury! What news from Bretagne?
EARL OF SALISBURY	This, mighty King: the country we have won, And Charles de Montfort, regent of that place, Presents your highness with this coronet, Protesting true allegiance to your grace.
KING EDWARD	We thank thee for thy service, valiant Earl. Challenge our favour, for we owe it thee.
EARL OF SALISBURY	But now, my lord, as this is joyful news, So must my voice be tragical again, And I must sing of doleful accidents.
KING EDWARD	What, have our men the overthrow at Poitiers, Or is our son beset with too much odds?
EARL OF SALISBURY	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 eager of revenge, Commanded straight to cut off all our heads. And surely we had died but that the Duke, More full of honour 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 thread of life And, sooner than he 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. Wand‘ring, 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, my lord, O 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 battle of ten thousand horse, There twice as many pikes in quadrant wise, Here crossbows and there deadly wounding darts, And in the midst, like to a slender point
(didascalia)	Within the compass of the horizon,
EARL OF SALISBURY	As ’twere a rising bubble in the sea, A hazel 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 knell begins. Off go the cannons that, with trembling noise, Did shake the very mountain where they stood. Then sound the trumpets’ clangour 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 wat’ry eyes with sighs As black as powder fuming into smoke. And thus, I fear, unhappy have I told The most untimely tale of Edward’s fall.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	Ah, 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.
KING EDWARD	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 their bones; The mould 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!
(didascalia)	Flourish within. Enter a Herald
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, at his stirrup, comes afoot King Jean of France together with his son In captive bonds, whose diadem he brings To crown thee with, and to proclaim thee king.
KING EDWARD	Away with mourning, Philip! Wipe thine eyes!
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets! Welcome in Plantagenet!
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales with Jean King of France and Prince Philippe as his prisoners. Also enter Lord Audley in a litter borne by the two Squires and the Comte d’Artois
KING EDWARD	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.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	Be this a token to express my joy— She kisses the Prince of Wales For inward passions will not let me speak.
PRINCE OF WALES	(to King Edward) My gracious father, here receive thy gift, This wreath of conquest and reward of war, Got with as mickle peril of our lives As e’er 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.
KING EDWARD	(to the King of France) So, Jean of France, I see you keep your word! You promised to be sooner with ourself 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?
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, recount not things irrevocable. Tell me what ransom thou requir’st to have.
KING EDWARD	Thy ransom, Jean, hereafter shall be known. But first to England thou must cross the seas To see what entertainment it affords. Howe’er it falls, it cannot be so bad As ours hath been since we arrived in France.
KING OF FRANCE	Accursed man! Of this I was foretold, But did misconstrue what the prophet told.
PRINCE OF WALES	(to King Edward) 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, Bred and brought up within that little isle, May still be famous for like victories. And for my part, the bloody scars I bear, The weary nights that I have watched in field, 5 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 thy presence tremble and retire.
KING EDWARD	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 haven town, God willing, then for England we’ll be shipped, Where in a happy hour I trust we shall Arrive: three kings, two princes, and a queen.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
ADDITIONAL PASSAGE	In Q, the following lines, which are probably a misplaced addition, occur at the end of 8.108, between ‘foot’ and ‘Exeunt’, and fall between what may have been stints by two different authors. They may have been intended to go after either 8.93 or 8.98.
KING EDWARD	What picture’s this?
PRINCE OF WALES	A pelican, my lord, Wounding her bosom with her crooked beak That so her nest of young ones might be fed With drops of blood that issue from her heart. The motto, ‘Sic et vos’—‘and so should you’.
ON	the night of 28 December 1594, the Christmas revels at Gray’s Inn—one of London’s law schools—became so uproarious that one performance planned for the occasion had to be abandoned. Eventually ‘it was thought good not to offer anything of account saving dancing and revelling with gentlewomen; and after such sports a comedy of errors (like to Plautus his Menaechmus) was played by the players. So that night was begun, and continued to the end, in nothing but confusion and errors; whereupon it was ever afterwards called “The Night of Errors”.’ This sounds like a reference to Shakespeare’s play, first printed in the 1623 Folio, which is certainly based in large part on the Roman dramatist Plautus’ comedy Menaechmi. As Shakespeare’s shortest play, it would have been especially suited to late-night performance. Exceptional in having no cues for music, it may have been written for the occasion, or at least have been new in 1594. The comedy in Menaechmi derives from the embarrassment experienced by a man in search of his long-lost twin brother when various people intimately acquainted with that twin—including his wife, his mistress, and his father—mistake the one for the other. Shakespeare greatly increases the possibilities of comic confusion by giving the brothers (both called Antipholus) servants (both called Dromio) who themselves are long-separated twins. An added episode in which Antipholus of Ephesus’ wife, Adriana, bars him from his own house in which she is entertaining his brother is based on another play by Plautus, Amphitruo. Shakespeare sets the comic action within a more serious framework, opening with a scene in which the twin masters’ old father, Egeon, who has arrived at Ephesus in search of them, is shown under imminent sentence of death unless he finds someone to redeem him. This strand of the plot, as well as the surprising revelation that brings about the resolution of the action, is based on the story of Apollonius of Tyre which Shakespeare was to use again, many years later, in Pericles. The Comedy of Errors is a kind of diploma piece, as if Shakespeare were displaying his ability to outshine both his classical progenitors and their English imitators. Along with The Tempest, it is his most classically constructed play: all the action takes place within a few hours and in a single place. Moreover, it seems to make use of the conventionalized arcade setting of academic drama, with three ‘houses’—the Phoenix, the Porcupine, and the Priory—represented by doors and signs on stage. The working out of the complexities inherent in the basic situation represents a considerable intellectual feat. But the comedy is humanized by the interweaving of romantic elements, such as Egeon’s initial plight, the love between the visiting Antipholus and his twin brother’s wife’s sister, Luciana, and the entirely serious portrayal of Egeon’s suffering when his own son fails to recognize him at the moment of his greatest need. From time to time the comic tension is relaxed by the presence of discursive set pieces, none more memorable than Dromio of Syracuse’s description of Nell, the kitchen wench who is ‘spherical, like a globe’.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY Solinus, DUKE of Ephesus EGEON, a merchant of Syracuse, father of the Antipholus twins ADRIANA, wife of Antipholus of Ephesus LUCIANA, her sister NELL, Adriana’s kitchen-maid ANGELO, a goldsmith BALTHASAR, a merchant A COURTESAN Doctor PINCH, a schoolmaster and exorcist
MERCHANT OF	EPHESUS, a friend of Antipholus of Syracuse
SECOND	MERCHANT, Angelo’s creditor EMILIA, an abbess at Ephesus Jailer, messenger, headsman, officers, and other attendants

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward, the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Warwick, Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and the Comte d’Artois
KING EDWARD	Robert of Artois, banished though thou be From France thy native country, yet with us Thou shalt retain as great a seigniory: For we create thee Earl of Richmond here. And now go forwards with our pedigree: Who next succeeded King Philippe of Beau?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Three sons of his, which all successively Did sit upon their father’s regal throne, Yet died and left no issue of their loins.
KING EDWARD	But was my mother sister unto those?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	She was, my lord, and only Isabel Was all the daughters that this Philippe 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 is inheritor to France. But note the rancour of rebellious minds: When thus the lineage of Beau was out The French obscured your mother’s privilege And, though she were the next of blood, proclaimed Jean 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 governor 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.
KING EDWARD	But they shall find that forged ground of theirs To be but dusty heaps of brittle sand.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Perhaps it will 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 lineal watchman of our peace, And Jean of Valois indirectly climbs. What then should subjects but embrace their king? Ah, wherein may our duty more be seen Than striving to rebate a tyrant’s pride And place thee, the true shepherd of our commonwealth?
KING EDWARD	This counsel, 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.
(didascalia)	Sound a horn
KING EDWARD	A messenger. Lord Audley, know from whence.
(didascalia)	Enter a messenger, the Duc de Lorraine
AUDLEY	The Duke of Lorraine, having crossed the seas, Entreats he may have conference with your highness.
KING EDWARD	Admit him, lords, that we may hear the news. (To Lorraine) Say, Duke of Lorraine, wherefore art thou come? 55
DUC DE LORRAINE	The most renowned prince, King Jean of France, Doth greet thee, Edward, and by me commands That, forsomuch 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 mayst be sworn true liegeman to our king; Or else thy title in that province dies And he himself will repossess the place.
KING EDWARD	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 servilely disposed to bend, But like a conqueror to make him bow. His lame unpolished shifts are come to light, And truth hath pulled the vizard 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 refuse to yield I’ll take away those borrowed plumes of his, And send him naked to the wilderness.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy lords, I do pronounce defiance to thy face.
PRINCE OF WALES	Defiance, Frenchman? 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 scurrilous, 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.
EARL OF WARWICK	(to Lorraine) Bid him leave off the lion’s case he wears Lest, meeting with the lion in the field, He chance to tear him piecemeal for his pride.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	(to Lorraine) The soundest counsel I can give his grace Is to surrender ere he be constrained. A voluntary mischief hath less scorn Than when reproach with violence is borne.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Regenerate traitor, viper to the place Where thou wast fostered in thine infancy! Bear’st thou a part in this conspiracy?
(didascalia)	Lorraine draws his sword
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD drawing his sword
DUC DE LORRAINE	Lorraine, behold the sharpness of this steel: Fervent desire that sits against my heart Is far more thorny-pricking than this blade That, with the nightingale, I shall be scarred As oft as I dispose myself to rest Until my colours be displayed in France. This is thy final answer. So be gone.
DUC DE LORRAINE	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. Exit
KING EDWARD	Now, lords, our fleeting barque is under sail, Our gage is thrown, and war is soon begun, But not so quickly brought unto an end.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William Montague
KING EDWARD	But wherefore comes Sir William Montague? (To Montague) How stands the league between the Scot and us?
MONTAGUE	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. Berwick is won, Newcastle spoiled and lost, And now the tyrant hath begirt with siege The Castle of Roxburgh, where, enclosed, The Countess Salisbury is like to perish.
KING EDWARD	(to Warwick) That is thy daughter, Warwick, is it not? Whose husband hath in Bretagne served so long About the planting of Lord Montfort there?
EARL OF WARWICK	It is, my lord.
KING EDWARD	Ignoble David, hast thou none to grieve But seely ladies with thy threat’ning arms? But I will make you shrink your snaily horns. (To Audley) First, therefore, Audley, this shall be thy charge: Go levy footmen for our wars in France. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, take muster of our men-at-arms. In every shire elect a several band. Let them be soldiers of a lusty spirit, Such as dread nothing but dishonour’s blot. Be wary therefore, since we do commence A famous war, and with so mighty a nation. (To Derby) Derby, be thou ambassador for us Unto our father-in-law, the Earl of Hainault. Make him acquainted with our enterprise, And likewise will him, with our own allies That are in Flanders, to solicit, too, The Emperor of Almagne 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 wars On every side. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, thou must begin Now to forget thy study and thy books, And ure thy shoulders to an armour’s weight.
PRINCE OF WALES	As cheerful sounding to my youthful spleen This tumult is of war’s increasing broils, As at the coronation of a king The joyful clamours of the people are When ‘Ave Caesar’ they pronounce aloud.
(didascalia)	Within this school of honour I shall learn
PRINCE OF WALES	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 naught to use delay. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Edoardo, il conte di Derby, il conte di Warwick, Edoardo principe di Galles, lord Audley e il conte d’Artois
RE EDOARDO	Roberto d’Artois, benché tu sia bandito dalla Francia, tua patria natale, pure presso di noi conserverai signoria non men grande: ché qui ti creiamo conte di Richmond. E ora prosegui con la nostra discendenza: chi successe poi a re Filippo il Bello?
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Tre suoi figli, che l’uno appresso all’altro sedettero sul trono regale del padre, eppur morirono senza lasciar prole dei loro lombi.
RE EDOARDO	Ma mia madre era sorella di costoro?
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Lo era, mio signore, e la sola Isabella fu tutta la prole femminile che questo Filippo ebbe, e che poi vostro padre prese in moglie. E dal fragrante giardino del suo grembo la vostra graziosa persona, fiore della speranza d’Europa, discende erede della Francia. Ma osservate il rancore delle menti ribelli: quando così si estinse il lignaggio del Bello i Francesi oscurarono il diritto di vostra madre e, benché ella fosse la più prossima di sangue, proclamarono Giovanni della casa di Valois loro re. La ragione era, dicono, che il reame di Francia, colmo di principi d’alto lignaggio, non deve ammettere un reggitore al governo se non sia disceso per linea maschile. E questo è il fondamento particolare del loro disprezzo con cui studiano d’escludere vostra grazia.
RE EDOARDO	Ma troveranno che quel loro fondamento contraffatto altro non è che polverosi mucchi di fragile sabbia.
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Forse sarà stimata cosa odiosa ch’io, francese, riveli questo. Ma chiamo il cielo a testimone dei miei voti: non è odio né alcun torto privato, ma amore verso il mio paese e verso il diritto che provoca la mia lingua a sì larga denuncia. Voi siete il legittimo custode della nostra pace, e Giovanni di Valois sale per vie oblique. Che devono dunque i sudditi, se non abbracciare il loro re? Ah, in che altro può meglio vedersi il nostro dovere che nello sforzarci d’abbattere l’orgoglio d’un tiranno e collocar te, vero pastore della nostra repubblica?
RE EDOARDO	Questo consiglio, Artois, come feconde piogge, ha aggiunto crescita alla mia dignità, e per l’igneo vigore delle tue parole ardente coraggio è generato nel mio petto, che finora giaceva sepolto nell’ignoranza ma ora s’innalza con auree ali di fama e proverà la discendenza della bella Isabella, atta ad aggiogare con l’acciaio quei colli ostinati che sprezzano la mia sovranità in Francia.
(didascalia)	Suona un corno
RE EDOARDO	Un messaggero. Lord Audley, sappi donde viene.
(didascalia)	Entra un messaggero, il duca di Lorena
AUDLEY	Il duca di Lorena, varcati i mari, chiede d’aver colloquio con vostra altezza.
RE EDOARDO	Ammettetelo, signori, ché possiamo udir le nuove. (A Lorena) Di’, duca di Lorena, perché sei venuto? 55
DUCA DI LORENA	Il rinomatissimo principe, re Giovanni di Francia, ti saluta, Edoardo, e per mio mezzo comanda che, poiché per suo liberale dono il ducato di Guienna t’è concesso in feudo, tu gliene renda umile omaggio. E a tal fine, qui io t’intimo di recarti in Francia entro quaranta giorni, ché là, secondo l’usanza, tu possa esser giurato fedel vassallo del nostro re; o altrimenti il tuo titolo in quella provincia muore ed egli stesso riprenderà possesso del luogo.
RE EDOARDO	Vedete come l’occasione mi ride in faccia! Appena disposto a prepararmi per la Francia subito son invitato—anzi, con minacce, sotto pena, ingiunto di venire! Sarebbe parte puerile dirgli di no. Lorena, riporta questa risposta al tuo signore: intendo visitarlo come egli richiede. Ma come? Non servilmente disposto a piegarmi, bensì come conquistatore, per far piegare lui. I suoi zoppi e rozzi sotterfugi son venuti in luce, e la verità gli ha strappato la maschera dal volto che poneva un lustro sulla sua arroganza. Osa egli comandare fedeltà a me? Digli che la corona ch’egli usurpa è mia, e dove posa il piede dovrebbe inginocchiarsi. Non è un piccolo ducato ciò che rivendico, ma tutti interi i domini del reame; e se, con rancore, rifiuta di cederli, gli toglierò quelle sue penne prese a prestito e lo manderò nudo nel deserto.
DUCA DI LORENA	Allora, Edoardo, qui, a dispetto di tutti i tuoi signori, io pronuncio sfida al tuo volto.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Sfida, francese? Te la rimandiamo indietro fin nel fondo della gola del tuo padrone! E, sia detto con riverenza del re, mio grazioso padre, e di questi altri signori, io tengo il tuo messaggio per scurrile, e colui che t’ha mandato come il fuco pigro salito di soppiatto al nido dell’aquila, donde lo scrolleremo con sì rude tempesta che altri saranno ammoniti dal suo danno.
CONTE DI WARWICK	(a Lorena) Digli di deporre la pelle di leone che indossa, ché, incontrando il leone in campo, non gli avvenga d’esser sbranato a brani per il suo orgoglio.
CONTE D’ARTOIS	(a Lorena) Il più sano consiglio ch’io possa dare a sua grazia è d’arrendersi prima d’esservi costretto. Un danno volontario ha minore scorno che quando il rimprovero si sopporta con violenza.
DUCA DI LORENA	Traditore degenere, vipera al luogo dove fosti nutrito nella tua infanzia! Hai tu parte in questa congiura?
(didascalia)	Lorena sguaina la spada
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO sguainando la spada
DUCA DI LORENA	Lorena, guarda l’acutezza di quest’acciaio: il fervente desiderio che siede contro il mio cuore è assai più pungente di spine che questa lama, sì che, come l’usignolo, sarò trafitto ogni volta ch’io mi disponga al riposo finché i miei colori non siano spiegati in Francia. Questa è la tua risposta finale. Or dunque va’.
DUCA DI LORENA	Non è questo, né alcuna bravata inglese, che tanto m’affligge, quanto il suo sguardo avvelenato: ciò che è più falso, dovrebbe più d’ogni cosa esser vero. Esce
RE EDOARDO	Ora, signori, la nostra fuggente barca è a vela, il nostro pegno è gettato, e la guerra è presto cominciata, ma non così presto condotta a fine.
(didascalia)	Entra Sir William Montague
RE EDOARDO	Ma perché viene Sir William Montague? (A Montague) Come sta la lega tra lo Scozzese e noi?
MONTAGUE	Incrinata e spezzata, mio rinomato signore. Il re traditore non fu appena informato del ritiro del vostro esercito che subito, dimentico del suo antico giuramento, fece invasione sulle città di confine. Berwick è presa, Newcastle saccheggiata e perduta, e ora il tiranno ha cinto d’assedio il castello di Roxburgh, dove, rinchiusa, la contessa di Salisbury è prossima a perire.
RE EDOARDO	(a Warwick) È tua figlia, Warwick, non è vero? Il cui marito ha servito così a lungo in Bretagna per insediarvi lord Montfort?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Lo è, mio signore.
RE EDOARDO	Ignobile Davide, non hai tu altri da affliggere che deboli dame con le tue armi minacciose? Ma io vi farò ritrarre le vostre corna di lumaca. (Ad Audley) Primo dunque, Audley, questo sarà il tuo incarico: va’ a levar fanti per le nostre guerre in Francia. (Al principe di Galles) E tu, Ned, fa’ la rassegna dei nostri uomini d’arme. In ogni contea eleggi una banda distinta. Siano soldati d’animo gagliardo, tali che nulla temano fuorché la macchia del disonore. Siate dunque cauti, poiché diamo principio a una guerra famosa, e con sì potente nazione. (A Derby) Derby, sii tu nostro ambasciatore presso il nostro suocero, il conte di Hainault. Rendilo edotto della nostra impresa, e similmente volgilo, coi nostri stessi alleati che sono nelle Fiandre, a sollecitare anche l’imperatore d’Alemagna in nome nostro. Io stesso, mentre voi siete così congiuntamente impiegati, con queste forze che ho a mano marcerò e ancora una volta respingerò il traditore Scozzese. Ma signori, siate risoluti. Avremo guerre da ogni lato. (Al principe di Galles) E tu, Ned, devi cominciare ora a dimenticare i tuoi studi e i tuoi libri, e avvezzare le spalle al peso d’un’armatura.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Così lieto suona al mio giovanile ardore questo tumulto dei crescenti frastuoni di guerra, come all’incoronazione d’un re sono i clamori gioiosi del popolo quando «Ave Caesar» pronunciano ad alta voce.
(didascalia)	In questa scuola d’onore io imparerò
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	O a sacrificare i miei nemici alla morte, o, in giusta contesa, a spendere il mio fiato. Dunque avanti allegramente, ciascuno per la sua via. Nei grandi affari nulla giova l’indugio. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury, above
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Alas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze For succour that my sovereign should send. Ah, cousin Montague, I fear thou wants 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 to 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 vile, uncivil, skipping jigs Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow Even in the barren, bleak and fruitless air—
(didascalia)	Enter below David King of Scotland and Sir William Douglas with soldiers, meeting the Due de Lorraine
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(Aside) I must withdraw. The everlasting foe Comes to the wall. I’ll closely step aside And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. The Countess withdraws
KING OF SCOTLAND	My lord of Lorraine, to our brother of France Commend us as the man in Christendom That we most reverence and entirely love. Touching your embassage, return and say That we with England will not enter parley, Nor never make fair weather, or take truce, But burn their neighbour towns, and so persist With eager roads beyond their city York; And never shall our bonny riders rest, Nor rusting canker have the time to eat Their light-borne snaffle, nor their nimble spur, Nor lay aside their jacks of gimmaled mail, Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash In peaceful wise upon their city walls, Nor from their buttoned tawny leathern belts Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your King Cry out, ‘Enough! Spare England now for pity!’ Farewell, and tell him that you leave us here, Before this castle; say you came from us Even when we had that yielded to our hands.
DUC DE LORRAINE	Take I my leave, and fairly will return Your acceptable greeting to my King. Exit
KING OF SCOTLAND	(to Douglas) Now, Douglas, to our former task again For the division of this certain spoil.
DOUGLAS	My liege, I crave the lady, and no more.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make my choice, And first I do bespeak her for myself.
DOUGLAS	Why then, my liege, let me enjoy her jewels.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Those are her own, still liable to her; And who inherits her hath those with all.
(didascalia)	Enter a Scottish messenger in haste
MESSENGER	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 will bring The hindmost rank unto this place, my liege.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Dislodge! Dislodge! It is the King of England!
(didascalia)	DOUGLAS to the Messenger
KING OF SCOTLAND	Jemmy, my man, saddle my bonny black.
KING OF SCOTLAND	Mean’st thou to fight, Douglas? We are too weak.
DOUGLAS	I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(coming forward above) My lords of Scotland, will ye stay and drink?
KING OF SCOTLAND	She mocks us, Douglas. I cannot endure it.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Say, good my lord, which is he must have the lady, And which her jewels? I am sure, my lords, Ye will not hence till you have shared the spoils.
KING OF SCOTLAND	She heard the messenger and heard our talk, And now that comfort makes her scorn at us.
(didascalia)	Enter another Scottish messenger
SECOND MESSENGER	Arm, my good lord! O we are all surprised! After the French ambassador, my liege, And tell him that you dare not ride to York.
(didascalia)	COUNTESS OF SALISBURY (to the King of Scotland)
SECOND MESSENGER	Excuse it that your bonny horse is lame.
(didascalia)	KING OF SCOTLAND aside
SECOND MESSENGER	She heard that too! Intolerable grief! (To the Countess) Woman, farewell, although I do not stay—
(didascalia)	‘Tis not for fear, and yet you run away. Exeunt Scots
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O happy comfort, welcome to our house! The confident and boist’rous boasting Scot, 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 north-east wind Upon the bare report and name of arms!
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William de Montague with soldiers
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O summer’s day! See where my cousin comes!
MONTAGUE	How fares my aunt? We are not Scots— Why do you shut your gates against your friends?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Well may I give a welcome, coz, to thee, For thou com’st well to chase my foes from hence.
MONTAGUE	The King himself is come in person hither. Dear aunt, descend, and gratulate his highness.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	How may I entertain his majesty To show my duty and his dignity?
(didascalia)	Exit from above
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward, the Earl of Warwick and the Comte d’Artois, with others, including Lodowick
KING EDWARD	What, are the stealing foxes fled and gone Before we could uncouple at their heels?
EARL OF WARWICK	They are, my liege, but with a cheerful cry Hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury below
KING EDWARD	This is the Countess, Warwick, is it not?
EARL OF WARWICK	Even she, my liege, whose beauty tyrants’ fear— As a May blossom with pernicious winds— Hath sullied, withered, overcast and done.
KING EDWARD	Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is?
EARL OF WARWICK	My gracious King, fair is she not at all If that her self were by to stain herself As I have seen her when she was her self.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF WARWICK	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 piercing majesty To gaze on her with doting admiration?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(kneeling before King Edward) In duty, lower than the ground I kneel, And fore my dull knees bow 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.
KING EDWARD	Lady, stand up. I come to bring thee peace, However thereby I have purchased war.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	(rising) No war to you, my liege. The Scots are gone And gallop home toward Scotland with their hate.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Lest yielding here I pine in shameful love— (Aloud) Come, we’ll pursue the Scots. Artois, away!
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	A little while, my gracious sovereign, 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.
KING EDWARD	Pardon me, Countess, I will come no near: I dreamed tonight of treason, and I fear.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Far from this place let ugly treason lie.
KING EDWARD	(aside) 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. (Aloud) Warwick, Artois, to horse and let’s away!
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	What might I speak to make my sovereign stay?
KING EDWARD	(aside) What needs a tongue to such a speaking eye That more persuades than winning oratory?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 withal. Our house, my liege, is like a country swain, Whose habit rude, and manners blunt and plain, Presageth naught, yet inly beautified With bounty’s riches and fair hidden pride. For where the golden ore doth buried lie, The ground, undecked with nature’s tapestry, Seems barren, sere, unfertile, fruitless, dry; And where the upper turf of earth doth boast His pride, perfumes and parti-coloured cost, Delve there and find this issue and their pride To spring from ordure and corruptious stied. 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.
KING EDWARD	As wise as fair—what fond fit can be heard When wisdom keeps the gate as beauty’s guard? Countess, albeit my business urgeth me It shall attend while I attend on thee. Come on, my lords, here will I host tonight.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Lodowick
LODOWICK	I might perceive his eye in her eye lost, His ear to drink her sweet tongue’s utterance, And changing passion, like inconstant 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, ‘twas tender modest shame Being in the sacred presence of a king. If he did blush, ’twas rude immodest shame To vail his eyes amiss, being a king. If she looked pale, ‘twas seely 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, farewell. I fear ’twill prove A ling’ring English siege of peevish love.
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward
LODOWICK	Here comes his highness, walking all alone.
(didascalia)	Lodowick withdraws
KING EDWARD	(aside) 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 epithets 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 Breathes 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 of war, It wakened 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. (Aloud) Art thou there, Lod’wick?
(didascalia)	Lodowick comes forward
KING EDWARD	Give me ink and paper.
LODOWICK	I will, my liege.
KING EDWARD	And bid the lords hold on their play at chess, For we will walk and meditate alone.
LODOWICK	I will, my sovereign. Exit
KING EDWARD	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 beauty’s queen shall see Herself the ground of my infirmity.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick, with pen, ink and paper
KING EDWARD	Hast thou pen, ink and paper ready, Lod’wick?
LODOWICK	Ready, my liege.
KING EDWARD	Then in the summer arbour sit by me; Make it our council house or cabinet: Since green our thoughts, green be the conventicle Where we will ease us by disburd’ning them.
(didascalia)	They sit. Lodowick prepares to write
KING EDWARD	Now, Lod‘wick, invocate some golden muse To bring thee hither an enchanted pen That may for sighs set down true sighs indeed, Talking of grief, to make thee ready groan, And when thou write’st of tears, encouch the word Before and after with such sweet laments That it may raise drops in a Tartar’s eye, And make a flint-heart Scythian 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 poets’ wit Beguile and ravish soft and human minds?
LODOWICK	To whom, my lord, shall I direct my style?
KING EDWARD	To one that stains the fair and sots the wise, Whose body is an abstract or a brief, Contains each general virtue in the world. ‘Better than beautiful’, thou must begin, Devise for fair a fairer word than ‘fair’, And every ornament that thou wouldst praise, Fly it a pitch above the soar 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.
LODOWICK	Write I to a woman?
KING EDWARD	What beauty else could triumph over me, Or who but women do our love-lays greet? What think’st thou I did bid thee praise? A horse?
LODOWICK	Of what condition or estate she is ’Twere requisite that I should know, my lord.
KING EDWARD	Of such estate that hers is as a throne, And my estate the footstool where she treads. Then mayst thou judge what her condition is By the proportion of her mightiness. Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts.
(didascalia)
KING EDWARD	Her voice to music or the nightingale. To music every summer-leaping swain Compares his sunburnt lover when she speaks, And why should I speak of the nightingale? The nightingale sings of adulterate wrong And that compare 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 silkworm’s twist, Like to a flattering glass doth make more fair The yellow amber—‘like a flattering glass’ Comes in too soon: for writing of her eyes I’ll say that like a glass they catch the sun, And thence the hot reflection doth rebound Against my breast and burns my heart within. Ah, what a world of descant makes my soul Upon this voluntary ground of love! Come, Lod’wick: hast thou turned thy ink to gold? If not, write but in letters capital My mistress’ name, and it will gild thy paper. Read, Lod’wick, read! Fill thou the empty hollows of mine ears With the sweet hearing of thy poetry!
LODOWICK	I have not to a period brought her praise.
KING EDWARD	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 talk’st thou of a period To that which craves unended admiration? Read. Let us hear.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) That line hath two faults, gross and palpable. Compar’st 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!
LODOWICK	What is the other fault, my sovereign lord?
KING EDWARD	Read o’er the line again.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) I did not bid thee talk of chastity, To ransack so the treasure of her mind, For I had rather have her chased 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 splendour than the sun, That her perfections emulates 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.
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades, More bold in constancy’—
KING EDWARD	(staying him) In constancy than who?
LODOWICK	(reading) ‘…than Judith was.’
KING EDWARD	O monstrous line! Put in the next a sword And I shall woo her to cut off my head! Blot, blot, good Lod’wick. Let us hear the next.
LODOWICK	There’s all that yet is done.
KING EDWARD	I thank thee then. Thou hast done little ill, But what is done is passing passing ill. No, let the captain talk of boist’rous war, The prisoner of emurèd dark constraint; The sick man best sets down the pangs of death, The man that starves the sweetness of a feast, The frozen soul the benefit of fire, And every grief his happy opposite. Love cannot sound well but in lovers’ tongues. Give me the pen and paper. I will write. Lodowick gives him the pen and paper.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury
KING EDWARD	(Aside) But soft—here comes the treasurer of my spirit. (Aloud to Lodowick, showing him the paper in his hand) Lod‘wick, thou know’st not how to draw a battle! These wings, these flankers and these squadrons Argue in thee defective discipline. Thou shouldst have placed this here, this other here—
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Pardon my boldness, my thrice-gracious lords. Let my intrusion here be called my duty That comes to see my sovereign how he fares.
KING EDWARD	(to Lodowick, giving him the paper) Go, draw the same, I tell thee in what form.
LODOWICK	I go. Exit
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Sorry I am to see my liege so sad. What may thy subject do to drive from thee Thy gloomy consort, sullen melancholy?
KING EDWARD	Ah, lady, I am blunt and cannot strew The flowers of solace in a ground of shame. Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Now God forbid that any in my house Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice-gentle King, Acquaint me with thy cause of discontent.
KING EDWARD	How near, then, shall I be to remedy?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	As near, my liege, as all my woman’s power Can pawn itself to buy thy remedy.
KING EDWARD	If thou speak’st true, then have I my redress. Engage thy power to redeem my joys, And I am joyful, Countess; else I die.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I will, my liege.
KING EDWARD	Swear, Countess, that thou wilt.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	By heaven, I will.
KING EDWARD	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- Do this, and tell me when I shall be happy.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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.
KING EDWARD	Thou hear’st me say that I do dote on thee.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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’s store, by giving, doth augment. Be it on what it will that I can give, And thou canst take away, inherit it.
KING EDWARD	It is thy beauty that I would enjoy.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 an humble shadow, It haunts the sunshine of my summer’s life—
KING EDWARD	But thou mayst lend it me to sport withal.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 lend her house, my lord, to thee, I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me.
KING EDWARD	Didst thou not swear to give me what I would?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I did, my liege, so what you would I could.
KING EDWARD	I wish no more of thee than thou mayst give, Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy— That is, thy love; and for that love of thine In rich exchange I tender to thee mine.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	But that your lips were sacred, good 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 ‘gainst the king of heaven To stamp his image in forbidden metal, Forgetting your allegiance and your oath? In violating 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, Sole reigning Adam o’er 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 sovereign—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 no. Lest being therein guilty by my stay, From that, not from my liege, I turn away. Exit
KING EDWARD	Whether is her beauty by her words divine, 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 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 venoml Religion is austere, and beauty gentle— Too strict a guardian for so fair a ward. O, that she were as is the air to me! Why, so she is: for when I would embrace her, This do I (embracing the air), and catch nothing but myself. I must enjoy her, for I cannot beat With reason and reproof fond love away.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Warwick
KING EDWARD	(Aside) Here comes her father. I will work with him To bear my colours in this field of love.
EARL OF WARWICK	How is it that my sovereign is so sad? May I, with pardon, know your highness’ grief? An that my old endeavour will remove it, It shall not cumber long your majesty.
KING EDWARD	A kind and voluntary gift thou proffer’st That I was forward to have begged of thee. But, O, thou world, great nurse of flattery, Why dost thou tip men’s tongues with golden words, And peise their deeds with weight of heavy lead That fair performance cannot follow promise? O, 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!
EARL OF WARWICK	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.
KING EDWARD	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 when thou know’st my griefs condition This rash disgorged vomit of thy word Thou wilt eat up again, and leave me helpless.
EARL OF WARWICK	By heaven, I will not, though your majesty Did bid me run upon your sword and die!
KING EDWARD	Say that my grief is no way medicinable But by the loss and bruising of thine honour?
EARL OF WARWICK	If nothing but that loss may vantage you I would account that loss my vantage too.
KING EDWARD	Think’st that thou canst unswear thy oath again?
EARL OF WARWICK	I cannot, nor I would not if I could.
KING EDWARD	But if thou dost, what shall I say to thee?
EARL OF WARWICK	What may be said to any perjured villain That breaks the sacred warrant of an oath.
KING EDWARD	What wilt thou say to one that breaks an oath?
EARL OF WARWICK	That he hath broke his faith with God and man, And from them both stands excommunicate.
KING EDWARD	What office were it to suggest a man To break a lawful and religious vow?
EARL OF WARWICK	An office for the devil, not for man.
KING EDWARD	That devil’s office must thou do for me, Or break thy oath and 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 any ways 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. Exit
EARL OF WARWICK	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 confound it, But neither will I do. I’ll keep mine oath And to my daughter make a recantation Of all the virtue I have preached to her. I’ll say she must forget her husband, Salisbury— 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 out the sin. I’ll say it is my duty to persuade— But not her honesty to give consent.
(didascalia)	Enter the Countess of Salisbury
EARL OF WARWICK	(Aside) See where she comes. Was never father had Against his child an embassage so bad.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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.
EARL OF WARWICK	(aside) How shall I enter in this graceless errand? 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 the 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 distain thee, will advance thee. The poets write that great Achilles’ spear Could heal the wound it made; the moral is, What mighty men misdo 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 hugy vastures 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.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Unnatural besiege! Woe me unhappy, To have escaped the danger of my foes And to be ten times worse envir‘ned by friends! Hath 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 branch be then infected, When poison hath encompassed the root; No marvel though the leprous infant die, When the stern dame envenometh the dug. Why then, give sin a passport to offend, And youth the dangerous rein 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 boist’rous will Will have it so, before I will consent To be an actor in his graceless lust.
EARL OF WARWICK	Why, now thou speak‘st 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, Be it good or bad, that he shall undertake. An unreputed mote 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. Deck an ape In tissue, and the beauty of the robe Adds but the greater scorn unto the beast. A spacious field of reasons could I urge Between his glory, daughter, and thy shame: That poison shows worst in a golden cup; Dark night seems darker by the lightning flash; Lilies 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 convert’st from honour’s golden name To the black faction of bed-blotting shame.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	I’ll follow thee, and when my mind turns so, My body sink my soul in endless woe. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra la contessa di Salisbury, in alto
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Ahimè, quanto invano i miei poveri occhi scrutano il soccorso che il mio sovrano dovrebbe inviare. Ah, cugino Montague, temo che ti manchi lo spirito vivace per sollecitare aspramente con veemente istanza il re in mio favore. Tu non gli dici quale strazio sia essere la schernita prigioniera d’uno Scozzese, o corteggiata con rozzi giuramenti stonati, o forzata da rude e insultante barbarie. Tu non gli dici che, s’egli qui prevale, quanto ci derideranno nel Settentrione, e nelle loro vili, incivili, saltellanti gighe raglieranno la loro conquista e la nostra rovina proprio nell’aria sterile, squallida e infeconda—
(didascalia)	Entrano di sotto Davide re di Scozia e Sir William Douglas con soldati, incontrando il duca di Lorena
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	(A parte) Devo ritirarmi. L’eterno nemico viene alle mura. Mi trarrò quatta in disparte e ascolterò il loro cicaleccio, rozzo e pieno d’orgoglio. La contessa si ritira
RE DI SCOZIA	Mio lord di Lorena, al nostro fratello di Francia raccomandateci come l’uomo della cristianità che più riveriamo e interamente amiamo. Quanto alla vostra ambasciata, tornate e dite che noi con l’Inghilterra non entreremo in parlamento, né mai faremo bel tempo, né prenderemo tregua, ma bruceremo le loro città vicine, e così persisteremo con avide scorrerie oltre la loro città di York; e mai i nostri gagliardi cavalieri riposeranno, né ruggine rodente avrà il tempo di corrodere il loro morso leggero, né il loro sperone agile, né deporranno i loro giachi di maglia snodata, né appenderanno le loro aste di venato frassino scozzese in pacifica guisa sulle mura della loro città, né dalle loro cinture di cuoio fulvo abbottonate congederanno i loro mordaci coltellacci, finché il vostro re non gridi: «Basta! Risparmiate ora l’Inghilterra per pietà!» Addio, e ditegli che ci lasciate qui, davanti a questo castello; dite che veniste da noi proprio quando l’avevamo già reso alle nostre mani.
DUCA DI LORENA	Prendo congedo, e riporterò lealmente il vostro gradito saluto al mio re. Esce
RE DI SCOZIA	(a Douglas) Ora, Douglas, di nuovo al nostro compito di prima: la divisione di questa preda già certa.
DOUGLAS	Mio sire, io chiedo la dama, e nulla più.
RE DI SCOZIA	No, piano, signore; prima devo far la mia scelta, e per primo io la richiedo per me stesso.
DOUGLAS	Perché allora, mio sire, lasciate ch’io goda i suoi gioielli.
RE DI SCOZIA	Quelli sono suoi, ancora a lei spettanti; e chi eredita lei ha con lei anche quelli.
(didascalia)	Entra in fretta un messaggero scozzese
MESSAGGERO	Mio sire, mentre spronavamo per le colline a raccoglier bottino, marciando verso qua abbiamo potuto scorgere una possente schiera d’uomini. Il sole, riflettendo sulle armature, mostrava un campo di piastre; un bosco di picche levate. Pensateci prontamente, vostra altezza: una marcia agevole in quattro ore porterà l’ultima fila fino a questo luogo, mio sire.
RE DI SCOZIA	Leviamo il campo! Leviamo il campo! È il re d’Inghilterra!
(didascalia)	DOUGLAS al messaggero
RE DI SCOZIA	Jemmy, servo mio, sella il mio bel morello.
RE DI SCOZIA	Intendi combattere, Douglas? Siamo troppo deboli.
DOUGLAS	Lo so bene, mio sire, e perciò fuggo.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	(facendosi avanti, in alto) Miei signori di Scozia, volete restare a bere?
RE DI SCOZIA	Ci schernisce, Douglas. Non posso sopportarlo.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Dite, mio buon signore, quale di voi avrà la dama, e quale i suoi gioielli? Son certa, miei signori, che non ve n’andrete prima d’aver diviso le spoglie.
RE DI SCOZIA	Ha udito il messaggero e ha udito i nostri discorsi, e ora quel conforto la fa schernir di noi.
(didascalia)	Entra un altro messaggero scozzese
SECONDO MESSAGGERO	All’armi, mio buon signore! Oh, siamo tutti sorpresi! Dietro l’ambasciatore francese, mio sire, e ditegli che non osate cavalcare fino a York.
(didascalia)	CONTESSA DI SALISBURY (al re di Scozia)
SECONDO MESSAGGERO	Scusatevi dicendo che il vostro bel cavallo è zoppo.
(didascalia)	RE DI SCOZIA a parte
SECONDO MESSAGGERO	Ha udito anche questo! Intollerabile strazio! (Alla contessa) Donna, addio, benché io non resti—
(didascalia)	Non è per paura, eppure fuggite via. Escono gli Scozzesi
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	O felice conforto, benvenuto alla nostra casa! Il fiducioso e turbolento Scozzese vanaglorioso, che giurò davanti alle mie mura che non avrebbe ceduto per tutta la potenza armata di questa terra, con la paura senza volto che sempre volge le spalle, di qui si volse contro lo sferzante vento di nord-est al solo annuncio e nome dell’armi!
(didascalia)	Entra Sir William de Montague con soldati
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	O giorno d’estate! Ecco dove viene mio cugino!
MONTAGUE	Come sta mia zia? Non siamo Scozzesi— perché chiudete le porte contro i vostri amici?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Bene posso darti il benvenuto, cugino, ché bene tu giungi a cacciar di qui i miei nemici.
MONTAGUE	Il re stesso è venuto qui di persona. Cara zia, scendete, e rallegratevi con sua altezza.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Come potrò intrattenere sua maestà per mostrare il mio dovere e la sua dignità?
(didascalia)	Esce dall’alto
(didascalia)	Entrano re Edoardo, il conte di Warwick e il conte d’Artois, con altri, tra cui Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	Come, le volpi ladre son fuggite e andate prima che potessimo sguinzagliare ai loro calcagni?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Lo sono, mio sire, ma con lieto latrato ardenti segugi e gagliardi li incalzano ai calcagni.
(didascalia)	Entra di sotto la contessa di Salisbury
RE EDOARDO	Questa è la contessa, Warwick, non è vero?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Proprio lei, mio sire, la cui bellezza la paura dei tiranni— come un fiore di maggio con venti perniciosi— ha insozzato, appassito, oscurato e distrutto.
RE EDOARDO	È stata più bella, Warwick, di quanto ora sia?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Mio grazioso re, bella non è affatto se la sua persona d’un tempo le stesse accanto a farla impallidire, com’io l’ho veduta quando era se stessa.
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO a parte
CONTE DI WARWICK	Quale strano incanto s’annidava in quegli occhi suoi, quando superavano questa eccellenza che ora hanno, se ora il suo fioco declino ha potere di distogliere i miei occhi soggetti dalla penetrante maestà per contemplarla con ammirazione infatuata?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	(inginocchiandosi davanti a re Edoardo) Per dovere, più in basso del suolo m’inginocchio, e prima delle mie tarde ginocchia piego il cuore che sente, a testimoniare la mia obbedienza a vostra altezza con molti milioni di ringraziamenti d’una suddita per questa vostra regale presenza, il cui appressarsi ha scacciato guerra e pericolo dalla mia porta.
RE EDOARDO	Alzatevi, signora. Vengo a portarvi pace, per quanto con ciò io mi sia comprato guerra.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	(alzandosi) Nessuna guerra a voi, mio sire. Gli Scozzesi son partiti e galoppano verso casa, in Scozia, col loro odio.
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Per non languire qui, cedendo, in vergognoso amore— (Ad alta voce) Venite, inseguiremo gli Scozzesi. Artois, via!
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Un poco ancora, mio grazioso sovrano, restate, e lasciate che la potenza d’un possente re onori il nostro tetto. Mio marito, alle guerre, quando l’udrà, trionferà di gioia. Dunque, caro mio sire, non lesinate ora la vostra grandezza; essendo alle mura, entrate nella nostra umile porta.
RE EDOARDO	Perdonatemi, contessa, non verrò più presso: ho sognato stanotte tradimento, e ne ho paura.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Lungi da questo luogo giaccia il turpe tradimento.
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Non più lontano del suo occhio congiurato, che scaglia infetto veleno nel mio cuore oltre ogni difesa d’ingegno o cura d’arte. Ora non sta nel sole soltanto togliere col proprio lume il lume a un occhio mortale; ché qui due stelle del giorno che i miei occhi vorrebbero vedere più del sole mi rubano la mia stessa luce. Contemplativo desiderio, desiderio d’essere in contemplazione che possa dominarti. (Ad alta voce) Warwick, Artois, a cavallo, e via!
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Che potrei dire per far restare il mio sovrano?
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Che bisogno ha di lingua un occhio così parlante che persuade più d’ogni vincente oratoria?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Non lasciate che la vostra presenza, come il sole d’aprile, lusinghi la nostra terra e d’un tratto sia finita. Non fate più felice il nostro muro esterno di quanto vogliate onorare la nostra casa interna. La nostra casa, mio sire, è come un villano di campagna, il cui abito è rude, e i modi schietti e piani, e nulla promette, eppure è internamente abbellita dalle ricchezze della generosità e da un bel nascosto fasto. Ché dove giace sepolto l’oro nel filone, il suolo, non ornato dall’arazzo della natura, par brullo, secco, infecondo, sterile, arido; e dove la zolla superiore della terra ostenta il suo fasto, i profumi e le screziate ricchezze, scava là e troverai che questa prole e il loro orgoglio nascono da letame e da corrotto giaciglio. Ma, per concludere il mio troppo lungo paragone, queste mura scabre non son testimonianza di ciò che è dentro, ma come un mantello nascondono allo spreco del tempo il fasto sottostante ornato. Più grazioso di quanto possano i miei termini, siate voi: supplicate voi stesso di restare un poco con me.
RE EDOARDO	Savia quanto bella—quale folle capriccio può esser udito quando la saggezza custodisce la porta come guardia della bellezza? Contessa, benché i miei affari mi incalzino, essi attenderanno mentre io attendo a voi. Venite, miei signori, qui alloggerò stanotte.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne Lodowick
LODOWICK	Ho potuto scorgere il suo occhio perdersi nell’occhio di lei, il suo orecchio bere l’eloquio della dolce lingua di lei, e la passione mutevole, come nubi incostanti che corrono sul carro dei venti, crescere e morire nelle sue guance turbate. Ecco, quando ella arrossì, proprio allora egli impallidì, come se le guance di lei per qualche incantata potenza avessero attratto il sangue di ciliegia dalle sue. Poi, con riverente timore, quando ella impallidì, le guance di lui indossarono i loro scarlatti ornamenti, ma non più simili al rosso orientale di lei che il mattone al corallo, o le cose vive alle morte. Perché dunque contraffece egli così gli sguardi di lei? S’ella arrossì, era tenero e modesto pudore essendo nella sacra presenza d’un re. S’egli arrossì, era rude e immodesta vergogna d’aver male abbassato gli occhi, essendo re. S’ella impallidì, era la debole paura di donna di dover reggersi al cospetto d’un re. S’egli impallidì, era per colpevole timore d’amare a torto, essendo un possente re. Allora, guerre scozzesi, addio. Temo che si rivelerà un lungo assedio inglese di petulante amore.
(didascalia)	Entra re Edoardo
LODOWICK	Ecco viene sua altezza, passeggiando tutto solo.
(didascalia)	Lodowick si ritira
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Ella è cresciuta assai più bella da quando son giunto qui, la sua voce più argentea a ogni parola che nell’altra, il suo spirito più fluente. Che strano racconto ella dispiegò di Davide e dei suoi Scozzesi: «Proprio così», diss’ella, «egli parlò», e allora parlò largo, con gli epiteti e gli accenti dello Scozzese, ma alquanto meglio di quanto lo Scozzese sapesse parlare. «E così», diss’ella, e poi rispose a se stessa, ché chi potrebbe parlare come lei? Ma ella stessa spira dalle mura una nota d’angelo venuta dal cielo di dolce sfida ai suoi barbari nemici. Quando parlava di pace, mi pare che la sua lingua comandasse alla guerra la prigione; quando di guerra, ridestava Cesare dalla sua romana tomba per udir la guerra abbellita dal suo discorso; la saggezza è follia se non sulla sua lingua, bellezza è calunnia se non nel suo bel volto, non v’è estate se non nei suoi lieti sguardi, né gelido inverno se non nel suo disdegno. Non posso biasimare gli Scozzesi che l’assediarono, ché ella è tutto il tesoro della nostra terra, ma li chiamo codardi perché fuggirono, avendo sì ricca e bella causa per restare. (Ad alta voce) Sei là, Lod’wick?
(didascalia)	Lodowick si fa avanti
RE EDOARDO	Dammi inchiostro e carta.
LODOWICK	Lo farò, mio sire.
RE EDOARDO	E di’ ai signori di proseguire la loro partita a scacchi, ché noi passeggeremo e mediteremo soli.
LODOWICK	Lo farò, mio sovrano. Esce
RE EDOARDO	Costui è ben versato in poesia, e ha spirito gagliardo e persuasivo. Lo renderò partecipe della mia passione, ch’egli adombrerà con un velo di lino, attraverso il quale la regina della regina di bellezza vedrà se stessa cagione della mia infermità.
(didascalia)	Entra Lodowick, con penna, inchiostro e carta
RE EDOARDO	Hai pronti penna, inchiostro e carta, Lod’wick?
LODOWICK	Pronti, mio sire.
RE EDOARDO	Allora siedi accanto a me nel pergolato d’estate; facciamone la nostra casa di consiglio, il nostro gabinetto: poiché verdi sono i nostri pensieri, verde sia il conventicolo dove ci daremo sollievo scaricandoli.
(didascalia)	Si siedono. Lodowick si prepara a scrivere
RE EDOARDO	Ora, Lod’wick, invoca qualche aurea musa che ti rechi qui una penna incantata che per sospiri sappia segnare veri sospiri, e, parlando di dolore, ti faccia pronto a gemere, e quando scrivi di lacrime, adagi la parola prima e dopo con sì dolci lamenti ch’essa possa suscitare gocce nell’occhio d’un Tartaro e far pietoso uno Scita dal cuore di selce— ché tanto commuovere ha la penna d’un poeta. Dunque, se sei poeta, commuovi così, e sii arricchito dall’amore del tuo sovrano. Ché se il tocco di dolci corde concordi poté forzare ascolto negli orecchi dell’inferno, quanto più faranno gli accenti dell’ingegno dei poeti a sedurre e rapire tenere e umane menti?
LODOWICK	A chi, mio signore, dovrò indirizzare il mio stile?
RE EDOARDO	A una che oscura le belle e infatua i savi, il cui corpo è un compendio, un breve, e contiene ogni virtù generale del mondo. «Meglio che bella», così devi cominciare; trova per «bella» parola più bella di «bella», e ogni ornamento che tu voglia lodare fallo volare un grado sopra il volo della lode. D’adulazione non temere d’esser convinto, ché fosse la tua ammirazione dieci volte maggiore, diecimila volte dieci il valore eccede di ciò che devi lodare il valore della tua lode. Comincia; io intanto contemplerò. Non scordare di annotare quanto appassionato, quanto malato di cuore e quanto pieno di languore la sua bellezza mi renda.
LODOWICK	Scrivo a una donna?
RE EDOARDO	Quale altra bellezza potrebbe trionfare su di me, o chi se non le donne accoglie i nostri canti d’amore? Che credi t’abbia ordinato di lodare? Un cavallo?
LODOWICK	Di quale condizione o stato ella sia sarebbe necessario ch’io sapessi, mio signore.
RE EDOARDO	Di tale stato che il suo è come un trono, e il mio stato lo sgabello dove ella posa il piede. Allora potrai giudicare quale sia la sua condizione dalla proporzione della sua potenza. Scrivi, mentre io la percorro nei miei pensieri.
(didascalia)
RE EDOARDO	La sua voce alla musica o all’usignolo. Alla musica ogni villano che salta d’estate paragona la sua amante arsa dal sole quando parla, e perché dovrei parlare dell’usignolo? L’usignolo canta d’un torto adulterino e quel paragone è troppo satirico, ché il peccato, benché peccato, non vorrebbe esser così stimato, ma piuttosto virtù peccato, e peccato virtù reputato. I suoi capelli, assai più soffici del filo del baco da seta, come vetro lusinghiero rendono più bella la gialla ambra—«come vetro lusinghiero» viene troppo presto: ché, scrivendo dei suoi occhi, dirò che come vetro essi captano il sole, e di là il caldo riflesso rimbalza contro il mio petto e mi arde il cuore dentro. Ah, che mondo di contrappunti fa la mia anima sopra questo volontario basso d’amore! Vieni, Lod’wick: hai mutato in oro il tuo inchiostro? Se no, scrivi soltanto a lettere capitali il nome della mia signora, e t’indorerà la carta. Leggi, Lod’wick, leggi! Riempi i vuoti incavi dei miei orecchi col dolce ascolto della tua poesia!
LODOWICK	Non ho condotto a punto fermo la sua lode.
RE EDOARDO	La sua lode è come il mio amore—entrambi infiniti, che comprendono estremi sì violenti da disdegnare un punto finale. La sua bellezza non ha pari se non il mio affetto; la sua più che moltissimo, il mio il massimo, e più che più; la sua più da lodare che contare il mare a gocce— anzi di più!—che stillare la massiccia terra a granelli e granello per granello imprimerli nella memoria. Perché dunque parli d’un punto finale per ciò che esige ammirazione senza fine? Leggi. Udiamo.
LODOWICK	(leggendo) «Più bella e casta della regina delle ombre»—
RE EDOARDO	(fermandolo) Quel verso ha due colpe, grosse e palpabili. La paragoni tu alla pallida regina della notte, che, posta nel buio, per ciò appare luminosa? Che cos’è ella quando il sole leva il capo se non come una torcia che langue, fioca e morta? Il mio amore sfiderà l’occhio del cielo a mezzogiorno e, smascherato, eclisserà il sole d’oro!
LODOWICK	Qual è l’altra colpa, mio sovrano signore?
RE EDOARDO	Rileggi il verso da capo.
LODOWICK	(leggendo) «Più bella e casta»—
RE EDOARDO	(fermandolo) Non t’ho ordinato di parlar di castità, di saccheggiare così il tesoro della sua mente, ché preferirei averla cacciata piuttosto che casta! Via il verso della luna! Non ne voglio sapere. E fa’ ch’ella sia paragonata al sole— di’ che ha tre volte più splendore del sole, che le sue perfezioni emulano il sole, che genera dolcezze copiose come il sole, che disgela il freddo inverno come il sole, che rallegra la fresca estate come il sole, che abbaglia chi la guarda come il sole, e in questa applicazione al sole dille d’esser libera e generale come il sole, che sorride sulla più vile erbaccia che cresca con lo stesso amore che sulla fragrante rosa. Vediamo che segue a quel medesimo verso lunare.
LODOWICK	(leggendo) «Più bella e casta della regina delle ombre, più ardita in costanza»—
RE EDOARDO	(fermandolo) In costanza di chi?
LODOWICK	(leggendo) «…che non fosse Giuditta.»
RE EDOARDO	Oh verso mostruoso! Metti nel prossimo una spada e la corteggerò perché mi mozzi il capo! Cancella, cancella, buon Lod’wick. Udiamo il seguito.
LODOWICK	È tutto quello che finora è fatto.
RE EDOARDO	Ti ringrazio allora. Hai fatto poco male, ma quel che è fatto è male oltre ogni male. No, lascia che il capitano parli di guerra turbolenta, il prigioniero della buia costrizione murata; il malato meglio ritrae gli spasimi della morte, l’affamato la dolcezza d’un banchetto, la gelata anima il beneficio del fuoco, e ogni dolore il suo felice contrario. Amore non suona bene se non sulle lingue degli amanti. Dammi la penna e la carta. Scriverò io. Lodowick gli dà penna e carta.
(didascalia)	Entra la contessa di Salisbury
RE EDOARDO	(A parte) Ma piano—ecco viene la tesoriera del mio spirito. (Ad alta voce a Lodowick, mostrandogli il foglio che ha in mano) Lod’wick, tu non sai come si disegna una battaglia! Queste ali, questi fiancheggiatori e questi squadroni arguiscono in te disciplina difettosa. Avresti dovuto porre questo qui, quest’altro qua—
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Perdonate la mia audacia, miei tre volte graziosi signori. Sia detta mio dovere la mia intrusione qui, ché vengo a vedere come sta il mio sovrano.
RE EDOARDO	(a Lodowick, dandogli il foglio) Va’, disegnalo, ti dico, in quella forma.
LODOWICK	Vado. Esce
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Mi duole veder tanto triste il mio sire. Che può fare la tua suddita per scacciare da te la tua cupa consorte, la fosca malinconia?
RE EDOARDO	Ah, signora, io sono rozzo e non so spargere i fiori del conforto su un terreno di vergogna. Da quando son giunto qui, contessa, ho subito torto.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Ora Dio non voglia che alcuno nella mia casa faccia torto al mio sovrano! Tre volte gentile re, rendetemi partecipe della causa del vostro scontento.
RE EDOARDO	Quanto sarò allora vicino al rimedio?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Tanto vicino, mio sire, quanto tutto il potere di donna può impegnarsi per comprare il vostro rimedio.
RE EDOARDO	Se dici il vero, allora ho la mia riparazione. Impegna il tuo potere a redimere le mie gioie, e sarò gioioso, contessa; altrimenti muoio.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Lo farò, mio sire.
RE EDOARDO	Giura, contessa, che lo farai.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Per il cielo, lo farò.
RE EDOARDO	Allora ritirati un poco in disparte e di’ a te stessa che un re è infatuato di te. Di’ che è in tuo potere renderlo felice, e che tu hai giurato di dargli ogni gioia che è in tuo potere— fa’ questo, e dimmi quando sarò felice.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Tutto questo è fatto, mio tre volte temuto sovrano. Quel potere d’amore che ho potere di dare tu l’hai, con ogni devota obbedienza. Impiegami come vorrai a prova di ciò.
RE EDOARDO	Tu m’odi dire che sono infatuato di te.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Se della mia bellezza, prendila se puoi; benché poca, io la prezzo dieci volte meno. Se della mia virtù, prendila se puoi; ché il tesoro della virtù, col dare, s’accresce. Sia ciò che sia quello ch’io posso dare e tu puoi togliere, ereditalo.
RE EDOARDO	È la tua bellezza ch’io vorrei godere.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Oh, fosse dipinta, la cancellerei e mi spoglierei di me per darla a te! Ma, sovrano, essa è saldata alla mia vita: prendi l’una, e avrai entrambe, ché, come umile ombra, essa accompagna il sole della mia vita d’estate—
RE EDOARDO	Ma tu puoi prestarmela per trastullarmi.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Con la stessa facilità potrebbe la mia anima intellettuale esser data in prestito e pure il mio corpo vivere, quanto prestare il mio corpo, palazzo alla mia anima, lungi da lei e pure conservare la mia anima. Il mio corpo è il suo pergolato, la sua corte, la sua abbazia; ed ella un angelo, puro, divino, immacolato. Se io prestassi a te la sua dimora, mio signore, ucciderei la mia povera anima, e la mia povera anima me.
RE EDOARDO	Non giurasti di darmi ciò che volessi?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Sì, mio sire: ciò che voleste, s’io potessi.
RE EDOARDO	Non chiedo da te più di quanto tu possa dare, né mendico, ma piuttosto compro— cioè, il tuo amore; e per quell’amore tuo in ricco cambio io t’offro il mio.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Se le vostre labbra non fossero sacre, mio buon signore, profanereste il santo nome dell’amore. Quell’amore che m’offrite non potete darlo, ché Cesare deve quel tributo alla sua regina. Quell’amore che mendicate da me non posso darlo, ché Sara deve quel dovere al suo signore. Chi tosa o contraffà la vostra effigie morrà, mio signore: e vorrà il vostro sacro essere commettere alto tradimento contro il re del cielo per imprimere la sua immagine in metallo proibito, dimenticando la vostra fedeltà e il vostro giuramento? Violando la sacra legge del matrimonio voi infrangete un onore più grande di voi stesso: esser re è di casa più giovane che esser maritato. Il vostro progenitore, Adamo, che solo regnava sull’universo, fu da Dio onorato come uomo ammogliato, ma non da lui unto come re. È una pena infrangere i vostri statuti, benché non sanciti dalla mano di vostra altezza; quanto più violare il santo atto fatto dalla bocca di Dio, sigillato dalla sua mano! Io so che il mio sovrano—nell’amore di mio marito, che ora rende leale servizio nelle sue guerre— non fa che mettere alla prova la moglie di Salisbury, se voglia udire o no il racconto d’un libertino. Perché, restando, non ne sia colpevole, da ciò, non dal mio sire, io mi ritraggo. Esce
RE EDOARDO	È la sua bellezza resa divina dalle sue parole, o son le sue parole dolci cappellani della sua bellezza? Come il vento abbellisce una vela e come una vela adorna l’invisibile vento, così le sue parole le sue bellezze, e la bellezza le parole. Oh, foss’io un’ape che raccoglie miele per portare il favo della virtù da questo fiore, e non un ragno invidioso che succhia veleno per mutare in mortale tossico il succo che prendo! La religione è austera, e la bellezza gentile— troppo severo tutore per sì bella pupilla. Oh, fosse ella per me come l’aria! Ma sì, ella lo è: ché quando vorrei abbracciarla, faccio così (abbracciando l’aria), e non afferro che me stesso. Devo goderla, ché non posso scacciare con ragione e rimprovero il folle amore.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Warwick
RE EDOARDO	(A parte) Ecco viene suo padre. Lavorerò con lui perché porti i miei colori in questo campo d’amore.
CONTE DI WARWICK	Come mai il mio sovrano è così triste? Posso, con licenza, conoscere il dolore di vostra altezza? E se il mio vecchio adoprarsi potrà rimuoverlo, non ingombrerà a lungo vostra maestà.
RE EDOARDO	Un dono gentile e volontario tu offri che io ero pronto a mendicare da te. Ma, o mondo, gran nutrice d’adulazione, perché indori le lingue degli uomini con parole d’oro e pesi le loro azioni col peso di greve piombo, sì che il bel compimento non può seguire la promessa? Oh, potesse un uomo tenere il chiuso libro del cuore e soffocare la lingua prodiga quando pronuncia il fiato della falsità che là non è scritto!
CONTE DI WARWICK	Lungi sia dall’onore della mia età ch’io debba prometter oro lucente e rendere piombo. La vecchiaia è cinica, non adulatrice. Dico di nuovo che se conoscessi il vostro dolore, e se da me potesse esser alleviato, il mio proprio danno comprerebbe il bene di vostra altezza.
RE EDOARDO	Queste sono le volgari offerte d’uomini falsi che mai pagano il debito delle loro parole. Tu non esiterai a giurare quel che hai detto, ma quando conoscerai la condizione del mio dolore questo avventato vomito rigettato della tua parola lo ringoierai, e mi lascerai senza aiuto.
CONTE DI WARWICK	Per il cielo, non lo farò, foss’anche vostra maestà a comandarmi di correre sulla vostra spada e morire!
RE EDOARDO	E se il mio dolore non fosse in alcun modo medicabile se non con la perdita e l’ammaccatura del tuo onore?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Se nulla fuorché quella perdita può giovarvi, io stimerei quella perdita anche mio guadagno.
RE EDOARDO	Credi tu di poter disgiurare il tuo giuramento?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Non posso, né vorrei se potessi.
RE EDOARDO	Ma se lo fai, che ti dovrò dire?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Quel che può dirsi a ogni furfante spergiuro che rompe il sacro pegno d’un giuramento.
RE EDOARDO	Che dirai a chi rompe un giuramento?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Che ha rotto la sua fede con Dio e con gli uomini, e da entrambi resta scomunicato.
RE EDOARDO	Quale ufficio sarebbe suggerire a un uomo di rompere un voto lecito e religioso?
CONTE DI WARWICK	Un ufficio da diavolo, non da uomo.
RE EDOARDO	Quell’ufficio di diavolo tu devi farlo per me, o rompere il tuo giuramento e cancellare tutti i vincoli d’amore e di dovere tra te e me. E perciò, Warwick, se tu sei te stesso, signore e padrone della tua parola e del tuo giuramento, va’ da tua figlia e, in mio favore, comandale, corteggiala, vincila in ogni modo perché sia la mia amante e il mio segreto amore. Non resterò ad ascoltare la tua risposta; il tuo giuramento rompa il suo, o lascia morire il tuo sovrano. Esce
CONTE DI WARWICK	O re infatuato! O detestabile ufficio! Bene posso tentar me stesso a far torto a me stesso, quando egli m’ha fatto giurare nel nome di Dio di rompere un voto fatto nel nome di Dio. E se giurassi per questa mia destra di mozzare questa destra? La via migliore sarebbe profanare l’idolo piuttosto che distruggerlo, ma né l’uno né l’altro farò. Terrò il mio giuramento e a mia figlia farò ritrattazione di tutta la virtù che le ho predicato. Dirò che deve dimenticare suo marito, Salisbury— se si ricorderà d’abbracciare il re. Dirò che un giuramento può facilmente esser rotto— ma non così facilmente perdonato, una volta rotto. Dirò che è vera carità amare— ma non vero amore esser così caritatevole. Dirò che la sua grandezza può sostenere la vergogna— ma non che il suo regno possa riscattare il peccato. Dirò che è mio dovere persuadere— ma non sua onestà dare il consenso.
(didascalia)	Entra la contessa di Salisbury
CONTE DI WARWICK	(A parte) Ecco dove viene. Mai padre ebbe contro la propria figlia ambasciata sì trista.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Mio signore e padre, io vi cercavo. Mia madre e i pari v’importunano di restare al cospetto di sua maestà, e di far del vostro meglio per rallegrare sua altezza.
CONTE DI WARWICK	(a parte) Come entrerò in questa sconcia ambasciata? Non devo chiamarla figlia, ché dov’è il padre che in tale richiesta sedurrebbe la propria creatura? Allora «moglie di Salisbury»—così comincerò? No, egli è mio amico, e dove si trova l’amico che farebbe all’amicizia tale danno? (Alla contessa) Né mia figlia, né moglie del mio caro amico, io non sono Warwick, come tu credi ch’io sia, ma un procuratore dalla corte dell’inferno, che ha così alloggiato il suo spirito in questa forma per recarti un messaggio dal re: «Il possente re d’Inghilterra è infatuato di te: colui che ha potere di toglierti la vita ha potere di toglierti l’onore. Consenti dunque a impegnare il tuo onore piuttosto che la tua vita; l’onore è spesso perduto e riguadagnato, ma la vita, una volta andata, non ha ricupero. Il sole che secca il fieno nutre l’erba, il re che vorrebbe macchiarti, t’innalzerà. I poeti scrivono che la lancia del grande Achille poteva sanare la ferita che faceva; la morale è che i potenti possono emendare il male che fanno. Al leone s’addicono le sue fauci sanguinose, ed egli fa grazia alla sua preda con la mitezza quando la paura vassalla giace tremante ai suoi piedi. Il re, nella sua gloria, celerà la tua vergogna, e quelli che fissano lui, per scoprir te, perderanno la vista guardando nel sole. Che può una goccia di veleno nuocere al mare, le cui immani vastità sanno digerire il male e fargli perdere la sua operazione? Il gran nome del re tempererà i tuoi misfatti, e darà all’amara pozione del rimprovero un sapore inzuccherato, dolce e delizioso. Inoltre, non è male fare la cosa che, senza vergogna, non poteva esser lasciata non fatta.» Così ho, in favore di sua maestà, vestito il peccato di sentenze virtuose, e mi soffermo sulla tua risposta alla sua richiesta.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Assedio snaturato! Ahimè infelice, essere scampata al pericolo dei miei nemici ed essere dieci volte peggio circondata dagli amici! Non ha egli altro mezzo per macchiare il mio onesto sangue che corrompere l’autore del mio sangue perché sia il suo scandaloso e vile mezzano? Non è meraviglia se il ramo è infetto, quando il veleno ha circondato la radice; non è meraviglia se il lebbroso infante muore, quando la dura madre avvelena la mammella. Ebbene, date allora al peccato un passaporto per offendere, e alla giovinezza la pericolosa briglia della libertà. Cancellate il rigido divieto della legge, e abolite ogni canone che prescriva vergogna per vergogna, o penitenza per offesa. No, lasciatemi morire, se la sua troppo violenta volontà vorrà così, prima ch’io consenta a essere attrice nella sua sconcia libidine.
CONTE DI WARWICK	Ecco, ora parli come vorrei che tu parlassi! E osserva come disdico di nuovo le mie parole: una tomba onorata è più stimata del contaminato gabinetto d’un re. Quanto più grande è l’uomo, tanto più grande è la cosa, buona o cattiva, ch’egli intraprenderà. Un pulviscolo ignorato che vola nel sole presenta sostanza maggiore di quel che è. Il più fresco giorno d’estate più presto corrompe la ripugnante carogna che sembra baciare. Profondi sono i colpi vibrati con possente scure. Dieci volte s’aggrava quel peccato che è commesso in un luogo santo. Un’azione malvagia compiuta per autorità è peccato e subornazione. Vesti una scimmia di broccato, e la bellezza della veste non aggiunge che maggior scherno alla bestia. Un ampio campo di ragioni potrei addurre tra la sua gloria, figlia, e la tua vergogna: che il veleno appare peggiore in una coppa d’oro; la buia notte sembra più buia al guizzo del fulmine; i gigli che imputridiscono puzzano assai peggio delle erbacce; e a ogni gloria che inclina al peccato la vergogna è triplice per il contrasto. Così ti lascio con la mia benedizione in seno, la quale allora si muti in gravissima maledizione quando tu ti volga dal nome dorato dell’onore alla nera fazione della vergogna che macchia il letto.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Ti seguirò, e quando la mia mente volga così, il mio corpo sprofondi la mia anima in pena infinita. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter at one door the Earl of Derby from France. At another door, enter Lord Audley with a drummer
EARL OF DERBY	Thrice-noble Audley, well encountered here. How is it with our sovereign and his peers?
AUDLEY	‘Tis full a fortnight since I saw his highness, What time he sent me forth to muster men, Which I accordingly have done, and bring them hither, In fair array, before his majesty. What news, my lord of Derby, from the Emperor?
EARL OF DERBY	As good as we desire. The Emperor Hath yielded to his highness friendly aid, And makes our king lieutenant-general In all his lands and large dominions. Then via for the spacious bounds of France!
AUDLEY	What, doth his highness leap to hear these news?
EARL OF DERBY	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, Artois, and all, look underneath the brows.
AUDLEY	Undoubtedly, then, something is amiss.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets within
EARL OF DERBY	The trumpets sound. The King is now abroad.
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Here comes his highness.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the King) Befall my sovereign all my sovereign’s wish.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF DERBY	Ah, that thou wert a witch to make it so.
EARL OF DERBY	The Emperor greeteth you—
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside Would it were the Countess.
EARL OF DERBY	—And hath accorded to your highness’ suit.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
EARL OF DERBY	Thou liest. She hath not, but I would she had.
AUDLEY	All love and duty to my lord the King.
(didascalia)	KING EDWARD aside
AUDLEY	Well, all but one is none. (To Audley) What news with you?
AUDLEY	I have, my liege, levied those horse and foot, According as your charge, and brought them hither.
KING EDWARD	Then let those foot trudge hence upon those horse, According to our discharge, and be gone. Derby, I’ll look upon the Countess’ mind anon.
EARL OF DERBY	The Countess’ mind, my liege?
KING EDWARD	I mean the Emperor. Leave me alone.
AUDLEY	(to Derby) What is his mind?
EARL OF DERBY	Let’s leave him to his humour.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Derby and Audley
KING EDWARD	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.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
KING EDWARD	(To Lodowick) What says the more-than-Cleopatra’s match To Caesar now?
LODOWICK	That yet, my liege, ere night She will resolve your majesty.
(didascalia)	Sound drum within
KING EDWARD	What drum is this that thunders forth this march To start the tender Cupid in my bosom? Poor sheepskin, how it brawls with him that beateth it! Go, break the thund’ring 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, Betwixt a goddess and a mighty king. Go, bid the drummer learn to touch the lute, 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!
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	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 arrows, and my sighs Shall serve me as the vantage of the wind To whirl away my sweet’st artillery. Ah, but alas, she wins the sun of me, For that is she herself, and thence it comes That poets term the wanton warrior blind. But love hath eyes as judgement to his steps, Till too much loved glory dazzles them—
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
KING EDWARD	How now?
LODOWICK	My liege, the drum that struck the lusty march Stands with Prince Edward, your thrice-valiant son.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter Edward, Prince of Wales
(didascalia)	I see the boy. Aside O, how his mother’s face,
KING EDWARD	Modelled in his, corrects my strayed desire, And rates my heart, and chides my thievish eye, Who, being rich enough in seeing her, Yet seek elsewhere; and basest theft is that Which cannot cloak itself in poverty. (To the Prince) Now, boy, what news?
PRINCE OF WALES	I have assembled, my dear lord and father, The choicest buds of all our English blood For our affairs to France, and here we come To take direction from your majesty.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Still do I see in him delineate His mother’s visage. Those his eyes are hers, Who looking wistly on me make me blush. For faults against themselves give evidence; Lust is a fire, and men, like lanterns, show Light lust within themselves, even through themselves. Away, loose silks o’er wavering vanity! Shall the large limit of fair Brittany 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 then Subdue myself and be my enemy’s friend? It must not be. (To the Prince) Come, boy! Forward! Advance! Let’s with our colours sweet the air of France.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick
LODOWICK	(to the King) My liege, the Countess, with a smiling cheer, Desires access unto your majesty.
KING EDWARD	(aside) Why there it goes. That very smile of hers Hath ransomed captive France and set the King, The Dauphin and the peers at liberty. (To the Prince) Go, leave me, Ned, and revel with thy friends.
(didascalia)	Exit the Prince of Wales
KING EDWARD	(Aside) Thy mother is but black, and thou, like her, Dost put it in my mind how foul she is. (To Lodowick) Go, fetch the Countess hither in thy hand—
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	And let her chase away these winter clouds, For she gives beauty both to heaven and earth. The sin is more to hack and hew poor men Than to embrace in an unlawful bed The register of all rarieties Since leathern Adam till this youngest hour.
(didascalia)	Enter Lodowick leading in by the hand the Countess of Salisbury
KING EDWARD	Go, Lod’wick, put thy hand into my purse— Play, spend, give, riot, waste, do what thou wilt So thou wilt hence awhile and leave me here.
(didascalia)	Exit Lodowick
KING EDWARD	(To the Countess) Now, my soul’s playfellow, art thou come To speak the more-than-heavenly word of ‘yea’ To my objection in thy beauteous love?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	My father on his blessing hath commanded—
KING EDWARD	That thou shalt yield to me.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Ay, dear my liege, your due.
KING EDWARD	And that, my dearest love, can be no less Than right for right, and render love for love.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Than wrong for wrong, and endless hate for hate. But sith I see your majesty so bent That my unwillingness, my husband’s love, Your high estate, nor no respect respected Can be my help, but that your mightiness Will overbear and awe these dear regards, I bind my discontent to thy content, And what I would not ill compel I will, Provided that yourself remove those lets That stand between your highness’ love and mine.
KING EDWARD	Name them, fair Countess, and by heaven I will.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	It is their lives that stand between our love That I would have choked up, my sovereign.
KING EDWARD	Whose lives, my lady?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	My thrice-loving liege, Your Queen and Salisbury, my wedded husband, Who, living, have that title in our love That we cannot bestow but by their death.
KING EDWARD	Their opposition is beyond our law.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	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 what you have sworn.
KING EDWARD	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, But I will through a Hellespont of blood To arrive at Sestos, where my Hero lies.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Nay, you’ll do more. You’ll make the river too With their heart bloods that keep our love asunder, Of which my husband and your wife are twain.
KING EDWARD	Thy beauty makes them guilty of their death, And gives in evidence that they shall die— Upon which verdict I, their judge, condemn them.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	O, perjured 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.
KING EDWARD	What says my fair love? Is she resolute?
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Resolved to be dissolved, and therefore this: Keep but thy word, great King, and I am thine. Stand where thou dost—I’ll part a little from thee— She moves away from the King
(didascalia)	kneeling And see how I will yield me to thy hands.
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY	Here, by my side, doth hang my wedding knives. She reveals two knives Take thou the one, She offers a knife to the King and with it kill thy Queen, And learn by me to find her where she lies; And with this other She turns the other knife on herself 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 nimbler far Than thy prevention can be in my rescue. An 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 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.
KING EDWARD	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 endeavour of so many pens. Arise, and be my fault thy honour’s fame Which after-ages shall enrich thee with. I am awakèd from this idle dream.
(didascalia)	The Countess stands
KING EDWARD	(Calling) Warwick, my son, Derby, Artois and Audley— Brave warriors all, where are you all this while?
(didascalia)	Enter all the peers: the Earl of Warwick, the
KING EDWARD	Prince of Wales, the Earl of Derby, the Comte d’Artois and Lord Audley Warwick, I make thee Warden of the North. Thou, Prince of Wales, and Audley, straight to sea, Scour to Newhaven—some there stay for me. Myself, Artois and Derby will through Flanders To greet our friends there and to crave their aid. This night will scarce suffice me to discover My folly’s siege against a faithful lover, For ere the sun shall gild the eastern sky We’ll wake him with our martial harmony.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra da una porta il conte di Derby, dalla Francia. Da un’altra porta entra lord Audley con un tamburino
CONTE DI DERBY	Tre volte nobile Audley, ben incontrato qui. Come stanno il nostro sovrano e i suoi pari?
AUDLEY	Son ben quindici giorni da che vidi sua altezza, nel qual tempo mi mandò a raccogliere uomini, il che ho debitamente fatto, e li conduco qua, in bell’ordine, davanti a sua maestà. Che nuove, mio lord di Derby, dall’imperatore?
CONTE DI DERBY	Buone quanto desideriamo. L’imperatore ha concesso a sua altezza amichevole aiuto, e fa del nostro re luogotenente generale in tutte le sue terre e ampie signorie. Dunque, via verso gli spaziosi confini di Francia!
AUDLEY	Come, sua altezza sussulta a udir queste nuove?
CONTE DI DERBY	Non ho ancora trovato il tempo d’aprirle. Il re è nel suo gabinetto, scontento. Di che, non so, ma diede ordine che fino a dopo il pranzo nessuno lo interrompesse. La contessa di Salisbury e suo padre Warwick, Artois, e tutti, guardano di sotto alle ciglia.
AUDLEY	Senza dubbio, allora, qualcosa non va.
(didascalia)	Squillano trombe dentro
CONTE DI DERBY	Le trombe squillano. Il re è ora fuori.
(didascalia)	Entra re Edoardo
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Ecco viene sua altezza.
CONTE DI DERBY	(al re) Accada al mio sovrano tutto quel che il mio sovrano desidera.
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO a parte
CONTE DI DERBY	Ah, fossi tu una strega da farlo accadere.
CONTE DI DERBY	L’imperatore vi saluta—
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO a parte Fosse la contessa.
CONTE DI DERBY	—e ha accordato la richiesta di vostra altezza.
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO a parte
CONTE DI DERBY	Tu menti. Ella non l’ha accordata, ma vorrei l’avesse fatto.
AUDLEY	Ogni amore e dovere al mio signore il re.
(didascalia)	RE EDOARDO a parte
AUDLEY	Bene, tutti tranne una è nessuno. (Ad Audley) Che nuove porti?
AUDLEY	Ho, mio sire, levato quei cavalli e quei fanti, secondo il vostro incarico, e li ho condotti qui.
RE EDOARDO	Allora lascia che quei fanti se ne vadano di qui su quei cavalli, secondo il nostro congedo, e sian partiti. Derby, guarderò tra poco alla mente della contessa.
CONTE DI DERBY	La mente della contessa, mio sire?
RE EDOARDO	Intendo l’imperatore. Lasciami solo.
AUDLEY	(a Derby) Che ha in mente?
CONTE DI DERBY	Lasciamolo al suo umore.
(didascalia)	Escono Derby e Audley
RE EDOARDO	Così dall’abbondanza del cuore parla la lingua: «contessa» per «imperatore»—e in verità perché no? Ella è come imperatrice sopra di me, e io per lei sono come un vassallo inginocchiato che osserva il piacere o il dispiacere del suo occhio.
(didascalia)	Entra Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	(A Lodowick) Che dice colei che più di Cleopatra è degna del suo Cesare, ora?
LODOWICK	Che ancor prima della notte, mio sire, ella risolverà vostra maestà.
(didascalia)	Rullo di tamburo dentro
RE EDOARDO	Che tamburo è questo che tuona questa marcia per far trasalire il tenero Cupido nel mio petto? Povera pelle di pecora, come strepita con chi la percuote! Va’, sfonda il fondo di quella pergamena tonante e io le insegnerò a portare dolci versi al seno d’una celeste ninfa; ché l’userò come mia carta da scrivere, e così lo ridurrò da tamburo brontolone a essere l’araldo, e caro latore di consigli, fra una dea e un possente re. Va’, di’ al tamburino d’imparare a toccare il liuto, o impiccalo alle corde del suo tamburo; ché ora stimiamo cosa incivile turbare il cielo con sì aspri rimbombi. Via!
(didascalia)	Esce Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	La contesa che ho non richiede armi se non queste mie, e queste incontreranno il mio nemico in una profonda marcia di gemiti penetranti. I miei occhi saranno le mie frecce, e i miei sospiri mi serviranno come il vantaggio del vento per far turbinare via la mia più dolce artiglieria. Ah, ma ahimè, ella mi vince il sole, ché quello è lei stessa, e di là viene che i poeti chiamano cieco il lascivo guerriero. Ma l’amore ha occhi come giudizio ai suoi passi, finché troppo amata gloria non li abbagli—
(didascalia)	Entra Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	Ebbene?
LODOWICK	Mio sire, il tamburo che batté la gagliarda marcia sta col principe Edoardo, il vostro tre volte valoroso figlio.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entra Edoardo, principe di Galles
(didascalia)	Vedo il ragazzo. A parte Oh, come il volto di sua madre,
RE EDOARDO	modellato nel suo, corregge il mio traviato desiderio, e rimprovera il mio cuore, e sgrida il mio occhio ladro, che, essendo abbastanza ricco nel vedere lei, pur cerca altrove; e il più vile furto è quello che non può ammantarsi di povertà. (Al principe) Ora, ragazzo, che nuove?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Ho radunato, mio caro signore e padre, i più scelti germogli di tutto il nostro sangue inglese per le nostre imprese in Francia, e qui veniamo a prender direttive da vostra maestà.
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Ancora vedo in lui delineato il volto di sua madre. Quegli occhi suoi sono i suoi, che, guardandomi fissi, mi fanno arrossire. Ché le colpe contro se stesse danno testimonianza; la lussuria è un fuoco, e gli uomini, come lanterne, mostrano la lieve lussuria dentro di sé, e pur attraverso se stessi. Via, sciolte sete sopra ondeggiante vanità! Sarà il vasto confine della bella Bretagna da me abbattuto, e non saprò io dominare questa piccola dimora di me stesso? Datemi un’armatura d’eterno acciaio: vado a conquistare re; e non saprò allora soggiogare me stesso ed essere amico del mio nemico? Non dev’essere. (Al principe) Vieni, ragazzo! Avanti! All’assalto! Addolciamo coi nostri colori l’aria di Francia.
(didascalia)	Entra Lodowick
LODOWICK	(al re) Mio sire, la contessa, con lieto volto, desidera accesso a vostra maestà.
RE EDOARDO	(a parte) Ecco, ci risiamo. Quel suo stesso sorriso ha riscattato la Francia prigioniera e messo in libertà il re, il Delfino e i pari. (Al principe) Va’, lasciami, Ned, e festeggia coi tuoi amici.
(didascalia)	Esce il principe di Galles
RE EDOARDO	(A parte) Tua madre non è che scura, e tu, come lei, mi rammenti quanto ella sia brutta. (A Lodowick) Va’, conduci qui la contessa per mano—
(didascalia)	Esce Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	E lascia ch’ella scacci queste nubi d’inverno, ché ella dà bellezza al cielo e alla terra insieme. Maggior peccato è squartare e trucidare poveri uomini che abbracciare in un letto illecito il registro di tutte le rarità dal coriaceo Adamo fino a quest’ora novissima.
(didascalia)	Entra Lodowick conducendo per mano la contessa di Salisbury
RE EDOARDO	Va’, Lod’wick, metti la mano nella mia borsa— gioca, spendi, dona, gozzoviglia, sperpera, fa’ ciò che vuoi, purché tu vada via un poco e mi lasci qui.
(didascalia)	Esce Lodowick
RE EDOARDO	(Alla contessa) Ora, compagna di giochi della mia anima, sei venuta a dire la parola più che celeste, «sì», alla mia istanza nel tuo bellissimo amore?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Mio padre, sulla sua benedizione, m’ha comandato—
RE EDOARDO	Che tu ti conceda a me.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Sì, caro mio sire, ciò che vi è dovuto.
RE EDOARDO	E ciò, mio carissimo amore, non può esser meno che diritto per diritto, e rendere amore per amore.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Che torto per torto, e odio infinito per odio. Ma poiché vedo vostra maestà così risoluta che né la mia riluttanza, né l’amore di mio marito, né il vostro alto stato, né alcun riguardo rispettato può soccorrermi, ma la vostra potenza sopraffarà e atterrirà questi cari riguardi, io lego il mio scontento al vostro contento, e ciò che non vorrei, mal costretta, voglio, purché voi stesso rimuoviate quegli impedimenti che stanno tra l’amore di vostra altezza e il mio.
RE EDOARDO	Nominateli, bella contessa, e per il cielo lo farò.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Sono le loro vite che stanno tra il nostro amore e che io vorrei soffocate, mio sovrano.
RE EDOARDO	Le vite di chi, mia signora?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Mio tre volte amante sire, la vostra regina e Salisbury, mio sposo, i quali, vivendo, hanno quel titolo sul nostro amore che noi non possiamo concederci se non con la loro morte.
RE EDOARDO	La loro opposizione è oltre la nostra legge.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Così è il vostro desiderio. Se la legge può impedirvi d’eseguire l’una cosa, vi vieti anche di tentare l’altra. Non posso credere che m’amiate come dite se non mantenete ciò che avete giurato.
RE EDOARDO	Basta. Tuo marito e la regina morranno. Assai più bella tu sei di quanto fosse Ero; l’imberbe Leandro non fu forte quanto me. Egli nuotò una facile corrente per il suo amore, ma io passerò per un Ellesponto di sangue per giungere a Sesto, dove giace la mia Ero.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Anzi, farete di più. Farete anche il fiume col sangue del cuore di quelli che tengono diviso il nostro amore, dei quali mio marito e vostra moglie sono i due.
RE EDOARDO	La tua bellezza li fa colpevoli della loro morte, e testimonia che essi debbono morire— e su tale verdetto io, loro giudice, li condanno.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	O bellezza spergiura! Giudice ancor più corrotto! Quando alla gran camera stellata sopra i nostri capi l’universale sessione chiamerà a render conto questo male macchinato, entrambi ne tremeremo.
RE EDOARDO	Che dice il mio bell’amore? È risoluta?
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Risoluta a dissolversi, e perciò questo: mantieni solo la tua parola, gran re, e sono tua. Resta dove stai—io m’allontanerò un poco da te— Ella si allontana dal re
(didascalia)	inginocchiandosi E vedi come mi consegnerò nelle tue mani.
CONTESSA DI SALISBURY	Qui, al mio fianco, pendono i miei coltelli nuziali. Ella mostra due coltelli Prendi tu l’uno, Ella offre un coltello al re e con esso uccidi la tua regina, e impara da me a trovarla dove giace; e con quest’altro Ella volge l’altro coltello contro se stessa io spaccerò il mio amore, che ora giace profondamente addormentato nel mio cuore. Quando essi saran morti, allora acconsentirò all’amore. Non muoverti, lascivo re, per impedirmi. La mia risoluzione è assai più agile di quanto possa esser la tua prevenzione nel soccorrermi. E se ti muovi, colpisco. Perciò sta’ fermo, e odi la scelta che ti porrò dinanzi. O giura di lasciare la tua empissima richiesta e di non sollecitarmi mai più d’ora innanzi, oppure, per il cielo, questo coltello appuntito macchierà la tua terra con ciò che tu vorresti macchiare— il mio povero, casto sangue. Giura, Edoardo, giura, o colpirò e morrò qui davanti a te.
RE EDOARDO	Per quella stessa potenza io giuro, che ora mi dà il potere di vergognarmi di me stesso, che mai più intendo dischiudere le labbra in parole che tendano a tale richiesta. Alzatevi, vera dama inglese, di cui la nostra isola può vantarsi meglio di quanto mai poté Roma di colei il cui saccheggiato tesoro ha impegnato il vano adoprarsi di tante penne. Alzatevi, e sia la mia colpa la fama del vostro onore di cui le età future v’arricchiranno. Io sono destato da questo ozioso sogno.
(didascalia)	La contessa si alza
RE EDOARDO	(Chiamando) Warwick, figlio mio, Derby, Artois e Audley— prodi guerrieri tutti, dove siete stati per tutto questo tempo?
(didascalia)	Entrano tutti i pari: il conte di Warwick, il
RE EDOARDO	principe di Galles, il conte di Derby, il conte d’Artois e lord Audley Warwick, ti faccio Guardiano del Nord. Tu, principe di Galles, e Audley, subito al mare, correte a Newhaven—là alcuni m’attendano. Io stesso, Artois e Derby passeremo per le Fiandre a salutare i nostri amici e a chiedere il loro aiuto. Questa notte a stento mi basterà per scoprire l’assedio della mia follia contro una fedele amante, ché prima che il sole indori il cielo d’oriente lo sveglieremo con la nostra marziale armonia.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France, his two sons (the Dauphin and Prince Philippe) and the Duc de Lorraine
KING OF FRANCE	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 in? How hast thou heard that he provided is Of martial furniture for this exploit?
DUC DE LORRAINE	To lay aside unnecessary soothing, And not to spend the time in circumstance, ’Tis bruited for a certainty, my lord, That he’s exceeding strongly fortified. His subjects flock as willingly to war As if unto a triumph they were led.
DAUPHIN	England was wont to harbour malcontents, Bloodthirsty and seditious Catilines, Spendthrifts, and such as gape for nothing else But change and alteration of the state. And is it possible That they are now so loyal in themselves?
DUC DE LORRAINE	All but the Scot, who solemnly protests, As heretofore I have informed his grace, Never to sheathe his sword or take a truce.
KING OF FRANCE	Ah, that’s the anch’rage of some better hope. But on the other side, to think what friends King Edward hath retained in Netherland, 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 their 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 Bohême, and of Sicily, Are all become confederates with us And, as I think, are marching hither apace—
(didascalia)	Sound drums within
KING OF FRANCE	But soft, I hear the music of their drums, By which I guess that their approach is near.
(didascalia)	Enter at one door the King of Bohemia with Danish soldiers and a drummer. Enter at another door a Polish captain with Muscovite and Polish soldiers and a drummer
KING OF BOHEMIA	King Jean of France, as league and neighbourhood Requires when friends are any way distressed, I come to aid thee with my country’s force.
POLISH CAPTAIN	(to the King of France) 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 harebrained 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, Bayard-like, blind overweening Ned, To reach at our imperial diadem Is either to be swallowed of the waves, Or hacked a-pieces when thou com’st ashore.
(didascalia)	Enter a French Mariner
MARINER	Near to the coast I have descried, my lord, As I was busy 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. Majestical the order of their course, Figuring the hornèd 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 titely carried with a merry gale They plough the ocean hitherward amain.
KING OF FRANCE	Dare he already crop the fleur-de-lis? I hope, the honey being gathered thence, He, with the spider, afterward 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?
MARINER	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 maw.
KING OF FRANCE	(giving money) There’s for thy news. Return unto thy barque, And if thou scape the bloody 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, lest they chance to land. (To the King of Bohemia) First you, my lord, with your Bohemian troops, Shall pitch your battles on the lower hand.
(didascalia)	(To the Dauphin and the Polish captain)
KING OF FRANCE	My eldest son, the Duke of Normandy, Together with this aid of Muscovites, Shall climb the higher ground another way. Here in the middle coast, betwixt you both, Philippe, my youngest boy, and I will lodge. So, lords, be gone, and look unto your charge, You stand for France, an empire fair and large.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the King of France and Prince Philippe
KING OF FRANCE	Now tell me, Philippe, what is thy conceit Touching the challenge that the English make?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	I say, my lord, claim Edward what he can, And bring he ne‘er so plain a pedigree, ’Tis you are in 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 upstarts home again.
(didascalia)	Well said, young Philippe! To an attendant Call for bread and wine
KING OF FRANCE	That we may cheer our stomachs with repast To look our foes more sternly in the face. Bread and wine are brought forth. The battle is heard afar off. The King and Prince Philippe sup Now is begun the heavy day at sea. Fight, Frenchmen, fight! Be like the field of bears When they defend their younglings in their caves. Steer, angry Nemesis, the happy helm That with the sulphur battles of your rage The English fleet may be dispersed and sunk. A cannon shot within
PRINCE PHILIPPE	O, father, how this echoing cannon shot, Like sweet harmony, digests my cates!
KING OF FRANCE	Now, boy, thou hear‘st what thund’ring 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 rancour of their high-swoll’n hearts.
(didascalia)	Retreat sounds within
(didascalia)	Retreat is sounded—one side hath the worse.
KING OF FRANCE	O, if it be the French, sweet fortune turn, And in thy turning, change the froward winds That, with advantage of a favouring sky, Our men may vanquish, and the other fly.
(didascalia)	Enter the French Mariner
KING OF FRANCE	My heart misgives. (To the Mariner) Say, mirror of pale death, To whom belongs the honour of this day? Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serve The sad discourse of this discomfiture.
MARINER	I will, my lord. My gracious sovereign, France hath ta‘en the foil, And boasting Edward triumphs with success. These iron-hearted navies, When last I was reporter 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 Give earnest-penny of a further wreck, Like fiery dragons took their haughty flight; And likewise meeting, from their smoky wombs 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 reft 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 maimed fell, As did her gushing moisture break into The cranny cleftures of the through-shot planks. Here flew a head dissevered 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 ye 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 fear, Of resolution and of cowardice, We lively pictured—how the one for fame, The other by compulsion, laid about. Much did the Nonpareil, that brave ship; So did the Black Snake of Boulogne, 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 Philippe, let us hence depart; This soldier’s words have pierced thy father’s heart.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Giovanni re di Francia, i suoi due figli (il Delfino e il principe Filippo) e il duca di Lorena
RE DI FRANCIA	Qui, finché la nostra flotta di mille vele non abbia fatto colazione del nostro nemico sul mare, accampiamoci ad attendere la loro felice spedizione. Lorena, in quale stato di prontezza è Edoardo? Come hai udito ch’egli sia provvisto d’apparato marziale per questa impresa?
DUCA DI LORENA	Per lasciar da parte inutili blandizie, e non spendere il tempo in circostanze, si dà per certo, mio signore, ch’egli è fortificato oltremodo. I suoi sudditi accorrono alla guerra così volentieri come se fossero condotti a un trionfo.
DELFINO	L’Inghilterra soleva albergare scontenti, Catilina assetati di sangue e sediziosi, scialacquatori, e gente che non anela ad altro che al mutamento e all’alterazione dello stato. Ed è possibile che ora siano tanto leali fra loro?
DUCA DI LORENA	Tutti tranne lo Scozzese, che solennemente protesta, come già ho informato sua grazia, di non rinfoderare mai la spada né prender tregua.
RE DI FRANCIA	Ah, questo è l’ancoraggio di qualche miglior speranza. Ma d’altro canto, pensare quali amici re Edoardo si sia guadagnato nei Paesi Bassi, fra quegli epicurei sempre intenti a bere— quegli schiumosi Olandesi, gonfi di birra doppia, che bevono e tracannano in ogni luogo dove vanno— non poco aggrava la mia ira. Inoltre, udiamo che l’imperatore s’unisce a lui e lo insedia nella propria autorità. Ma quanto più potente è il loro numero, tanto maggior gloria miete la vittoria! Qualche amico abbiamo oltre alla forza domestica— il severo Polacco e il bellicoso Danese, il re di Boemia, e quello di Sicilia, si son fatti tutti confederati con noi e, com’io credo, marciano qui in fretta—
(didascalia)	Rullo di tamburi dentro
RE DI FRANCIA	Ma piano, odo la musica dei loro tamburi, dalla quale arguisco che il loro arrivo è vicino.
(didascalia)	Entra da una porta il re di Boemia con soldati danesi e un tamburino. Entra da un’altra porta un capitano polacco con soldati moscoviti e polacchi e un tamburino
RE DI BOEMIA	Re Giovanni di Francia, come lega e vicinanza richiedono quando gli amici sono in qualche modo afflitti, vengo ad aiutarti con la forza del mio paese.
CAPITANO POLACCO	(al re di Francia) E dalla grande Mosca, temuta dal Turco, e dall’altera Polonia, nutrice d’uomini gagliardi, io reco questi servitori a combattere per te, i quali volentieri s’avventureranno nella tua causa.
RE DI FRANCIA	Benvenuto, re boemo, e benvenuti tutti. Questa vostra gran cortesia non dimenticherò. Oltre alle abbondanti ricompense in corone che riceverete dal nostro tesoro, viene una nazione scervellata, agghindata d’orgoglio, il cui saccheggio sarà triplice guadagno. E ora la mia speranza è piena, la mia gioia completa. Per mare siamo potenti quanto la forza d’Agamennone nel porto di Troia. Per terra ci paragoniamo in forza a Serse, i cui soldati bevvero interi fiumi nella loro sete. Dunque, cieco e presuntuoso Ned, novello Baiardo, tendere al nostro imperiale diadema significa o esser inghiottito dalle onde, o esser fatto a pezzi quando metterai piede a terra.
(didascalia)	Entra un marinaio francese
MARINAIO	Presso la costa ho scorto, mio signore, mentre ero intento al mio vigile ufficio, la superba armata delle navi di re Edoardo, che, dapprima, quando da lontano la scorsi, pareva un boschetto di pini appassiti, ma avvicinandosi, il loro glorioso, luminoso aspetto, le loro insegne fluttuanti tessute di seta variopinta, simili a un prato pieno di svariati fiori, adorna il nudo seno della terra. Maestoso è l’ordine del loro corso, che figura il cerchio cornuto della luna, e sull’albero di gabbia dell’ammiraglia, e parimenti su tutte le ancelle del suo seguito, le armi d’Inghilterra e di Francia unite sono inquartate egualmente per arte d’araldo. Così serrati e spinti da un allegro vento solcano l’oceano verso qua a tutta forza.
RE DI FRANCIA	Osa egli già cogliere il giglio di Francia? Spero che, raccoltone il miele, egli, come il ragno accostatosi poi, ne succhi mortale veleno dalle foglie. Ma dov’è la nostra flotta? Come s’è preparata a metter ali contro questo volo di corvi?
MARINAIO	Essi, avuta notizia dagli esploratori, ruppero subito l’ancoraggio e, gonfi di rabbia non altrimenti che le loro vele di vento, mossero come quando l’aquila digiuna vola a saziare le sue fauci affamate e avide.
RE DI FRANCIA	(dandogli denaro) Ecco per le tue nuove. Torna alla tua barca, e se scampi al cruento colpo della guerra e sopravvivi al conflitto, ritorna, e facci udire il modo della battaglia. Esce il marinaio Intanto, miei signori, è meglio che ci disperdiamo in vari luoghi, caso mai sbarchino. (Al re di Boemia) Prima voi, mio signore, con le vostre truppe boeme, schiererete le vostre schiere sulla parte bassa.
(didascalia)	(Al Delfino e al capitano polacco)
RE DI FRANCIA	Il mio figlio maggiore, il duca di Normandia, insieme a questo aiuto di Moscoviti, salirà per altra via il terreno più alto. Qui, sulla costa di mezzo, tra voi due, Filippo, il mio figlio minore, e io ci accamperemo. Dunque, signori, andate, e badate al vostro incarico: voi state per la Francia, impero bello e vasto.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne il re di Francia e il principe Filippo
RE DI FRANCIA	Ora dimmi, Filippo, qual è il tuo parere riguardo alla pretesa che avanzano gli Inglesi?
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Dico, mio signore, rivendichi Edoardo quel che può, e porti pure la più chiara genealogia, siete voi in possesso della corona, e questo è il punto più sicuro di tutta la legge. Ma quand’anche non fosse, prima ch’egli prevalga farò un condotto del mio più caro sangue, o ricaccerò a casa quei vagabondi arrivisti.
(didascalia)	Ben detto, giovane Filippo! A un attendente Chiedi pane e vino
RE DI FRANCIA	perché possiamo rallegrare i nostri stomaci con un pasto e guardare più fieri in volto i nostri nemici. Vengono portati pane e vino. Si ode la battaglia in lontananza. Il re e il principe Filippo cenano Ora è cominciato il giorno greve sul mare. Combattete, Francesi, combattete! Siate come una schiera d’orsi quando difendono i loro piccoli nelle tane. Governa, adirata Nemesi, il timone propizio, sì che con le sulfuree battaglie della tua ira la flotta inglese sia dispersa e affondata. Un colpo di cannone dentro
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Oh, padre, come questo echeggiante colpo di cannone, simile a dolce armonia, mi digerisce le vivande!
RE DI FRANCIA	Ora, ragazzo, odi quale tuonante terrore sia cingere le armi per la sovranità d’un regno. La terra, quando trema con vertiginoso tremito, o quando le esalazioni dell’aria prorompono nell’estremo guizzo del fulmine, non atterriscono più dei re, quando essi dispongono di mostrare il rancore dei loro cuori gonfi.
(didascalia)	Suona la ritirata dentro
(didascalia)	Suona la ritirata—una delle parti ha la peggio.
RE DI FRANCIA	Oh, se sono i Francesi, dolce fortuna, volgiti, e nel tuo volgerti muta i venti contrari sì che, col vantaggio d’un cielo favorevole, i nostri uomini vincano, e gli altri fuggano.
(didascalia)	Entra il marinaio francese
RE DI FRANCIA	Il cuore mi trema. (Al marinaio) Di’, specchio della pallida morte, a chi appartiene l’onore di questo giorno? Racconta, ti prego, se il fiato ti reggerà, il triste discorso di questa disfatta.
MARINAIO	Lo farò, mio signore. Mio grazioso sovrano, la Francia ha avuto la peggio, e il vanaglorioso Edoardo trionfa con successo. Queste flotte dal cuore di ferro, quando ultimamente feci rapporto a vostra grazia, entrambe piene d’ira sdegnosa, di speranza e di paura, affrettandosi a incontrarsi faccia a faccia, alfine si congiunsero, e dalla loro ammiraglia la nostra ammiraglia ricevette molte cannonate. Allora le altre, che videro quelle due dare caparra d’un ulteriore naufragio, come dragoni di fuoco presero il loro altero volo; e parimenti incontrandosi, dai loro ventri fumanti mandarono molti truci ambasciatori di morte. Allora il giorno cominciò a mutarsi in cupa notte, e la tenebra avvolse tanto i vivi quanto quelli cui la vita era appena stata tolta. Non vi fu agio per gli amici di dirsi addio, e se pur vi fosse stato, il rumore orrendo era tale che l’uno all’altro pareva sordo e muto. Purpureo il mare, il cui alveo si riempiva di sangue fluente che cadeva dai mutilati con la stessa fretta con cui la sua acqua irrompeva nelle fessure delle tavole trapassate dai colpi. Qui volava un capo staccato dal tronco; là braccia e gambe straziate erano scagliate in alto, come quando un turbine prende la polvere d’estate e la disperde in mezzo all’aria. Allora si potevano vedere i vascelli barcollanti spaccarsi e, vacillando, affondare nel flutto spietato finché le loro alte cime non si videro più. Ogni espediente fu tentato, per difesa e per offesa. E ora l’effetto del valore e della paura, della risolutezza e della codardia, fu da noi vivamente dipinto—come l’uno per fama, l’altro per costrizione, menasse colpi all’intorno. Molto fece la Nonpareil, quella prode nave; e così il Serpente Nero di Boulogne, del quale vascello più gagliardo non spiegò mai vela. Ma tutto invano: sole, vento e marea passarono tutti dalla parte dei nostri nemici, sì che noi, per forza, dovemmo cedere il passo, ed essi sono sbarcati. Così il mio racconto è finito. Noi abbiamo perduto anzitempo, ed essi hanno vinto.
RE DI FRANCIA	Allora non resta che, con presente prestezza, unire tutte in una le nostre varie forze, e dar loro battaglia prima che si spingano troppo lontano. Vieni, gentile Filippo, partiamo di qui; le parole di questo soldato hanno trafitto il cuore di tuo padre.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter at one door two Frenchmen without baggage. Enter at another door, meeting them, other Frenchmen and a Frenchwoman with two little children, all with baggage
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Well met, my masters. How now? What’s the news, And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuff? What, is it quarter-day, that you remove, And carry bag and baggage too?
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	Quarter-day, ay, and quartering day I fear. Have ye not heard the news that flies abroad?
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	What news?
SECOND FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	How the French navy is destroyed at sea, And that the English army is arrived.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	What then?
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	‘What then,’ quoth you? Why, is’t not time to fly, When envy and destruction is so nigh?
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Content thee, man, they are far enough from hence, And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost, Before they break so far into the realm.
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	Ay, 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 throughly washed when he suspects it not. We that have charge, and such a train as this, Must look in time to look for them and us, Lest, when we would, we cannot be relieved.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Belike you then despair of ill success, And think your country will be subjugate.
SECOND FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	We cannot tell. ’Tis good to fear the worst.
FRENCHMAN WITHOUT BAGGAGE	Yet rather fight, than like unnatural sons Forsake your loving parents in distress.
FIRST FRENCHMAN WITH BAGGAGE	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: Edward is son unto our late king’s sister, Where Jean Valois is three degrees removed.
FRENCHWOMAN	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 Whenas a lion roused in the west Shall carry hence the fleur-de-lis of France. These, I can tell ye, and such like surmises, Strike many Frenchmen cold unto the heart.
(didascalia)	Enter a Frenchman in haste
FLEEING FRENCHMAN	Fly, countrymen and citizens of France! Sweet-flow’ring peace, the root of happy life, Is quite abandoned and expulsed the land. Instead of whom, ransack-constraining war Sits like to ravens upon your houses’ tops. Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets And, unrestrained, make havoc as they pass, The form whereof, even now, myself beheld Upon this fair mountain, whence I came. For so far off 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 Y-turnèd but aside, I likewise might discern The poor inhabitants, escaped the flame, Fall 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 son, And in the midst their 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 you yourselves, for now the storm doth rise. Away, away! Methinks I hear their drums! Ah, wretched France, I greatly fear thy fall; Thy glory shaketh like a tottering wall.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano da una porta due Francesi senza bagagli. Entrano da un’altra porta, incontrandoli, altri Francesi e una Francese con due bambini piccoli, tutti con bagagli
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	Ben trovati, padroni miei. Ebbene? Che nuove ci sono, e perché siete così carichi di roba? Come, è forse giorno di scadenza, che sgomberate e portate via sacco e bagagli?
PRIMO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	Giorno di scadenza, sì, e giorno di squartamento, temo. Non avete udito le nuove che corrono attorno?
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	Quali nuove?
SECONDO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	Che la flotta francese è distrutta sul mare, e che l’esercito inglese è sbarcato.
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	E allora?
PRIMO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	«E allora», dite voi? Ma non è tempo di fuggire, quando la rovina e lo sterminio son così vicini?
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	Sta’ tranquillo, uomo, sono abbastanza lontani di qui, e saranno affrontati, ve l’assicuro, a loro danno, prima che penetrino tanto addentro nel regno.
PRIMO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	Sì, così la cicala spende il tempo in gaia allegria, finché non venga l’inverno, e allora, troppo tardi, vorrebbe riscattare il suo tempo, quando il gelo le ha morso il capo spensierato. Chi non provvede a un mantello se non quando vede che comincia a piovere può, per avventura, per la sua negligenza, essere inzuppato quando meno se l’aspetta. Noi che abbiamo un carico, e un seguito come questo, dobbiamo badare in tempo a loro e a noi, ché non avvenga che, volendo, non si possa più rimediare.
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	Voi dunque disperate per un esito infausto, e credete che il vostro paese sarà soggiogato.
SECONDO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	Non sappiamo. È bene temere il peggio.
FRANCESE SENZA BAGAGLI	Eppure meglio combattere, che, come figli snaturati, abbandonare nell’angoscia i vostri amorevoli genitori.
PRIMO FRANCESE CON BAGAGLI	Bah, quelli che hanno già preso le armi sono molti spaventosi milioni a paragone di quel piccolo pugno di nostri nemici. Ma è una giusta contesa che deve prevalere: Edoardo è figlio della sorella del nostro ultimo re, laddove Giovanni di Valois è di tre gradi discosto.
DONNA FRANCESE	Inoltre, corre attorno una profezia, divulgata da uno che fu un tempo frate, i cui oracoli molte volte si son mostrati veri, e ora egli dice che presto verrà il tempo in cui un leone destato nell’occidente porterà via di qui il giglio di Francia. Queste, ve lo posso dire, e simili congetture, agghiacciano il cuore a molti Francesi.
(didascalia)	Entra in fretta un Francese
FRANCESE IN FUGA	Fuggite, compatrioti e cittadini di Francia! La pace dal dolce fiorire, radice di vita felice, è del tutto abbandonata ed espulsa dal paese. In sua vece, la guerra che costringe al saccheggio siede come corvi sui tetti delle vostre case. Strage e sciagura camminano per le vostre strade e, senza freno, fanno scempio al loro passaggio; e la loro immagine, proprio ora, io stesso ho veduto su questa bella montagna, donde son venuto. Ché fin dove ho spinto gli occhi ho potuto scorgere cinque città tutte in fiamme, campi di grano e vigne bruciare come un forno, e, quando il vapore fumante nel vento si volgeva un poco da parte, ho pure potuto discernere i poveri abitanti, scampati alla fiamma, cadere innumerevoli sulle picche dei soldati. Per tre vie questi tremendi ministri dell’ira battono le cadenze della loro tragica marcia: sulla destra viene il re conquistatore, sulla sinistra il suo ardente, sfrenato figlio, e nel mezzo la scintillante schiera della loro nazione. Tutti costoro, benché distanti, pur cospirano in uno a lasciare desolazione dove giungono. Fuggite, dunque, cittadini, se siete savi. Cercatevi qualche dimora più lontana. Qui, se restate, le vostre mogli saranno oltraggiate, i vostri tesori divisi sotto i vostri occhi in pianto. Mettetevi al riparo, ché ora si leva la tempesta. Via, via! Mi par d’udire i loro tamburi! Ah, misera Francia, molto temo la tua caduta; la tua gloria vacilla come un muro cadente.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and the Earl of Derby with soldiers and Gobin de Grace
KING EDWARD	Where is the Frenchman by whose cunning guide We found the shallow of this river Somme, And had direction how to pass the sea?
GOBIN	Here, my good lord.
KING EDWARD	How art thou called? Tell me thy name.
GOBIN	Gobin de Grace, if please your excellence.
KING EDWARD	Then, Gobin, for the service thou hast done We here enlarge and give thee liberty, And for a recompense, beside this good, Thou shalt receive five hundred marks in gold. (To Derby) I know not how we should have missed our son, Whom now in heart I wish I might behold.
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Good news, my lord! The Prince is hard at hand, And with him comes Lord Audley and the rest Whom, since our landing, we could never meet.
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and soldiers
KING EDWARD	Welcome, fair Prince. How hast thou sped, my son, Since thy arrival on the coast of France?
PRINCE OF WALES	Successfully, I thank the gracious heavens. Some of their strongest cities we have won— As Harfleur, Lô, Crotoy and Carentan— 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, For who in scorn refused our proffered peace Endured the penalty of sharp revenge.
KING EDWARD	Ah, France, why shouldst thou be this 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?
PRINCE OF WALES	Yes, my good lord, and not two hours ago, With full a hundred thousand fighting men Upon the one side with 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 Crécy plains, Where, as it seemeth by his good array, He means to bid us battle presently.
KING EDWARD	He shall be welcome. That’s the thing we crave.
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France, the Dauphin, the
KING EDWARD	Duc de Lorraine, the King of Bohemia, young Prince Philippe and soldiers
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, know that Jean, 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, Upbraids 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, Dost altogether live by pilfering. Next, insomuch thou hast infringed thy faith, Broke league 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 labour 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 armed ent‘ring conflict with the armed, Let it be seen, ’mongst other petty thefts, How thou canst win this pillage manfully.
KING EDWARD	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 wot how I regard thy worthless taunts. If thou have uttered them to soil my fame, Or dim the reputation of my birth, Know that thy wolvish barking cannot hurt. If slyly to insinuate with the world, And with a strumpet’s artificial lime 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Look not for cross invectives at our hands, Or railing execrations of despite. Let creeping serpents hid in 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.
KING EDWARD	That needs no further question, and I know His conscience witnesseth it is my right. Therefore, Valois, say: wilt thou yet resign Before the sickle’s thrust into the corn, Or that enkindled fury turn to flame?
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, I know what right thou hast in France, And ere I basely will resign my crown This champaign field shall be a pool of blood, And all our prospect as a slaughterhouse.
PRINCE OF WALES	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, suck’st her blood.
AUDLEY	You peers of France, why do you follow him That is so prodigal to spend your lives?
DAUPHIN	Whom should they follow, aged impotent, But he that is their true-born sovereign?
KING EDWARD	Upbraid’st thou him because within his face Time hath engraved deep characters of age? Know that these grave scholars of experience, Like stiff-grown oaks, will stand immovable When whirlwind quickly turns up younger trees.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the King of France) Was ever any of thy father’s house King but thyself before this present time? (To the French generally) 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.
PRINCE PHILIPPE	(to the King of France) Father, range your battles. Prate no more. These English fain would spend the time in words That, night approaching, they might scape unfought.
KING OF FRANCE	Lords and 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 reigns 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 th‘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 resty-stiff As ’twere a many overridden jades. Then, Frenchmen, scorn that such should be your lords, And rather bind ye them in captive bands.
ALL THE FRENCH	Vive le roil God save King Jean of Francel
KING OF FRANCE	Now, on this plain of Crécy, spread yourselves. And, Edward, when thou dar’st, begin the fight!
(didascalia)	Exit with the French
KING EDWARD	(calling after) We presently will meet thee, Jean of France! (To the English) And, English lords, let us resolve the day Either to clear us of that scandalous crime Or be entombed in our innocence. (To the Prince of Wales) And, Ned, because this battle is the first That ever yet thou fought’st in pitched field, As ancient custom is of martialists To dub thee with the type of chivalry, In solemn manner we will give thee arms. Come, therefore, heralds; orderly bring forth A strong attirement for the Prince my son.
(didascalia)	Enter four heralds bringing in a coat armour, a helmet, a lance and a shield
KING EDWARD	Edward Plantagenet, 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.
(didascalia)	The Prince of Wales is invested in armour
KING EDWARD	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st. (To Derby, Audley and Artois) Now follow, lords, and do him honour too.
EARL OF DERBY	Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, As I do set this helmet on thy head Wherewith the chamber of thy brain is fenced, So may thy temples with Bellona’s hand Be still adorned with laurel victory.
(didascalia)	The helmet is placed on the Prince of Wales
EARL OF DERBY	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.
AUDLEY	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.
(didascalia)	The lance is given to the Prince of Wales
AUDLEY	Fight and be valiant; vanquish where thou com’st.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, Hold, take this target; wear it on thy arm. And may the view thereof, like Perseus’ shield, Astonish and transform thy gazing foes To senseless images of meagre death.
(didascalia)	The shield is given to the Prince of Wales
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.
KING EDWARD	Now wants there naught but knighthood, which deferred We leave till thou hast won it in the field.
PRINCE OF WALES	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 Whenas 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 mine arms, Wither my heart that, like a sapless tree, I may remain the map of infamy.
KING EDWARD	Then thus our steeled battles shall be ranged. (To the Prince of Wales) The leading of the vanguard, 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 manège may be second unto none. (To all) For the main battles I will guide myself, And Derby in the rearward march behind, That orderly disposed and set in ’ray Let us to horse, and God grant us the day!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Edoardo e il conte di Derby con soldati e Gobin de Grace
RE EDOARDO	Dov’è il Francese per la cui accorta guida trovammo il guado di questo fiume Somme, ed ebbimo indicazione come passare il mare?
GOBIN	Qui, mio buon signore.
RE EDOARDO	Come ti chiami? Dimmi il tuo nome.
GOBIN	Gobin de Grace, se piace a vostra eccellenza.
RE EDOARDO	Allora, Gobin, per il servizio che hai reso qui ti affranchiamo e ti diamo libertà, e per ricompensa, oltre a questo bene, riceverai cinquecento marchi d’oro. (A Derby) Non so come abbiamo potuto perdere di vista nostro figlio, che ora in cuor mio vorrei poter vedere.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte d’Artois
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Buone nuove, mio signore! Il principe è qui vicino, e con lui vengono lord Audley e gli altri che, dal nostro sbarco, non potemmo mai incontrare.
(didascalia)	Entrano Edoardo principe di Galles, lord Audley e soldati
RE EDOARDO	Benvenuto, bel principe. Come ti sei condotto, figlio mio, dal tuo arrivo sulla costa di Francia?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Con successo, ne ringrazio i graziosi cieli. Alcune delle loro più forti città abbiamo preso— come Harfleur, Lô, Crotoy e Carentan— e altre devastato, lasciando alle nostre calcagna un ampio, aperto campo e una via battuta in cui la solitudine possa avanzare. Pure, quelli che vollero sottomettersi li perdonammo benignamente, ché chi con scherno rifiutò la pace offerta subì la pena d’un’aspra vendetta.
RE EDOARDO	Ah, Francia, perché dovresti esser tanto ostinata contro il benigno abbraccio dei tuoi amici? Con che dolcezza avevamo pensato di toccare il tuo petto e posare il piede sulla tua tenera zolla, se non che, in ritroso e sdegnoso orgoglio, tu, come puledro ombroso e indomito, scarti di lato e ci colpisci coi calcagni. Ma dimmi, Ned, in tutto il tuo corso guerresco non hai veduto l’usurpatore re di Francia?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Sì, mio buon signore, e non due ore fa, con ben centomila combattenti da un lato lungo la riva del fiume, e dall’altro entrambe le sue moltitudini. Temevo che avrebbe falciato la nostra minor forza, ma per fortuna, avvedutosi del vostro avvicinarsi, s’è ritirato alle pianure di Crécy, dove, come pare dal suo bell’ordinamento, intende offrirci battaglia senz’indugio.
RE EDOARDO	Sia il benvenuto. È ciò che bramiamo.
(didascalia)	Entrano Giovanni re di Francia, il Delfino, il
RE EDOARDO	duca di Lorena, il re di Boemia, il giovane principe Filippo e soldati
RE DI FRANCIA	Edoardo, sappi che Giovanni, vero re di Francia, meravigliandosi che tu invada la sua terra e, nel tuo procedere tirannico, uccida i suoi fedeli sudditi e sovverta le sue città, ti sputa in faccia, e, nel modo che segue, ti rimprovera la tua arrogante intrusione. Primo, ti condanno come fuggiasco, pirata ladro e compagno bisognoso, uno che o non ha dimora alcuna, oppure, abitando qualche suolo sterile dove non si ha né erba né grano fruttuoso, vive interamente di ruberie. Poi, in quanto hai infranto la tua fede, rotto la lega e il solenne patto fatto con me, ti tengo per falso e pernicioso miserabile. E da ultimo, benché io sdegni misurarmi con uno tanto a me inferiore, pure, considerato che la tua sete è tutta per l’oro, e la tua fatica è più da temere che da amare, per soddisfare la tua brama, in entrambe le parti, eccomi venuto, e con me ho portato grandissima riserva di tesoro, perle e monete. Cessa dunque ora di perseguitare i deboli, e, armato, venendo a conflitto con gli armati, si veda, fra gli altri tuoi meschini furti, come tu sappia guadagnarti virilmente questo bottino.
RE EDOARDO	Se fiele o assenzio hanno un gusto piacevole, allora il tuo saluto è dolce come miele. Ma poiché l’uno non ha tale proprietà, così l’altro è quanto mai satirico. Pur sappi come io consideri i tuoi scherni senza valore. Se li hai pronunciati per lordare la mia fama, o per offuscare la reputazione della mia nascita, sappi che il tuo latrato da lupo non può nuocere. Se per insinuarti astutamente presso il mondo, e col belletto artificioso d’una sgualdrina dipingere la tua viziosa e deforme causa, sii ben certo che la contraffazione svanirà, e alla fine i tuoi turpi difetti si vedranno. Ma se l’hai fatto per provocarmi, come chi dicesse ch’io fossi timoroso, o che, freddamente negligente, avessi bisogno di sprone, pensa a quanto fui lento sul mare, come, dal mio sbarco, non abbia preso città, non sia penetrato più oltre della costa, e là da allora abbia sempre dormito sicuro. Ma se sono stato altrimenti occupato, immagina, Valois, se io intenda scaramucciare, non per bottino, ma per la corona che tu porti e che io giuro d’avere, o uno di noi cadrà nella sua tomba.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Non aspettarti aspre invettive dalle nostre mani, né ingiuriose esecrazioni di dispetto. Lascia che i serpenti striscianti nascosti nelle rive cave pungano con la lingua; noi abbiamo spade spietate, ed esse peroreranno per noi e per la nostra causa. Pur questo soltanto, brevemente, con licenza di mio padre: come tutto lo sfacciato veleno della tua gola è fatto di scandalose e notissime menzogne, e la nostra pretesa contesa è veramente giusta, così finisca la battaglia quando oggi c’incontreremo: o l’uno di noi prosperi e prevalga, o, maledetto dalla sorte, riceva eterna vergogna.
RE EDOARDO	Non occorre altra questione, e io so che la sua coscienza attesta che il diritto è mio. Perciò, Valois, di’: vuoi ancora rinunciare prima che la falce sia spinta nel grano, o che quel furore acceso si volga in fiamma?
RE DI FRANCIA	Edoardo, so quale diritto tu abbia in Francia, e prima che io vilmente rinunci alla mia corona questa aperta campagna sarà un lago di sangue, e tutta la nostra veduta un mattatoio.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Sì, questo prova, tiranno, quel che tu sei. Non padre, re o pastore del tuo regno, ma uno che ne lacera le viscere con le proprie mani e, come tigre assetata, ne succhia il sangue.
AUDLEY	Voi pari di Francia, perché seguite costui che è così prodigo nello spendere le vostre vite?
DELFINO	Chi dovrebbero seguire, vecchio impotente, se non colui che è il loro sovrano per nascita?
RE EDOARDO	Lo rimproveri perché sul suo volto il tempo ha inciso profondi caratteri d’età? Sappi che questi gravi studiosi dell’esperienza, come querce cresciute rigide, staranno immobili quando il turbine presto sradica gli alberi più giovani.
CONTE DI DERBY	(al re di Francia) Fu mai alcuno della casa di tuo padre re all’infuori di te prima di questo tempo presente? (Ai Francesi in generale) La grande stirpe d’Edoardo per parte di madre ha tenuto alto lo scettro per cinquecento anni. Giudicate dunque, congiurati, da questa discendenza quale sia il sovrano per nascita—questo o quello.
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	(al re di Francia) Padre, schierate le vostre truppe. Basta ciance. Questi Inglesi vorrebbero spendere il tempo in parole perché, avvicinandosi la notte, possano scampare senza combattere.
RE DI FRANCIA	Signori e miei amati sudditi, ora è il tempo che la forza da voi apprestata deve reggere alla prova. Perciò, amici miei, considerate questo in breve. Colui per cui combattete è il vostro re naturale; colui contro cui combattete, uno straniero. Colui per cui combattete governa con clemenza, e vi regge con morso mite e gentile; colui contro cui combattete, se prevale, subito s’intronizzerà nella tirannide, farà di voi schiavi e con mano pesante mozzerà e imbriglierà la vostra dolcissima libertà. Dunque, per proteggere il vostro paese e il vostro re, basti che l’altero coraggio dei vostri cuori risponda al numero delle vostre valide mani, e presto scacceremo questi fuggiaschi. Ché cos’è questo Edoardo se non un dio del ventre, una molle e lasciva sfrenatezza, che l’altro giorno era quasi morto d’amore? E quale, di grazia, è la sua bella guardia? Gente tale che, appena si tolgano loro i lombi di manzo e si portino via i loro letti di piume, subito sono rigidi e intorpiditi come tante rozze stracche di troppe cavalcate. Dunque, Francesi, sdegnate che tali siano i vostri signori, e piuttosto legateli voi in catene di prigionia.
TUTTI I FRANCESI	Vive le roi! Dio salvi re Giovanni di Francia!
RE DI FRANCIA	Ora, su questa piana di Crécy, spiegatevi. E, Edoardo, quando l’osi, comincia la battaglia!
(didascalia)	Esce coi Francesi
RE EDOARDO	(chiamando dietro a lui) Subito t’incontreremo, Giovanni di Francia! (Agli Inglesi) E, signori inglesi, risolviamo questa giornata o a discolparci di quel crimine scandaloso o a esser sepolti nella nostra innocenza. (Al principe di Galles) E, Ned, poiché questa battaglia è la prima che tu abbia mai combattuto in campo schierato, com’è antica usanza dei guerrieri d’insignirti dell’ordine di cavalleria, in solenne maniera ti daremo le armi. Venite dunque, araldi; recate ordinatamente un forte equipaggiamento per il principe mio figlio.
(didascalia)	Entrano quattro araldi recando una cotta d’arme, un elmo, una lancia e uno scudo
RE EDOARDO	Edoardo Plantageneto, nel nome di Dio, come con quest’armatura io ti cingo il petto, così sia il tuo nobile, implacabile cuore murato di selce d’incomparabile fortezza sì che mai vi entrino basse passioni.
(didascalia)	Il principe di Galles è rivestito dell’armatura
RE EDOARDO	Combatti e sii valoroso; vinci dovunque tu vada. (A Derby, Audley e Artois) Ora seguite, signori, e rendete anche voi onore a lui.
CONTE DI DERBY	Edoardo Plantageneto, principe di Galles, come io pongo quest’elmo sul tuo capo, col quale è difesa la camera del tuo cervello, così possano le tue tempie, per mano di Bellona, essere sempre adorne del lauro della vittoria.
(didascalia)	L’elmo è posto sul principe di Galles
CONTE DI DERBY	Combatti e sii valoroso; vinci dovunque tu vada.
AUDLEY	Edoardo Plantageneto, principe di Galles, ricevi questa lancia nella tua virile mano. Usala a guisa di penna di bronzo per tracciare cruente strategie in Francia, e stampare le tue prodi gesta nel libro dell’onore.
(didascalia)	La lancia è data al principe di Galles
AUDLEY	Combatti e sii valoroso; sconfiggi dovunque tu vada.
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Edoardo Plantageneto, principe di Galles, ecco, prendi questo scudo; portalo al braccio. E possa la sua vista, come lo scudo di Perseo, stupire e trasformare i nemici che ti fissano in immagini insensate della scarna morte.
(didascalia)	Lo scudo è dato al principe di Galles
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Combatti e sii valoroso; vinci dovunque tu vada.
RE EDOARDO	Ora nulla manca se non il cavalierato, che, differito, lasciamo finché tu non l’abbia guadagnato in campo.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Mio grazioso padre e voi arditi pari, quest’onore che m’avete reso anima e rincuora la mia verde, e ancor poco apparente, forza con segni confortanti e di buon augurio, non altrimenti che le parole del vecchio Giacobbe quando spirò le sue benedizioni sui figli. Questi vostri doni consacrati, quando io li profani o non li usi a gloria del mio Dio, a patrocinio degli orfani e dei poveri, o a beneficio della pace d’Inghilterra, siano intorpidite le mie giunture, s’infiacchiscano le mie braccia, appassisca il mio cuore, sì che, come albero senza linfa, io resti l’immagine dell’infamia.
RE EDOARDO	Così dunque saranno schierate le nostre acciaiate schiere. (Al principe di Galles) La guida dell’avanguardia, Ned, è tua, e per dignificare ancor più il tuo gagliardo spirito lo temperiamo con la gravità d’Audley, sì che, coraggio ed esperienza uniti in uno, il vostro maneggio non sia secondo a nessuno. (A tutti) Le schiere principali le guiderò io stesso, e Derby marcerà dietro in retroguardia, sì che, ordinatamente disposti e schierati, montiamo a cavallo, e Dio ci conceda la giornata!
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter and exit a many Frenchmen flying. Chasing after them, enter and exit Edward Prince of Wales running. Then enter Jean King of France and the Due de Lorraine
KING OF FRANCE	O Lorraine, say: what mean our men to fly? Our number is far greater than our foes.
DUC DE LORRAINE	The garrison of Genoese, 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 are pressed to death Than by the enemy a thousandfold.
KING OF FRANCE	O, hapless fortune! Let us yet assay If we can counsel some of them to stay.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Allarme. Entrano ed escono molti Francesi in fuga. Inseguendoli, entra ed esce di corsa Edoardo principe di Galles. Poi entrano Giovanni re di Francia e il duca di Lorena
RE DI FRANCIA	O Lorena, di’: che intendono i nostri uomini, fuggendo? Il nostro numero è assai maggiore di quello dei nemici.
DUCA DI LORENA	La guarnigione dei Genovesi, mio signore, che veniva da Parigi, stanca del suo marciare, e mal disposta a essere impiegata così d’un tratto, appena ebbe preso il suo posto in prima linea che, ritirandosi subito, tanto sgomentò gli altri che anch’essi si diedero alla fuga, nella quale, per la fretta di trarsi in salvo, più ne sono schiacciati a morte nella calca affollata che mille volte tanti dal nemico.
RE DI FRANCIA	Oh, sorte infelice! Tentiamo almeno se possiamo persuaderne qualcuno a restare.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and Lord Audley
KING EDWARD	Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase, Withdraw our powers unto this little hill, And here a season let us breathe ourselves.
AUDLEY	I will, my lord. Exit
(didascalia)	Sound retreat within
KING EDWARD	Just-dooming heaven, whose secret providence To our gross judgement 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?
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Rescue, King Edward! Rescue for thy son!
KING EDWARD	Rescue, Artois? What, is he prisoner, Or fell by violence beside his horse?
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Neither, my lord, but narrowly beset With turning Frenchmen, whom he did pursue, As ’tis impossible that he should scape Except your highness presently descend.
KING EDWARD	Tut, let him fight. We gave him arms today, And he is labouring for a knighthood, man!
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Derby
EARL OF DERBY	The Prince, my lord, the Prince! O, succour him! He’s close encompassed with a world of odds.
KING EDWARD	Then will he win a world of honour too If he by valour can redeem him thence. If not, what remedy? We have more sons Than one to comfort our declining age.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Audley
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 emmets on a bank, Muster about him whilst he, lion-like, Entangled in the net of their assaults, Franticly rends and bites the woven toil. But all in vain. He cannot free himself.
KING EDWARD	Audley, content. I will not have a man, On pain of death, sent forth to succour him. This is the day ordained by destiny To season his green courage with those grievous thoughts That, if he breaketh out, Nestor’s years on earth Will make him savour still of this exploit.
EARL OF DERBY	Ah, but he shall not live to see those days!
KING EDWARD	Why, then, his epitaph is lasting praise.
AUDLEY	Yet, good my lord, ’tis too much wilfulness To let his blood be spilt, that may be saved.
KING EDWARD	Exclaim no more, for none of you can tell Whether a borrowed aid will serve or no. Perhaps he is already slain or ta’en. 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.
AUDLEY	O cruel father! Farewell Edward, then.
EARL OF DERBY	Farewell, sweet Prince, the hope of chivalry.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	O, would my life might ransom him from death!
(didascalia)	Trumpets sound retreat within
KING EDWARD	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.
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales in triumph, bearing in his hand his shivered lance. The body of the King of Bohemia is borne before, wrapped in the colours of Bohemia. The English run and embrace the Prince
AUDLEY	O, joyful sight! Victorious Edward lives!
EARL OF DERBY	Welcome, brave Prince.
KINC EDWARD	Welcome, Plantagenet. The Prince kneels and kisses his father’s hand
PRINCE OF WALES	First, having done my duty as beseemed, Lords, I regreet you all with hearty thanks. And now behold after my winter’s toil My painful voyage on the boist’rous sea Of war’s devouring gulfs and steely rocks I bring my freight unto the wished port, My summer’s hope, my travail’s sweet reward. (Pointing at Bohemia’s body) 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 Bohême, 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 glaives. Yet marble courage still did underprop, And when my weary arms with often blows, Like the continual labouring woodman’s axe That is enjoined to fell a load of oaks, Began to falter, straight I would recover 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. His sword borne forth by a soldier
KING EDWARD	Ay, well thou hast deserved a knighthood, Ned, He takes the sword And therefore, with thy sword yet reeking warm With blood of those that fought to be thy bane, He knights the Prince Arise Prince Edward, trusty knight-at-arms. This day thou hast confounded me with joy And proved thyself fit heir unto a king.
PRINCE OF WALES	(rising, and then giving the King a paper) Here is a note, my gracious lord, of those That in this conflict of our foes were slain: Eleven princes of esteem, fourscore barons, A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand Common soldiers—and of our men, a thousand.
KING EDWARD	Our God be praised! Now, Jean of France, I hope Thou know’st King Edward for no wantonness, No love-sick cockney, nor his soldiers jades. But which way is the fearful King escaped?
PRINCE OF WALES	Towards Poitiers, noble father, and his sons.
KING EDWARD	Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still. Myself and Derby will to Calais straight, And there begirt that haven town with siege. Now lies it on an upshot: therefore, strike, And wistly follow whiles the game’s on foot. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Edoardo e lord Audley
RE EDOARDO	Lord Audley, mentre nostro figlio è all’inseguimento, ritira le nostre forze su questa piccola collina, e qui per un poco riprendiamo fiato.
AUDLEY	Lo farò, mio signore. Esce
(didascalia)	Suona la ritirata dentro
RE EDOARDO	Cielo dal giusto giudizio, la cui segreta provvidenza al nostro grossolano intelletto è imperscrutabile, quanto siamo tenuti a lodare le tue opere mirabili, tu che oggi hai dato via libera al diritto e fatto inciampare i malvagi in loro stessi!
(didascalia)	Entra il conte d’Artois
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Soccorso, re Edoardo! Soccorso per tuo figlio!
RE EDOARDO	Soccorso, Artois? Come, è prigioniero, o è caduto per violenza accanto al suo cavallo?
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Né l’uno né l’altro, mio signore, ma è stretto d’appresso dai Francesi che si son rivoltati, e ch’egli inseguiva, sì che è impossibile ch’egli scampi se vostra altezza non discende immediatamente.
RE EDOARDO	Bah, lascialo combattere. Gli abbiamo dato le armi oggi, ed egli si sta guadagnando un cavalierato, uomo!
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Derby
CONTE DI DERBY	Il principe, mio signore, il principe! Oh, soccorretelo! È accerchiato da presso da un mondo di forze avverse.
RE EDOARDO	Allora guadagnerà anche un mondo d’onore se col valore saprà riscattarsi di là. Se no, che rimedio? Abbiamo più figli che uno solo a confortare la nostra età declinante.
(didascalia)	Entra lord Audley
AUDLEY	Rinomato Edoardo, dammi licenza, ti prego, di condurre i miei soldati là dove io possa soccorrere il figlio di vostra grazia, in pericolo d’esser ucciso. Le insidie dei Francesi, come formiche su un argine, brulicano intorno a lui, mentre egli, simile a leone impigliato nella rete dei loro assalti, freneticamente strappa e morde la tela intessuta. Ma tutto invano. Non può liberarsi.
RE EDOARDO	Audley, sta’ quieto. Non voglio che un solo uomo, a pena di morte, sia mandato a soccorrerlo. Questo è il giorno stabilito dal destino per condire il suo verde coraggio con quei gravosi pensieri sì che, s’egli ne esce, gli anni di Nestore sulla terra gli lasceranno ancora il sapore di questa impresa.
CONTE DI DERBY	Ah, ma egli non vivrà per vedere quei giorni!
RE EDOARDO	Ebbene, allora il suo epitaffio è lode duratura.
AUDLEY	Pure, mio buon signore, è troppa ostinazione lasciar versare il suo sangue, che può esser salvato.
RE EDOARDO	Non gridate più, ché nessuno di voi può dire se un aiuto preso a prestito servirà o no. Forse egli è già ucciso o catturato. Sfida un falcone quand’è in volo, e per sempre dopo resterà selvatico. Sia Edoardo liberato dalle nostre mani e, ancora in pericolo, s’aspetterà lo stesso. Ma se egli stesso riscatta se stesso di là, avrà vinto, lieto, la morte e la paura, e per sempre dopo non temerà la loro forza più che se fossero bambini o schiavi prigionieri.
AUDLEY	O padre crudele! Addio Edoardo, dunque.
CONTE DI DERBY	Addio, dolce principe, speranza della cavalleria.
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Oh, potesse la mia vita riscattarlo dalla morte!
(didascalia)	Le trombe suonano la ritirata dentro
RE EDOARDO	Ma piano—mi par d’udire il tetro squillo della sonora ritirata delle trombe. Non tutti sono uccisi, spero, quelli che andarono con lui. Alcuni torneranno con notizie, buone o cattive.
(didascalia)	Entra in trionfo Edoardo principe di Galles, recando in mano la sua lancia spezzata. Il corpo del re di Boemia è portato innanzi, avvolto nei colori di Boemia. Gli Inglesi accorrono e abbracciano il principe
AUDLEY	Oh, gioioso spettacolo! Il vittorioso Edoardo vive!
CONTE DI DERBY	Benvenuto, prode principe.
RE EDOARDO	Benvenuto, Plantageneto. Il principe s’inginocchia e bacia la mano del padre
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Primo, avendo compiuto il mio dovere come conveniva, signori, vi risaluto tutti con cordiali ringraziamenti. E ora ecco, dopo la mia fatica d’inverno, il mio penoso viaggio sul mare turbolento dei gorghi divoratori della guerra e degli scogli d’acciaio, io reco il mio carico al porto desiderato, speranza della mia estate, dolce premio del mio travaglio. (Indicando il corpo del re di Boemia) Ed ecco qui, con umile devozione, presento questo sacrificio, questa primizia della mia spada, colta e recisa proprio alla porta della morte: il re di Boemia, padre, ch’io uccisi, le cui migliaia m’avevano trincerato all’intorno, e battevano fitte sul mio cimiero ammaccato come sopra un’incudine, coi loro pesanti spadoni. Pure un coraggio di marmo mi sosteneva ancora, e quando le mie braccia stanche di tanti colpi, come la scure del boscaiolo che senza posa lavora, cui è ingiunto d’abbattere un carico di querce, cominciavano a vacillare, subito ricordavo i doni che m’avete dato e il mio fervido voto, e allora nuovo coraggio mi faceva fresco di nuovo, sì che, a lor dispetto, m’intagliai il passaggio e volsi la moltitudine a rapida fuga. Ecco, così la mano d’Edoardo ha adempiuto la vostra richiesta e fatto, spero, il dovere d’un cavaliere. La sua spada è portata innanzi da un soldato
RE EDOARDO	Sì, ben hai meritato il cavalierato, Ned, Egli prende la spada e perciò, con la tua spada ancora fumante e calda del sangue di quelli che combatterono per esser tua rovina, Egli fa cavaliere il principe àlzati, principe Edoardo, fido cavaliere d’arme. Oggi tu m’hai confuso di gioia e ti sei mostrato degno erede d’un re.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	(alzandosi, e poi dando al re un foglio) Ecco una nota, mio grazioso signore, di quelli che in questo conflitto dei nostri nemici furono uccisi: undici principi di stima, ottanta baroni, centoventi cavalieri, e trentamila soldati comuni—e dei nostri uomini, un migliaio.
RE EDOARDO	Sia lodato il nostro Dio! Ora, Giovanni di Francia, spero che tu conosca re Edoardo per nessun libertino, nessun cittadino malato d’amore, né i suoi soldati per rozze. Ma per quale via è scampato il re pauroso?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Verso Poitiers, nobile padre, e con lui i suoi figli.
RE EDOARDO	Ned, tu e Audley continuerete a inseguirli. Io stesso e Derby andremo dritti a Calais, e là cingeremo d’assedio quella città di mare. Ora tutto sta nell’esito: perciò, colpite, e seguite attenti finché la selvaggina è in movimento. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte de Montfort with a coronet in his hand and with him the Earl of Salisbury
COMTE DE MONTFORT	My lord of Salisbury, since by your aid Mine enemy Sir Charles of Blois is slain, And I again am quietly possessed In Bretagne’s dukedom, know that I resolve, For this kind furtherance of your king and you, To swear allegiance to his majesty— He offers Salisbury the coronet In sign whereof receive this coronet. Bear it unto him, and withal mine oath Never to be but Edward’s faithful friend.
EARL OF SALISBURY	(taking the coronet) I take it, Montfort. Thus I hope ere long The whole dominions of the realm of France Will be surrendered to his conquering hand.
(didascalia)	Exit Montfort
EARL OF SALISBURY	Now, if I knew but safely how to pass, I would at Calais gladly meet his grace, Whither I am by letters certified That he intends to have his host removed. It shall be so. This policy will serve. (Calling) Ho, who’s within? Bring Villiers to me.
(didascalia)	Enter Villiers
EARL OF SALISBURY	Villiers, thou know’st 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, an if thou wilt thyself. And this it is: procure me but a passport Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, 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 sayst thou? Wilt thou undertake to do it?
VILLIERS	I will, my lord. But I must speak with him.
EARL OF SALISBURY	Why, so thou shalt! Take horse and post from hence— Only before thou go’st, 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.
VILLIERS	To that condition I agree, my lord, And will unfeignedly perform the same.
(didascalia)	Exit
EARL	or SALISBURY Farewell, Villiers! Thus once I mean to try a Frenchman’s faith.
(didascalia)	Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Montfort con un cerchietto in mano e con lui il conte di Salisbury
CONTE DI MONTFORT	Mio lord di Salisbury, poiché col vostro aiuto il mio nemico Sir Charles di Blois è stato ucciso, e io di nuovo son tranquillamente in possesso del ducato di Bretagna, sappiate ch’io risolvo, per questo benevolo favore del vostro re e vostro, di giurare fedeltà a sua maestà— Egli offre a Salisbury il cerchietto e in segno di ciò ricevete questo cerchietto. Portateglielo, e insieme il mio giuramento di non essere mai altro che fedele amico d’Edoardo.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	(prendendo il cerchietto) L’accetto, Montfort. Così spero che fra breve tutti i domini del reame di Francia saranno consegnati alla sua mano conquistatrice.
(didascalia)	Esce Montfort
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Ora, se solo sapessi come passare in sicurezza, volentieri incontrerei sua grazia a Calais, dove per lettere mi si assicura ch’egli intende trasferire il suo esercito. Sarà così. Questo stratagemma servirà. (Chiamando) Ehi, chi è là dentro? Portatemi Villiers.
(didascalia)	Entra Villiers
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Villiers, tu sai d’essere mio prigioniero, e che potrei, per riscatto, se volessi, esigere da te centomila franchi, oppure trattenerti e tenerti ancora prigioniero. Ma sta il fatto che a minor prezzo tu puoi esser libero, se tu stesso lo vuoi. Ed eccolo: procurami soltanto un salvacondotto di Carlo, duca di Normandia, sì ch’io senza impedimento possa recarmi a Calais attraverso tutti i paesi dove egli ha giurisdizione— ciò che tu puoi facilmente ottenere, io credo, giacché t’ho udito dire spesso che tu ed egli foste un tempo studenti insieme— e allora sarai messo in libertà. Che dici? Vuoi impegnarti a farlo?
VILLIERS	Lo farò, mio signore. Ma devo parlargli.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Ebbene, e così sia! Prendi cavallo e corri via di qui— solo, prima d’andare, giura sulla tua fede che, se non potrai compiere il mio desiderio, tornerai qui di nuovo mio prigioniero, e questa mi sarà sufficiente garanzia.
VILLIERS	A questa condizione acconsento, mio signore, e senza finzione l’adempirò.
(didascalia)	Esce
CONTE	di SALISBURY Addio, Villiers! Così, una volta tanto, intendo provare la fede d’un Francese.
(didascalia)	Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Edward and the Earl of Derby with soldiers
KING EDWARD	Since they refuse our proffered league, my lord, And will not ope their gates and let us in, We will entrench ourselves on every side, That neither victuals nor supply of men May come to succour this accursed town. Famine shall combat where our swords are stopped.
(didascalia)	Enter six poor Frenchmen
EARL OF DERBY	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 are these poor, ragged slaves, my lord?
KING EDWARD	Ask what they are. It seems they come from Calais.
EARL OF DERBY	(to the poor Frenchmen) You wretched patterns of despair and woe— What are you? Living men, or gliding ghosts Crept from your graves to walk upon the earth?
POOR MAN	No ghosts, 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 hath thrust us forth That so expense of victuals may be saved.
KING EDWARD	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.
POOR MAN	An if your grace no otherwise vouchsafe, As welcome death is unto us as life.
KING EDWARD	Poor seely men, much wronged, and more distressed! Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieved. Command that victuals be appointed them, And give to every one five crowns apiece.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the Earl of Derby and the six poor Frenchmen
KING EDWARD	The lion scorns to touch the yielding prey, And Edward’s sword must fresh itself in such As wilful stubbornness hath made perverse.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Percy
KING EDWARD	Lord Percy, welcome. What’s the news in England?
PERCY	The Queen, my lord, commends her to your grace, And from her highness and the lord vicegerent I bring this happy tidings of success: David of Scotland, lately up in arms, Thinking belike he soonest should prevail— Your highness being absent from the realm— Is by the fruitful service of your peers And painful travail of the Queen herself— That, big with child, was every day in arms— Vanquished, subdued and taken prisoner.
KING EDWARD	Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart! What was he took him prisoner in the field?
PERCY	A squire, my lord. John Copland is his name, Who, since entreated by her majesty, Denies to make surrender of his prize To any but unto your grace alone— Whereat the Queen is grievously displeased.
KING EDWARD	Well then, we’ll have a pursuivant dispatched To summon Copland hither out of hand, And with him he shall bring his prisoner-king.
PERCY	The Queen, my lord, herself by this at sea, And purposeth, as soon as wind will serve, To land at Calais, and to visit you.
KING EDWARD	She shall be welcome, and to wait her coming I’ll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore.
(didascalia)	Enter a Captain of Calais
CAPTAIN OF CALAIS	The burgesses of Calais, 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.
KING EDWARD	They will so? Then, belike, 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the Captain
CAPTAIN OF CALAIS	Why, this it is to trust a broken staff. Had we not been persuaded Jean, our king, Would, with his army, have relieved the town, We had not stood upon defiance so. But now ’tis past that no man can recall, 84 And better some do go to wreck than all.
(didascalia)	Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Edoardo e il conte di Derby con soldati
RE EDOARDO	Poiché rifiutano la lega da noi offerta, mio signore, e non vogliono aprire le porte e lasciarci entrare, ci trincereremo da ogni lato, sì che né vettovaglie né rinforzo d’uomini possano venire in soccorso di questa maledetta città. La fame combatterà dove le nostre spade sono fermate.
(didascalia)	Entrano sei poveri Francesi
CONTE DI DERBY	L’aiuto promesso che li faceva tenersi in disparte si è ora ritirato ed è andato per altra via. Si pentiranno della loro ostinata volontà. Ma chi sono questi poveri schiavi cenciosi, mio signore?
RE EDOARDO	Chiedi che cosa siano. Pare che vengano da Calais.
CONTE DI DERBY	(ai poveri Francesi) Voi miseri modelli di disperazione e di pena— chi siete? Uomini vivi, o fantasmi erranti usciti strisciando dalle tombe per camminare sulla terra?
POVERO UOMO	Non fantasmi, mio signore, ma uomini che respirano una vita assai peggiore del quieto sonno della morte. Siamo poveri abitanti in miseria che a lungo siamo stati malati, infermi e storpi. E ora, poiché non siamo atti a servire, il capitano della città ci ha cacciati fuori perché così si risparmi il dispendio di vettovaglie.
RE EDOARDO	Atto caritatevole, senza dubbio, e degno di lode! Ma come immaginate, dunque, di cavarvela? Noi siamo vostri nemici: in tal caso non possiamo far meno che passarvi a fil di spada, giacché, quando offrimmo tregua, fu rifiutata.
POVERO UOMO	E se vostra grazia non concede altrimenti, la morte ci è gradita quanto la vita.
RE EDOARDO	Poveri uomini inermi, molto offesi, e più ancora afflitti! Va’, Derby, va’, e bada che siano soccorsi. Comanda che siano loro assegnate vettovaglie, e da’ a ciascuno di loro cinque corone.
(didascalia)	Escono il conte di Derby e i sei poveri Francesi
RE EDOARDO	Il leone sdegna di toccare la preda che si arrende, e la spada d’Edoardo deve rinfrescarsi in coloro che una caparbia ostinazione ha reso perversi.
(didascalia)	Entra lord Percy
RE EDOARDO	Lord Percy, benvenuto. Che nuove in Inghilterra?
PERCY	La regina, mio signore, si raccomanda a vostra grazia, e da sua altezza e dal lord vicereggente io reco questa felice notizia di successo: Davide di Scozia, levatosi di recente in armi, pensando forse che così avrebbe prevalso più presto— essendo vostra altezza assente dal regno— è, per il fecondo servizio dei vostri pari e per il faticoso travaglio della regina stessa— che, gravida d’un figlio, era ogni giorno in armi— vinto, soggiogato e fatto prigioniero.
RE EDOARDO	Grazie, Percy, per le tue nuove, con tutto il cuore! Chi fu colui che lo prese prigioniero sul campo?
PERCY	Uno scudiero, mio signore. John Copland è il suo nome, il quale, poi pregato da sua maestà, rifiuta di consegnare la sua preda a chiunque, se non a vostra grazia soltanto— di che la regina è gravemente scontenta.
RE EDOARDO	Bene allora, faremo spedire un messo d’arme per convocare qui Copland senz’indugio, e con sé egli dovrà portare il suo re prigioniero.
PERCY	La regina, mio signore, è a quest’ora essa stessa per mare, e si propone, appena il vento lo consenta, di sbarcare a Calais, e di farvi visita.
RE EDOARDO	Sarà la benvenuta, e per attendere il suo arrivo pianterò la mia tenda presso la riva sabbiosa.
(didascalia)	Entra un capitano di Calais
CAPITANO DI CALAIS	I borghesi di Calais, possente re, hanno, per consiglio, volontariamente decretato di consegnare la città e il castello nelle vostre mani a condizione che piaccia a vostra grazia concedere loro salva la vita e i beni.
RE EDOARDO	Così vogliono? Allora, forse, possono comandare, disporre, eleggere e governare a loro talento! No, messere. Di’ loro che, poiché rifiutarono la nostra principesca clemenza dapprima proclamata, non l’avranno ora, per quanto la vogliano. Non accetterò nulla se non fuoco e spada— salvo che entro questi due giorni sei di loro, i mercanti più ricchi della città, vengano nudi, con le sole camicie di lino, ciascuno con un capestro appeso al collo, e, prostrati, si consegnino in ginocchio per essere puniti, impiccati o quel che mi piaccia. E così potete informare le loro signorie.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne il capitano
CAPITANO DI CALAIS	Ecco che cosa significa fidarsi d’un bastone spezzato. Se non ci fossimo persuasi che Giovanni, il nostro re, avrebbe con il suo esercito liberato la città, non ci saremmo così ostinati nella sfida. Ma ora è passato ciò che nessuno può richiamare, 84 e meglio è che alcuni vadano in rovina, piuttosto che tutti.
(didascalia)	Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Dauphin and Villiers with a paper
DAUPHIN	I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldst importune me For one that is our deadly enemy.
VILLIERS	Not for his sake, my gracious lord, so much Am I become an earnest advocate As that, thereby, my ransom will be quit.
DAUPHIN	Thy ransom, man? Why need’st thou talk of that? Art thou not free? And are not all occasions That happen for advantage of our foes To be accepted of and stood upon?
VILLIERS	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 pass these intricate objections, Will’t please your highness to subscribe or no?
DAUPHIN	Villiers, I will not nor I cannot do it. Salisbury shall not have his will so much To claim a passport how it pleaseth him.
VILLIERS	Why then, I know the extremity, my lord. I must return to prison, whence I came.
DAUPHIN	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 gulf, Will put himself in peril there again?
VILLIERS	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.
DAUPHIN	Thine oath? Why, that doth bind thee to abide. Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy Prince?
VILLIERS	In all things 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.
DAUPHIN	Why, is it lawful for a man to kill, And not to break a promise with his foe?
VILLIERS	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 we do swear, and when we once have sworn, Not to infringe it, though we die therefor. Therefore, my lord, as willing I return As if I were to fly to paradise. He begins to leave
DAUPHIN	Stay, my Villiers. Thine honourable mind Deserves to be eternally admired. Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferred. Give me the paper. I’ll subscribe to it. Villiers gives him the paper, which the Dauphin signs And wheretofore I loved thee as Villiers, Hereafter I’ll embrace thee as myself. Stay, and be still in favour with thy lord.
VILLIERS	(receiving back the paper) I humbly thank your grace. I must dispatch And send this passport first unto the Earl, And then I will attend your highness’ pleasure.
DAUPHIN	Do so, Villiers. And Charles, when he hath need, Be such his soldiers, howsoever he speed.
(didascalia)	Exit Villiers
(didascalia)	Enter ean King of France
KING OF FRANCE	Come, Charles, and arm thee. Edward is entrapped. The Prince of Wales is fall’n into our hands, And we have compassed him. He cannot scape.
DAUPHIN	But will your highness fight today?
KING OF FRANCE	What else, my son? He’s scarce eight thousand strong, And we are threescore thousand at the least.
DAUPHIN	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 Crécy’s field By one that is an aged hermit there: ‘When feathered fowl shall make thine army tremble, And flintstones 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.’
KING OF 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 fowl 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 scourge their country as they have done ours, By this revenge that loss will seem the less. But all are frivolous fancies, toys and dreams. Once we are sure we have ensnared the son, Catch we the father after how we can.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il Delfino e Villiers con un foglio
DELFINO	Mi meraviglio, Villiers, che tu m’importuni per uno che è nostro mortale nemico.
VILLIERS	Non tanto per amor suo, mio grazioso signore, son divenuto suo fervido avvocato, quanto perché, in tal modo, il mio riscatto sarà estinto.
DELFINO	Il tuo riscatto, uomo? Perché devi parlarne? Non sei forse libero? E non vanno tutte le occasioni che tornano a vantaggio dei nostri nemici rifiutate e contrastate?
VILLIERS	No, mio buon signore, se non sono giuste. Ché il profitto dev’essere mescolato con l’onore, o altrimenti le nostre azioni non son che scandalose. Ma, lasciando andare queste intricate obiezioni, piacerà a vostra altezza sottoscrivere o no?
DELFINO	Villiers, non voglio né posso farlo. Salisbury non avrà tanto la sua volontà da pretendere un salvacondotto come gli piace.
VILLIERS	Ebbene allora, so l’estremo, mio signore. Devo tornare in prigione, donde son venuto.
DELFINO	Tornare? Spero che non lo farai! Quale uccello scampato al laccio dell’uccellatore non si guarderà dall’esservi preso di nuovo? O chi è tanto insensato e sicuro che, passato a stento un gorgo pericoloso, si rimetta di nuovo là in pericolo?
VILLIERS	Ah, ma è il mio giuramento, mio grazioso signore, che in coscienza non posso violare— o altrimenti un regno non mi trarrebbe di qui.
DELFINO	Il tuo giuramento? Ma quello ti vincola a restare. Non hai giurato obbedienza al tuo principe?
VILLIERS	In tutte le cose ch’egli comandi rettamente. Ma persuadermi o minacciarmi perché io non adempia il patto della mia parola è fuori d’ogni legge, e non ho da obbedire.
DELFINO	Come, è lecito a un uomo uccidere, e non rompere una promessa col suo nemico?
VILLIERS	Uccidere, mio signore, una volta proclamata la guerra, purché la nostra contesa sia per torti ricevuti, senza dubbio ci è lecitamente permesso. Ma in un giuramento dobbiamo esser bene avvertiti di come giuriamo, e, una volta che abbiamo giurato, di non infrangerlo, dovessimo morirne. Perciò, mio signore, torno tanto volentieri come se dovessi volare in paradiso. Comincia ad andarsene
DELFINO	Fermati, mio Villiers. Il tuo animo onorato merita d’essere eternamente ammirato. La tua richiesta non sarà più oltre differita. Dammi il foglio. Lo sottoscriverò. Villiers gli dà il foglio, che il Delfino firma E laddove prima t’amavo come Villiers, d’ora innanzi t’abbraccerò come me stesso. Resta, e sii sempre in favore presso il tuo signore.
VILLIERS	(riprendendo il foglio) Ringrazio umilmente vostra grazia. Devo affrettarmi e mandare prima questo salvacondotto al conte, e poi attenderò il piacere di vostra altezza.
DELFINO	Fa’ così, Villiers. E Carlo, quando ne avrà bisogno, tali abbia i suoi soldati, comunque gli arrida la sorte.
(didascalia)	Esce Villiers
(didascalia)	Entra Giovanni re di Francia
RE DI FRANCIA	Vieni, Carlo, e armati. Edoardo è in trappola. Il principe di Galles è caduto nelle nostre mani, e l’abbiamo circondato. Non può scampare.
DELFINO	Ma vostra altezza vuole combattere oggi?
RE DI FRANCIA	E che altro, figlio mio? Egli ha appena ottomila uomini, e noi siamo sessantamila almeno.
DELFINO	Ho una profezia, mio grazioso signore, nella quale è scritto quale esito sia probabile ci tocchi in questa guerra oltraggiosa. Mi fu consegnata sul campo di Crécy da un vecchio eremita che colà dimora: «Quando uccelli piumati faranno tremare il tuo esercito, e pietre focaie si leveranno a rompere la schiera in campo, allora pensa a colui che ora non dissimula, ché quello sarà il giorno infausto e tremendo; pure alla fine spingerai il tuo piede tanto avanti in Inghilterra quanto il tuo nemico in Francia.»
RE DI FRANCIA	Da questo pare che saremo fortunati. Ché, come è impossibile che le pietre si levino mai a rompere la schiera in campo, o che uccelli dell’aria facciano tremare uomini in armi, così è probabile che non saremo soggiogati. Oppure, poniamo che ciò possa esser vero: pure alla fine, poiché egli promette che lo cacceremo di qui e flagelleremo il loro paese come essi hanno fatto col nostro, con questa vendetta quella perdita parrà minore. Ma son tutte frivole fantasie, ciance e sogni. Una volta certi d’aver preso in trappola il figlio, prendiamo poi il padre come potremo.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and others
PRINCE OF WALES	Audley, 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 Crécy field 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.
AUDLEY	This sudden, mighty and expedient head That they have made, fair Prince, is wonderful. Before us, in the valley, lies the King, Vantaged 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 which the banners, bannerets And new-replenished pennants cuff the air And beat the winds that, for their gaudiness, Struggles to kiss them. On our left hand lies Philippe, the younger issue of the King, Coating the other hill in such array That all his gilded upright pikes do seem Straight trees of gold; the pendant ensigns, leaves, And their device of antique heraldry, Quartered in colours seeming sundry fruits, Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides. Behind us too the hill doth rear 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 Châtillion. Then thus it stands: the valley for our flight The King binds in, the hills on either hand Are proudly royalizèd by his sons, And on the hill behind stands certain death In pay and service with Châtillion.
PRINCE OF WALES	Death’s name is much more mighty than his deeds. Thy parcelling this power hath made it more Than all the world! Call it but a power. As many sands as these, my hands, can hold Are but my handful of so many sands, Eas‘ly ta’en 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 in deed 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-instanced strength, Why, all this many, Audley, 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 know’st, we call it but a rain. There is but one France, and 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.
(didascalia)	Enter
PRINCE OF WALES	a Herald from Jean King of France What tidings, messenger? Be plain and brief.
HERALD	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 Than e’er was buried in our British earth. What is thy answer to his proffered mercy?
PRINCE OF WALES	This heaven that covers France contains the mercy That draws from me submissive orisons. That such base breath should vanish from my lips To urge the plea of mercy to a man, The Lord forbid. Return and tell thy King: My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg My mercy on his coward burgonet. 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.
HERALD	I go.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald from the Dauphin (Prince Charles of Normandy)
PRINCE OF WALES	What news with thee?
SECOND HERALD	The Duke of Normandy, my lord and master, Pitying thy youth is so engirt with peril, By me hath sent a nimble-jointed jennet, As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride, And therewithal he counsels thee to fly, Else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die.
PRINCE OF WALES	Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him! Tell him I cannot sit a coward’s horse. Bid him today 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 cap’ring boy, and get thee gone.
SECOND HERALD	I go.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Herald from Prince Philippe, carrying a book
THIRD HERALD	Edward of Wales, Philippe, 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 He offers the book to the Prince Commends this book full fairly 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Herald of Philippe, greet thy lord from me. All good that he can send I can receive. But think’st thou not the unadvised boy Hath wronged himself in thus far tendering me? Haply he cannot pray without the book; I think him no divine extemporal. Then render back this commonplace of prayer To do himself good in adversity. Besides, he knows not my sins’ quality, And therefore knows no prayers for my avail. Ere night 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.
THIRD HERALD	I go. Exit
PRINCE OF WALES	How confident their strength and number makes them! Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of thine, And let those milk-white messengers of time Show thy time’s learning in this dangerous time. Thyself art bruised and bit with many broils, And stratagems fore-past with iron pens Are texted in thine honourable face. Thou art a married man in this distress, But danger woos me as a blushing maid. Teach me an answer to this perilous time.
AUDLEY	To die is all as common as to live. The one enchased 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 the 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 follow it, 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	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 disgraced Th‘imperial victory of murd’ring 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 halfpenny 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 still.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Edoardo principe di Galles, lord Audley e altri
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Audley, le braccia della morte ci stringono all’intorno e conforto non abbiamo alcuno, se non che, morendo, paghiamo un’aspra caparra per una vita più dolce. Sul campo di Crécy le nostre nubi di fumo guerresco soffocarono quelle bocche francesi e le disgregarono, ma ora le loro moltitudini di milioni si celano, mascherando, per così dire, il bel sole ardente, e non lasciandoci speranza alcuna, ma solo cupa tenebra e cieco terrore della notte che tutto finisce.
AUDLEY	Questa improvvisa, poderosa e pronta schiera che essi hanno formato, bel principe, è cosa mirabile. Davanti a noi, nella valle, sta il re, avvantaggiato da tutto ciò che cielo e terra possono dare, e la sua parte è schierata più forte di tutta la nostra. Suo figlio, il baldanzoso duca di Normandia, ha guarnito la montagna alla nostra destra di lucenti piastre, sì che ora l’erta collina appare come una cava d’argento, o un globo, sopra il quale gli stendardi, i gonfaloni e i pennoni rinnovati schiaffeggiano l’aria e battono i venti che, per la loro sgargianza, lottano per baciarli. Alla nostra sinistra sta Filippo, il figlio minore del re, che riveste l’altra collina in tale schieramento che tutte le sue picche dorate e ritte paiono diritti alberi d’oro; le insegne pendenti, foglie, e il loro emblema d’antica araldica, inquartato in colori che sembrano frutti diversi, ne fanno il giardino delle Esperidi. Anche dietro di noi la collina leva la sua altezza, ché, come una mezza luna aperta da un lato solo, essa ci racchiude. Là, alle nostre spalle, sono alloggiate le fatali balestre, e quella schiera è governata dal rude Châtillon. Ecco dunque come sta: la valle della nostra fuga è chiusa dal re, le colline dall’uno e dall’altro lato sono superbamente inregalate dai suoi figli, e sulla collina dietro sta la morte certa a soldo e al servizio di Châtillon.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Il nome della morte è assai più potente delle sue opere. Il tuo spartire questa forza l’ha fatta parer maggiore di tutto il mondo! Chiamala soltanto una forza. Tanti granelli di sabbia quanti queste mie mani ne tengono non sono che una mia manciata di tanti granelli, facilmente raccolti e presto gettati via. Ma se mi metto a contarli, granello per granello, il numero confonderebbe la mia memoria, e farebbe di mille milioni un compito che, in breve, in effetti non è più che uno. Questi quartieri, squadroni e questi reggimenti davanti, dietro di noi, e dall’uno e dall’altro lato, non sono che una forza. Quando nominiamo un uomo, la sua mano, il suo piede, il suo capo hanno forze diverse, e, non essendo tutte che una sola forza in un solo essere, ebbene, tutta questa moltitudine, Audley, non è che uno, e possiamo chiamarla tutta la forza d’un uomo solo. Chi ha molta strada da fare la conta a miglia; se dovesse contare i passi, gli si spezzerebbe il cuore. Infinite son le gocce che fanno un diluvio, eppure, tu lo sai, lo chiamiamo soltanto pioggia. V’è una sola Francia, e un solo re di Francia: quella Francia non ha più re, e quel medesimo re non ha che la possente legione d’un re solo. E noi ne abbiamo uno. Dunque non temete lo svantaggio, ché uno contro uno è giusta uguaglianza.
(didascalia)	Entra
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	un araldo da parte di Giovanni re di Francia Che nuove, messaggero? Sii chiaro e breve.
ARALDO	Il re di Francia, mio sovrano signore e padrone, saluta per mio mezzo il suo nemico, il principe di Galles. Se tu chiami avanti cento uomini di nome— lord, cavalieri, scudieri e gentiluomini inglesi— e con te stesso e con loro t’inginocchi ai suoi piedi, egli subito ripiegherà i suoi colori sanguinosi e un riscatto redimerà le vite perdute. Se no, questo giorno berrà più sangue inglese di quanto mai ne fu sepolto nella nostra terra britanna. Qual è la tua risposta alla clemenza da lui offerta?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Questo cielo che copre la Francia contiene la misericordia che trae da me sommesse preghiere. Che un fiato tanto vile debba svanire dalle mie labbra per rivolgere a un uomo la supplica di pietà, Dio non voglia. Torna e di’ al tuo re: la mia lingua è fatta d’acciaio, e implorerà la mia pietà sul suo codardo elmetto. Digli che i miei colori sono rossi quanto i suoi, i miei uomini altrettanto arditi, le nostre armi inglesi altrettanto forti. Riportagli la mia sfida in faccia.
ARALDO	Vado.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entra un araldo da parte del Delfino (il principe Carlo di Normandia)
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Che nuove porti?
SECONDO ARALDO	Il duca di Normandia, mio signore e padrone, impietosito che la tua giovinezza sia così cinta di pericolo, t’ha mandato per mio mezzo un ginnetto dalle giunture agili, rapido quanto mai ne cavalcasti, e con esso ti consiglia di fuggire, o altrimenti la morte stessa ha giurato che tu morrai.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Indietro con la bestia alla bestia che l’ha mandata! Digli che non so montare il cavallo d’un codardo. Digli che oggi inforchi lui stesso quella rozza, ché io tingerò tutto il mio cavallo di sangue e mi indorerò due volte gli speroni, ma lo prenderò. Così di’ a quel ragazzo saltellante, e vattene.
SECONDO ARALDO	Vado.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entra un araldo da parte del principe Filippo, recando un libro
TERZO ARALDO	Edoardo di Galles, Filippo, secondo figlio del potentissimo cristianissimo re di Francia, vedendo scaduto il termine di vita del tuo corpo, tutto pieno di carità e di cristiano amore Egli offre il libro al principe affida questo libro, riccamente carico di preghiere, alla tua bella mano, e per la tua ora di vita ti supplica che tu vi mediti sopra, e armi la tua anima per il suo lungo viaggio futuro. Così ho eseguito il suo ordine, e torno.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Araldo di Filippo, saluta da parte mia il tuo signore. Ogni bene ch’egli può mandare io posso riceverlo. Ma non credi tu che quel ragazzo sconsiderato abbia fatto torto a se stesso offrendomi tanto? Forse egli non sa pregare senza il libro; non lo credo teologo capace d’improvvisare. Rendigli dunque questo prontuario di preghiere perché ne faccia buon uso nell’avversità. Inoltre, egli non conosce la qualità dei miei peccati, e perciò non sa preghiere che mi giovino. Prima di notte la sua preghiera potrà essere di pregar Dio che mi metta in cuore d’ascoltare la sua preghiera. Così di’ a quel damerino di corte, e vattene.
TERZO ARALDO	Vado. Esce
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Come li fa sicuri la loro forza e il loro numero! Ora, Audley, fa’ suonare quelle tue ali d’argento, e lascia che quei messaggeri bianchi come latte del tempo mostrino la scienza del tuo tempo in questo tempo pericoloso. Tu stesso sei ammaccato e morso da molte mischie, e gli stratagemmi trascorsi con penne di ferro sono scritti sul tuo volto onorato. Tu sei un uomo maritato in questa angustia, ma il pericolo mi corteggia come vergine che arrossisce. Insegnami una risposta a questo periglioso tempo.
AUDLEY	Morire è cosa comune quanto vivere. L’uno incalzato tiene l’altro in caccia. Ché dall’istante in cui cominciamo a vivere, noi inseguiamo e cacciamo il tempo di morire. Prima germogliamo, poi fioriamo, e dopo facciamo seme, poi subito cadiamo, e come l’ombra segue il corpo, così noi seguiamo la morte. Se dunque cacciamo la morte, perché la temiamo? Se la temiamo, perché la seguiamo? Se la seguiamo, come possiamo schivarla? Se abbiamo paura, con la paura non facciamo che aiutare la cosa che temiamo ad afferrarci più presto. Se non temiamo, allora nessuna offerta risoluta può rovesciare il limite del nostro destino. Ché, maturi o marci, cadere dobbiamo, come traiamo la lotteria della nostra sorte.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Ah, buon vecchio! Mille e mille armature queste tue parole m’hanno allacciato addosso. Ah, che idiota hai fatto della vita, che cerca la cosa che teme, e come è svilita l’imperiale vittoria dell’assassina morte, poiché tutte le vite che le sue frecce conquistatrici colpiscono cercano lei, e non lei loro, a vergogna della sua gloria. Non darei un soldo per una vita, né mezzo mezzo soldo per schivare la truce morte, poiché vivere non è che cercare di morire, e morire non è che principio di nuova vita. Venga l’ora quando vorrà colui che la governa. Vivere o morire mi è tuttora indifferente.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Jean King of France and the Dauphin
KING OF FRANCE	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 wand’ring 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?
DAUPHIN	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 speeches sleep through all the waking regions.
KING OF FRANCE	But now the pompous sun 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!
(didascalia)	Enter Prince Philippe
DAUPHIN	Here comes my brother Philippe—
KING OF FRANCE	All dismayed. (To Philippe) What fearful words are those thy looks presage?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	A flight, a flight—
KING OF FRANCE	Coward, what flight? Thou liest. There needs no flight.
PRINCE PHILIPPE	A flight—
KING OF FRANCE	Awake thy craven powers, and tell on The substance of that very fear in deed Which is so ghastly printed in thy face. What is the matter?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	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 embattelèd. With their approach there came 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.
(didascalia)	KING OF FRANCE aside
PRINCE PHILIPPE	Ay, now I call to mind the prophecy— But I must give no utterance to a fear. (To Philippe) Return, and hearten up these yielding souls! Tell them the ravens, seeing them in arms— So many fair 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 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 Prince Philippe Another noise. Enter the Earl of Salisbury brought in by a French Captain
FRENCH CAPTAIN	Behold, my liege, this knight and forty more, Of whom the better part are slain and fled, With all endeavour sought to break our ranks And make their way to the encompassed Prince. Dispose of him as please your majesty.
KING OF FRANCE	Go, and the next bough, soldier, that thou seest, Disgrace it with his body presently, Fore I do hold a tree in France too good To be the gallows of an English thief.
EARL OF SALISBURY	(to the Dauphin) My lord of Normandy, I have your pass And warrant for my safety through this land.
DAUPHIN	Villiers procured it for thee, did he not?
EARL OF SALISBURY	He did.
DAUPHIN	And it is current. Thou shalt freely pass.
KING OF FRANCE	Ay, freely to the gallows to be hanged Without denial or impediment! Away with him.
DAUPHIN	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, Charàctered 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.
KING OF FRANCE	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 licence lies in me, And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.
DAUPHIN	What, am I not a soldier in my word? Then arms, adieu, and let them fight that list. Shall I not give my girdle from my waist But with a 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.
KING OF FRANCE	Dwell’st thou on precedents? Then be it so. (To Salisbury) Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.
EARL OF SALISBURY	An earl in England, though a prisoner here. And those that know me, call me Salisbury.
KING OF FRANCE	Then, Salisbury, say whither thou art bound.
EARL OF SALISBURY	To Calais, where my liege, King Edward, is.
KING OF FRANCE	To Calais, Salisbury? Then to Calais pack, And bid thy King prepare a noble grave To put his princely son, black Edward, in. And as thou travell’st 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 vale beneath— Humble of late, but now made proud with arms— And thence behold the wretched Prince of Wales Hooped with a band of iron round about. After which sight, to Calais spur amain, And say the Prince was smothered and not slain. And tell thy King, this is not all his ill, For I will greet him ere he thinks I will. Away, be gone. The smoke but of our shot Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Giovanni re di Francia e il Delfino
RE DI FRANCIA	Un’improvvisa tenebra ha sfigurato il cielo, i venti son striscati nelle loro caverne per paura, le foglie non si muovono, il mondo è muto e fermo, gli uccelli cessano di cantare e i ruscelli vaganti non mormorano più il consueto saluto alle loro rive. Il silenzio attende qualche prodigio e s’aspetta che il cielo pronunci qualche profezia. Dove, o da chi procede questo silenzio, Carlo?
DELFINO	I nostri uomini, a bocca aperta e con occhi fissi, si guardano l’un l’altro come se attendessero le parole l’uno dell’altro, e pure nessuno parla. Una paura che lega la lingua ha fatto un’ora di mezzanotte, e i discorsi dormono per tutte le regioni deste.
RE DI FRANCIA	Ma or ora il sole pomposo, in tutto il suo fasto, guardava il mondo dal suo cocchio d’oro, e, d’un tratto, s’è nascosto, sì che ora la terra di sotto è come una tomba, oscura, mortale, silenziosa e sconsolata. Uno stridere di corvi Odi, che mortale clamore io sento!
(didascalia)	Entra il principe Filippo
DELFINO	Ecco viene mio fratello Filippo—
RE DI FRANCIA	Tutto sgomento. (A Filippo) Quali paurose parole presagiscono i tuoi sguardi?
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Uno stormo, uno stormo—
RE DI FRANCIA	Codardo, quale fuga? Tu menti. Non occorre fuggire.
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Uno stormo—
RE DI FRANCIA	Desta le tue forze pusillanimi, e racconta la sostanza di quella stessa paura, in realtà, che è così spettralmente stampata sul tuo volto. Che cosa succede?
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Uno stormo di brutti corvi gracchia e volteggia sopra il capo dei nostri soldati, e si tiene in triangoli e in quadrati angolati, proprio come le nostre forze sono schierate. Col loro avvicinarsi è venuta questa subitanea nebbia che ora ha nascosto l’aereo pavimento del cielo, e ha fatto a mezzogiorno una notte innaturale sopra il mondo tremante e sgomento. In breve, i nostri soldati hanno lasciato cadere le armi, e stanno come immagini metamorfosate, esangui e pallidi, fissando l’uno l’altro.
(didascalia)	RE DI FRANCIA a parte
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Sì, ora mi torna in mente la profezia— ma non devo dar voce a una paura. (A Filippo) Torna, e rinfranca queste anime cedenti! Di’ loro che i corvi, vedendoli in armi— tanti e ben forniti contro pochi affamati— vengono solo per cenare sull’opera delle loro mani, e per far preda della carogna che essi uccideranno. Ché quando vediamo un cavallo steso a morire— benché non morto—gli uccelli rapaci stanno a spiare la partenza della sua vita. Così questi corvi, per le carcasse di quei poveri Inglesi che son segnati a morire, volteggiano attorno, e se gridano a noi è solo per la carne che dobbiamo uccidere per loro. Va’, e conforta i miei soldati, e fa’ suonare le trombe e sbriga in una volta questa piccola faccenda d’una sciocca illusione. Esce il principe Filippo Altro rumore. Entra il conte di Salisbury condotto da un capitano francese
CAPITANO FRANCESE	Ecco, mio sire, questo cavaliere e altri quaranta, dei quali la maggior parte sono uccisi o fuggiti, con ogni sforzo hanno cercato di rompere le nostre file e d’aprirsi la via fino al principe accerchiato. Disponete di lui come piaccia a vostra maestà.
RE DI FRANCIA	Va’, soldato, e il primo ramo che vedrai disonoralo subito col suo corpo, ché io tengo un albero di Francia per troppo buono a esser la forca d’un ladro inglese.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	(al Delfino) Mio lord di Normandia, ho il vostro salvacondotto e garanzia per la mia incolumità attraverso questa terra.
DELFINO	Villiers te lo procurò, non è vero?
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Sì.
DELFINO	Ed è valido. Passerai liberamente.
RE DI FRANCIA	Sì, liberamente alla forca per esservi impiccato senza diniego né impedimento! Portatelo via.
DELFINO	Spero che vostra altezza non vorrà disonorarmi così, e annullare il valore del mio sigillo d’arme. Egli ha da mostrare il mio nome mai infranto, vergato da questa mia principesca mano. E piuttosto lasciate ch’io cessi d’esser principe che rompere il fermo verdetto d’un principe. Vi supplico, lasciatelo passare in pace.
RE DI FRANCIA	Tu e la tua parola siete entrambi sotto il mio comando. Che puoi promettere tu ch’io non possa rompere? Quale di queste due cose è maggiore infamia— disobbedire a tuo padre o a te stesso? Né la tua parola né quella d’alcun uomo può eccedere il suo potere, né quel medesimo uomo rompe mai la sua parola se la mantiene fin dove il suo potere arriva. La rottura della fede sta nel consenso dell’anima, e se tu la rompi senza il tuo consenso, non ti è imputata la rottura della fede. Va’, impiccalo; ché la tua licenza sta in me, e la mia costrizione è la tua scusa.
DELFINO	Come, non sono io soldato della mia parola? Allora, armi, addio, e combatta chi vuole. Non potrò dare la cintura dai miei fianchi senza che un tutore mi controlli per dirmi che non posso donare le cose mie? Sull’anima mia, se Edoardo principe di Galles avesse impegnato la sua parola, scritto di sua nobile mano, per far passare tutti i vostri cavalieri per la terra del padre, il regale re, per far onore al suo bellicoso figlio, non soltanto avrebbe dato loro salvacondotto, ma con ogni larghezza avrebbe festeggiato loro e i loro.
RE DI FRANCIA	T’attieni ai precedenti? E allora sia. (A Salisbury) Di’, Inglese, di che grado sei.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Conte in Inghilterra, benché qui prigioniero. E quelli che mi conoscono mi chiamano Salisbury.
RE DI FRANCIA	Allora, Salisbury, di’ dove sei diretto.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	A Calais, dove si trova il mio sire, re Edoardo.
RE DI FRANCIA	A Calais, Salisbury? Allora fila a Calais, e di’ al tuo re di preparare una nobile tomba in cui porre il suo principesco figlio, il nero Edoardo. E mentre viaggi verso occidente da questo luogo, a circa due leghe di qui v’è un’alta collina, la cui cima par senza cima, ché il cielo che l’abbraccia ne nasconde l’alto capo nel suo azzurro seno; e quando il tuo piede ne raggiunge l’alta vetta, volgi lo sguardo alla umile valle di sotto— umile fino a ieri, ma ora fatta superba d’armi— e di là contempla il misero principe di Galles cerchiato all’intorno da una fascia di ferro. Dopo tale vista, sprona a tutta forza verso Calais, e di’ che il principe fu soffocato e non ucciso. E di’ al tuo re che questo non è tutto il suo male, ché io lo saluterò prima ch’egli creda. Va’, vattene. Il solo fumo dei nostri colpi soffocherà i nostri nemici, anche se le palle non li colpiranno.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter Edward Prince of Wales and the Comte d’Artois
COMTE D’ARTOIS	How fares your grace? Are you not shot, my lord?
PRINCE OF WALES	No, dear Artois, but choked with dust and smoke, And stepped aside for breath and fresher air.
COMTE D’ARTOIS	Breathe then, and to it again!The amazed French Are quite distract with gazing on the crows, And, were our quivers full of shafts again, Your grace should see a glorious day of this. O, for more arrows, Lord—that’s our one want!
PRINCE OF WALES	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 outscold our adversaries? Up, up, Artois! The ground itself is armed With fire-containing flint. Command our bows To hurl away their parti-coloured yew, And to it with stones! Away, Artois, away! My soul doth prophesy we win the day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Allarme. Entrano Edoardo principe di Galles e il conte d’Artois
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Come sta vostra grazia? Non siete colpito, mio signore?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	No, caro Artois, ma soffocato dalla polvere e dal fumo, e mi sono tratto in disparte per respirare aria più fresca.
CONTE D’ARTOIS	Respirate dunque, e poi di nuovo all’opera! I Francesi sbigottiti sono del tutto smarriti nel fissare i corvi, e, se le nostre faretre fossero ancora piene di frecce, vostra grazia vedrebbe di questa una giornata gloriosa. Oh, più frecce, Signore—è la nostra unica mancanza!
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Coraggio, Artois! Un fico secco per le frecce impennate quando gli uccelli piumati parteggiano dalla nostra parte! Che bisogno abbiamo di combattere e sudare e far chiasso quando corvi ingiuriosi sopraffanno di grida i nostri avversari? Su, su, Artois! Il suolo stesso è armato di selce che racchiude fuoco. Comanda ai nostri arcieri di gettar via il loro tasso variopinto, e sotto con le pietre! Via, Artois, via! La mia anima profetizza che vinceremo la giornata.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter Jean King of France
KING OF FRANCE	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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Dauphin
DAUPHIN	Fly, father, fly! The French do kill the French: Some that would stand let drive at some that fly; Our drums strike nothing but discouragement; Our trumpets sound dishonour and retire; The spirit of fear, that feareth naught but death, Cowardly works confusion on itself.
(didascalia)	Enter Prince Philippe
PRINCE PHILIPPE	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 naked starvelings with small flints Hath driven back a puissant host of men Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements.
KING OF FRANCE	Mort dieu! They quoit at us and kill us up! No less than forty thousand wicked elders Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death.
DAUPHIN	O, that I were some other countryman! This day hath set derision on the French, And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.
KING OF FRANCE	What, is there no hope left?
PRINCE PHILIPPE	No hope but death, to bury up our shame.
KING OF FRANCE	Make up once more with me: the twenti’th part Of those that live are men enough to quail The feeble handful on the adverse part.
DAUPHIN	Then charge again! If heaven be not opposed We cannot lose the day.
KING	or FRANCE On, on, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Allarme. Entra Giovanni re di Francia
RE DI FRANCIA	Le nostre moltitudini sono confuse in se stesse, sgomente e stravolte. Una paura di rapido nascere ha ronzato un freddo sgomento per tutto il nostro esercito, e ogni minimo svantaggio spinge l’anima abietta, posseduta dalla paura, a fuggire. Io stesso, il cui spirito è acciaio al loro greve piombo, tra il ricordare la profezia e il vedere che le nostre pietre native, per mano inglese, si ribellano contro di noi, mi trovo contaminato da forte assalto di debole e cedevole paura.
(didascalia)	Entra il Delfino
DELFINO	Fuggi, padre, fuggi! I Francesi uccidono i Francesi: alcuni che vorrebbero tener saldo colpiscono altri che fuggono; i nostri tamburi non battono che scoraggiamento; le nostre trombe suonano disonore e ritirata; lo spirito della paura, che nulla teme se non la morte, vilmente opera confusione su se stesso.
(didascalia)	Entra il principe Filippo
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Strappatevi gli occhi e non vedete la vergogna di questo giorno! Un braccio ha battuto un esercito. Un povero Davide ha, con una pietra, sconfitto venti robusti Golia. Una ventina di affamati seminudi con piccole selci ha respinto una possente schiera d’uomini schierata e munita d’ogni armamento.
RE DI FRANCIA	Mort dieu! Ci lanciano pietre e ci ammazzano! Non meno di quarantamila iniqui anziani han visto oggi quaranta magri schiavi lapidarli a morte.
DELFINO	Oh, fossi io d’un altro paese! Questo giorno ha messo la derisione addosso ai Francesi, e tutto il mondo ci schernirà e ci sputerà addosso.
RE DI FRANCIA	Come, non è rimasta speranza alcuna?
PRINCIPE FILIPPO	Nessuna speranza se non la morte, che seppellisca la nostra vergogna.
RE DI FRANCIA	Riordinatevi ancora una volta con me: la ventesima parte di quelli che vivono sono uomini abbastanza da far tremare quel debole pugno della parte avversa.
DELFINO	Allora carichiamo di nuovo! Se il cielo non ci è contrario non possiamo perdere la giornata.
RE	di FRANCIA Avanti, avanti, via!
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
SQUIRE	How fares my lord?
AUDLEY	Even as a man may do That dines at such a bloody feast as this.
SQUIRE	I hope, my lord, that is no mortal scar.
AUDLEY	No matter if 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

Chi parla	Battuta
SCUDIERO	Come sta il mio signore?
AUDLEY	Come può stare un uomo che pranza a un banchetto sanguinoso come questo.
SCUDIERO	Spero, mio signore, che non sia ferita mortale.
AUDLEY	Non importa se lo è. Il conto è fatto, e, nel peggiore dei casi, finisce solo un uomo mortale. Buoni amici, conducetemi al principesco Edoardo, affinché, nella cremisi bravura del mio sangue, io possa fargli onore salutandolo. Sorriderò e gli dirò che questa ferita aperta chiude il raccolto della guerra del suo Audley. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales with his prisoners: jean King of France and the Dauphin, and all with ensigns spread. Retreat sounded
PRINCE OF WALES	(to the King and then the Dauphin) Now, Jean in France, and lately Jean of France, Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours— And you, high-vaunting Charles of Normandy, That once today sent me a horse to fly, Are now the subjects of my clemency. 5 Fie, 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?
KING OF FRANCE	Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquered us.
PRINCE OF WALES	An argument that heaven aids the right.
(didascalia)	Enter the Comte d’Artois with Prince Philippe
PRINCE OF WALES	See, see—Artois doth bring with him along The late good counsel-giver to my soul. Welcome, Artois, and welcome Philippe too! Who now, of you or I, have need to pray? Now is the proverb verified in you— ‘Too bright a morning breeds a louring day’.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets. Enter Lord Audley supported by the two Squires
PRINCE OF WALES	But say, what grim discouragement comes here? Alas, what thousand armèd men of France Have writ that note of death in Audley’s face? (To Audley) Speak thou, that woo‘st death with thy careless smile, And look’st so merrily upon thy grave As if thou wert enamoured on thine end. What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face And lopped a true friend from my loving soul?
AUDLEY	O, Prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech to me Is as a mournful knell to one dead sick.
PRINCE OF WALES	(embracing him) Dear Audley, if my tongue ring 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 honour may dispense for thee with death, The never-dying honour of this day Share wholly, Audley, to thyself, and live.
AUDLEY	Victorious Prince—that thou art so, behold A Caesar’s fame in kings’ captivity— If I could hold dim 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.
PRINCE OF WALES	Cheerly, bold man. Thy soul is all too proud To yield her city for one little breach.
(didascalia)
PRINCE OF WALES	Should be divorced from her earthly spouse By the soft temper of a Frenchman’s sword. Lo, to repair thy life I give to thee Three thousand marks a year in English land.
AUDLEY	I take thy gift to pay the debts I owe. These two poor squires 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 lov’st me, Prince, lay thy consent To this bequeath in my last testament.
PRINCE OF WALES	Renowned Audley, live, and have from me This gift twice doubled to these squires and thee. But live or die, what thou hast given away To these and theirs shall lasting freedom stay. (To the Squires) Come, gentlemen, I’ll see my friend bestowed
(didascalia)	Within an easy litter. Then we’ll march
PRINCE OF WALES	Proudly toward Calais with triumphant pace, Unto my royal father, and there bring The tribute of my wars: fair France his king.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Edoardo principe di Galles coi suoi prigionieri: Giovanni re di Francia e il Delfino, e tutti con le insegne spiegate. Suona la ritirata
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	(al re e poi al Delfino) Ora, Giovanni in Francia, e fino a ieri Giovanni di Francia, le tue insegne sanguinose sono i miei colori prigionieri— e voi, tronfio Carlo di Normandia, che oggi una volta mi mandaste un cavallo per fuggire, siete ora soggetti della mia clemenza. 5 Vergogna, signori, non è cosa turpe che ragazzi inglesi, i cui verdi anni non valgono ancora una barba, abbiano in seno al vostro regno, così, uno contro venti, sbaragliato voi tutti insieme?
RE DI FRANCIA	La tua fortuna, non la tua forza, ci ha vinti.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Argomento che il cielo aiuta il diritto.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte d’Artois col principe Filippo
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Guardate, guardate—Artois conduce con sé colui che poco fa dava buoni consigli alla mia anima. Benvenuto, Artois, e benvenuto anche tu, Filippo! Chi ora, di voi o di me, ha bisogno di pregare? Ora il proverbio si verifica in voi— «Mattino troppo chiaro genera giornata fosca».
(didascalia)	Squillano le trombe. Entra lord Audley sorretto dai due scudieri
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Ma dite, quale truce sconforto viene qui? Ahimè, quali mille armati di Francia hanno scritto quel segno di morte sul volto d’Audley? (Ad Audley) Parla tu, che corteggi la morte col tuo noncurante sorriso, e guardi così allegramente la tua tomba come se fossi innamorato della tua fine. Quale affamata spada ha così devastato il tuo volto e reciso un vero amico dalla mia anima amorosa?
AUDLEY	O principe, il tuo dolce discorso di compianto è per me come funebre rintocco a un moribondo.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	(abbracciandolo) Caro Audley, se la mia lingua suona a morto la tua fine, le mie braccia saranno la tua tomba. Che posso fare per guadagnare la tua vita o vendicare la tua morte? Se vuoi bere il sangue di re prigionieri, o se ciò potesse ristorarti, comanda un brindisi di sangue di re, e io berrò alla tua salute. Se l’onore può dispensarti dalla morte, il mai morente onore di questo giorno prendilo tutto per te, Audley, e vivi.
AUDLEY	Vittorioso principe—che tu sia tale, ecco una fama di Cesare nella prigionia dei re— se potessi tenere a bada la fioca morte solo finché non abbia veduto il mio sire, il tuo regale padre, la mia anima cederebbe questo castello della mia carne, questo tributo straziato, con ogni buona volontà, alle tenebre, alla consumazione, alla polvere e ai vermi.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Coraggio, uomo ardito. La tua anima è troppo fiera per cedere la sua città per una piccola breccia.
(didascalia)
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	dovrebbe esser divorziata dal suo sposo terreno dalla molle tempra della spada d’un Francese. Ecco, per riparare la tua vita io ti dono tremila marchi l’anno in terre inglesi.
AUDLEY	Accetto il tuo dono per pagare i debiti che ho. Questi due poveri scudieri mi riscattarono dai Francesi con gagliardo e caro rischio delle loro vite. Quel che tu m’hai dato, io lo do a loro, e, se m’ami, principe, poni il tuo consenso a questo lascito nel mio ultimo testamento.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Rinomato Audley, vivi, e ricevi da me questo dono raddoppiato per questi scudieri e per te. Ma viva tu o muoia, quel che hai dato via a costoro e ai loro resterà in duratura libertà. (Agli scudieri) Venite, signori, voglio veder sistemato il mio amico
(didascalia)	dentro una comoda lettiga. Poi marceremo
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	fieramente verso Calais con passo trionfante, fino al mio regale padre, e là recheremo il tributo delle mie guerre: la bella Francia col suo re.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter fat one door, as Supplicants, six citizens of Calais in their shirts, barefoot, with halters about their necks. Enter fat another door King Edward speaking with Queen Philippa. Enter with them the Earl of Derby and soldiers
KING EDWARD	No more, Queen Philip—pacify yourself. Copland, 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.
(didascalia)	ALL SIX SUPPLICANTS coming forward
KING EDWARD	Mercy, King Edward! Mercy, gracious lord!
KING EDWARD	Contemptuous villains, call ye now for truce? Mine ears are stopped against your bootless cries.
(didascalia)	Sound drums alarum, draw threat’ning swords!
FIRST SUPPLICANT	Ah, noble prince, take pity on this town, And hear us, mighty King. We claim the promise that your highness 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.
KING EDWARD	My promise—well, I do confess as much. But I 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 would execute, Albeit severity lay dead in us. No, no—ye cannot overreach us thus.
SECOND SUPPLICANT	The sun, dread lord, that in the western fall Beholds us now low-brought through misery, Did, in the orient purple of the morn, Salute our coming forth when we were known
(didascalia)
SECOND SUPPLICANT	Or may our portion be with damned fiends.
KING EDWARD	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. (To the soldiers) Go, soldiers, see it done.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	A Ah, be more mild unto these yielding men! It is a glorious thing to stablish 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.
KING EDWARD	Although experience teach us this is true— That peaceful quietness brings most delight When most of all abuses are controlled— Yet, insomuch 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.
SECOND SUPPLICANT	Long live your highness! Happy be your reign!
KING EDWARD	(to the six Supplicants) Go, get you hencel Return unto the town. And if this kindness hath deserved your love, Learn then to reverence Edward as your king.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the six Supplicants
KING EDWARD	Now might we hear of our affairs abroad, We would till gloomy winter were o’erspent Dispose our men in garrison a while.
(didascalia)	Enter Copland, with David King of Scotland as his prisoner
KING EDWARD	But who comes here?
EARL OF DERBY	Copland, my lord, and David King of Scots.
KING EDWARD	Is this the proud, presumptuous squire of the north That would not yield his prisoner to my Queen?
COPLAND	I am, my liege, a northern squire indeed, But neither proud nor insolent, I trust.
KING EDWARD	What moved thee, then, to be so obstinate To contradict our royal Queen’s desire?
COPLAND	No wilful disobedience, mighty lord, But my desert, and public law at arms. I took the King, myself, in single fight, And, like a soldier, would be loath to lose The least pre-eminence that I had won. And Copland, straight upon your highness’ charge, Is come to France, and with a lowly mind Doth vail the bonnet of his victory. Receive, dread lord, the custom of my freight, The wealthy tribute of my labouring hands, Which should long since have been surrendered up, Had but your gracious self been there in place.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	But, Copland, thou didst scorn the King’s command, Neglecting our commission in his name.
COPLAND	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.
KING EDWARD	(to the Queen) 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 fame? All rivers have recourse unto the sea, And Copland’s faith, relation to his king. (To Copland) Kneel therefore down. He knights him Now rise, King Edward’s knight. And to maintain thy state, I freely give 96 Five hundred marks a year to thee and thine.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury, with a coronet
KING EDWARD	Welcome, Lord Salisbury! What news from Bretagne?
EARL OF SALISBURY	This, mighty King: the country we have won, And Charles de Montfort, regent of that place, Presents your highness with this coronet, Protesting true allegiance to your grace.
KING EDWARD	We thank thee for thy service, valiant Earl. Challenge our favour, for we owe it thee.
EARL OF SALISBURY	But now, my lord, as this is joyful news, So must my voice be tragical again, And I must sing of doleful accidents.
KING EDWARD	What, have our men the overthrow at Poitiers, Or is our son beset with too much odds?
EARL OF SALISBURY	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 eager of revenge, Commanded straight to cut off all our heads. And surely we had died but that the Duke, More full of honour 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 thread of life And, sooner than he 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. Wand‘ring, 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, my lord, O 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 battle of ten thousand horse, There twice as many pikes in quadrant wise, Here crossbows and there deadly wounding darts, And in the midst, like to a slender point
(didascalia)	Within the compass of the horizon,
EARL OF SALISBURY	As ’twere a rising bubble in the sea, A hazel 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 knell begins. Off go the cannons that, with trembling noise, Did shake the very mountain where they stood. Then sound the trumpets’ clangour 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 wat’ry eyes with sighs As black as powder fuming into smoke. And thus, I fear, unhappy have I told The most untimely tale of Edward’s fall.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	Ah, 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.
KING EDWARD	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 their bones; The mould 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!
(didascalia)	Flourish within. Enter a Herald
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, at his stirrup, comes afoot King Jean of France together with his son In captive bonds, whose diadem he brings To crown thee with, and to proclaim thee king.
KING EDWARD	Away with mourning, Philip! Wipe thine eyes!
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets! Welcome in Plantagenet!
(didascalia)	Enter Edward Prince of Wales with Jean King of France and Prince Philippe as his prisoners. Also enter Lord Audley in a litter borne by the two Squires and the Comte d’Artois
KING EDWARD	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.
QUEEN PHILIPPA	Be this a token to express my joy— She kisses the Prince of Wales For inward passions will not let me speak.
PRINCE OF WALES	(to King Edward) My gracious father, here receive thy gift, This wreath of conquest and reward of war, Got with as mickle peril of our lives As e’er 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.
KING EDWARD	(to the King of France) So, Jean of France, I see you keep your word! You promised to be sooner with ourself 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?
KING OF FRANCE	Edward, recount not things irrevocable. Tell me what ransom thou requir’st to have.
KING EDWARD	Thy ransom, Jean, hereafter shall be known. But first to England thou must cross the seas To see what entertainment it affords. Howe’er it falls, it cannot be so bad As ours hath been since we arrived in France.
KING OF FRANCE	Accursed man! Of this I was foretold, But did misconstrue what the prophet told.
PRINCE OF WALES	(to King Edward) 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, Bred and brought up within that little isle, May still be famous for like victories. And for my part, the bloody scars I bear, The weary nights that I have watched in field, 5 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 thy presence tremble and retire.
KING EDWARD	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 haven town, God willing, then for England we’ll be shipped, Where in a happy hour I trust we shall Arrive: three kings, two princes, and a queen.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
ADDITIONAL PASSAGE	In Q, the following lines, which are probably a misplaced addition, occur at the end of 8.108, between ‘foot’ and ‘Exeunt’, and fall between what may have been stints by two different authors. They may have been intended to go after either 8.93 or 8.98.
KING EDWARD	What picture’s this?
PRINCE OF WALES	A pelican, my lord, Wounding her bosom with her crooked beak That so her nest of young ones might be fed With drops of blood that issue from her heart. The motto, ‘Sic et vos’—‘and so should you’.
ON	the night of 28 December 1594, the Christmas revels at Gray’s Inn—one of London’s law schools—became so uproarious that one performance planned for the occasion had to be abandoned. Eventually ‘it was thought good not to offer anything of account saving dancing and revelling with gentlewomen; and after such sports a comedy of errors (like to Plautus his Menaechmus) was played by the players. So that night was begun, and continued to the end, in nothing but confusion and errors; whereupon it was ever afterwards called “The Night of Errors”.’ This sounds like a reference to Shakespeare’s play, first printed in the 1623 Folio, which is certainly based in large part on the Roman dramatist Plautus’ comedy Menaechmi. As Shakespeare’s shortest play, it would have been especially suited to late-night performance. Exceptional in having no cues for music, it may have been written for the occasion, or at least have been new in 1594. The comedy in Menaechmi derives from the embarrassment experienced by a man in search of his long-lost twin brother when various people intimately acquainted with that twin—including his wife, his mistress, and his father—mistake the one for the other. Shakespeare greatly increases the possibilities of comic confusion by giving the brothers (both called Antipholus) servants (both called Dromio) who themselves are long-separated twins. An added episode in which Antipholus of Ephesus’ wife, Adriana, bars him from his own house in which she is entertaining his brother is based on another play by Plautus, Amphitruo. Shakespeare sets the comic action within a more serious framework, opening with a scene in which the twin masters’ old father, Egeon, who has arrived at Ephesus in search of them, is shown under imminent sentence of death unless he finds someone to redeem him. This strand of the plot, as well as the surprising revelation that brings about the resolution of the action, is based on the story of Apollonius of Tyre which Shakespeare was to use again, many years later, in Pericles. The Comedy of Errors is a kind of diploma piece, as if Shakespeare were displaying his ability to outshine both his classical progenitors and their English imitators. Along with The Tempest, it is his most classically constructed play: all the action takes place within a few hours and in a single place. Moreover, it seems to make use of the conventionalized arcade setting of academic drama, with three ‘houses’—the Phoenix, the Porcupine, and the Priory—represented by doors and signs on stage. The working out of the complexities inherent in the basic situation represents a considerable intellectual feat. But the comedy is humanized by the interweaving of romantic elements, such as Egeon’s initial plight, the love between the visiting Antipholus and his twin brother’s wife’s sister, Luciana, and the entirely serious portrayal of Egeon’s suffering when his own son fails to recognize him at the moment of his greatest need. From time to time the comic tension is relaxed by the presence of discursive set pieces, none more memorable than Dromio of Syracuse’s description of Nell, the kitchen wench who is ‘spherical, like a globe’.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY Solinus, DUKE of Ephesus EGEON, a merchant of Syracuse, father of the Antipholus twins ADRIANA, wife of Antipholus of Ephesus LUCIANA, her sister NELL, Adriana’s kitchen-maid ANGELO, a goldsmith BALTHASAR, a merchant A COURTESAN Doctor PINCH, a schoolmaster and exorcist
MERCHANT OF	EPHESUS, a friend of Antipholus of Syracuse
SECOND	MERCHANT, Angelo’s creditor EMILIA, an abbess at Ephesus Jailer, messenger, headsman, officers, and other attendants

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano da una porta, come supplici, sei cittadini di Calais in camicia, scalzi, con capestri al collo. Entra da un’altra porta re Edoardo parlando con la regina Filippa. Entrano con loro il conte di Derby e soldati
RE EDOARDO	Basta, regina Filippa—calmatevi. Copland, se non saprà scusare la sua colpa, troverà il dispiacere scritto nel nostro sguardo. E ora, a questa città superba e ostinata. Soldati, all’assalto! Non attenderò più oltre d’esser deluso dai loro falsi indugi. Passate tutto a fil di spada, e il bottino sia vostro.
(didascalia)	TUTTI E SEI I SUPPLICI facendosi avanti
RE EDOARDO	Pietà, re Edoardo! Pietà, grazioso signore!
RE EDOARDO	Villani sprezzanti, chiedete ora tregua? I miei orecchi son chiusi alle vostre inutili grida.
(didascalia)	Rullate, tamburi, all’assalto; sguainate le spade minacciose!
PRIMO SUPPLICE	Ah, nobile principe, abbi pietà di questa città, e ascoltaci, possente re. Ci appelliamo alla promessa che vostra altezza fece— la dilazione di due giorni non è ancora scaduta, e siamo venuti di buon grado a sopportare quella tormentosa morte o punizione che vi piaccia, purché la moltitudine tremante sia salvata.
RE EDOARDO	La mia promessa—ebbene, lo confesso. Ma io richiedevo che si sottomettessero i principali cittadini e gli uomini di maggior conto. Voi, per avventura, non siete che servili staffieri, o qualche fellone predone di mare, che, catturato, la legge farebbe giustiziare, anche se in noi la severità giacesse morta. No, no—non potete ingannarci così.
SECONDO SUPPLICE	Il sole, temuto signore, che nel suo tramonto occidentale ci vede ora abbassati dalla miseria, salutò, nella purpurea aurora d’oriente, il nostro uscire, quando eravamo conosciuti
(didascalia)
SECONDO SUPPLICE	O sia la nostra sorte con i demoni dannati.
RE EDOARDO	Se è così, allora valga il nostro patto. Prendiamo possesso della città in pace, ma quanto a voi, non attendetevi alcun perdono. Anzi, come l’imperiale giustizia ha decretato, i vostri corpi saranno trascinati intorno a queste mura, e poi sentiranno il colpo dell’acciaio che squarta. Questa è la vostra condanna. (Ai soldati) Andate, soldati, e fate che sia eseguita.
REGINA FILIPPA	A Ah, siate più mite con questi uomini che si arrendono! È cosa gloriosa stabilire la pace, e i re s’avvicinano di più a Dio dando vita e salvezza agli uomini. Come tu intendi essere re di Francia, così lascia che il suo popolo viva per chiamarti re. Ché quel che la spada abbatte, o il fuoco ha guastato, non è in reputazione contato per nostro.
RE EDOARDO	Benché l’esperienza c’insegni che questo è vero— che la pacifica quiete reca il maggior diletto quando più d’ogni cosa gli abusi son repressi— pure, affinché si sappia che noi sappiamo altrettanto bene dominare i nostri affetti quanto vincere altri a forza di spada, Filippa, hai vinto: cediamo alla tua richiesta— questi uomini vivranno per vantare la clemenza, e tu, tirannide, incuti terrore a te stessa.
SECONDO SUPPLICE	Lunga vita a vostra altezza! Felice sia il vostro regno!
RE EDOARDO	(ai sei supplici) Andate, via di qui! Tornate alla città. E se questa benignità ha meritato il vostro amore, imparate allora a riverire Edoardo come vostro re.
(didascalia)	Escono i sei supplici
RE EDOARDO	Ora, potendo aver notizie dei nostri affari all’estero, vorremmo, finché il tetro inverno non sia trascorso, disporre per un poco i nostri uomini in guarnigione.
(didascalia)	Entra Copland, con Davide re di Scozia suo prigioniero
RE EDOARDO	Ma chi viene qui?
CONTE DI DERBY	Copland, mio signore, e Davide re degli Scozzesi.
RE EDOARDO	È questo il superbo, presuntuoso scudiero del nord che non volle consegnare il suo prigioniero alla mia regina?
COPLAND	Lo sono, mio sire: uno scudiero del nord, in verità, ma né superbo né insolente, spero.
RE EDOARDO	Che cosa ti mosse, dunque, a esser tanto ostinato da contraddire il desiderio della nostra regale regina?
COPLAND	Nessuna disobbedienza voluta, possente signore, ma il mio merito, e la pubblica legge delle armi. Io stesso presi il re in singolar tenzone, e, da soldato, mi sarebbe grave perdere la minima preminenza che avessi guadagnato. E Copland, subito all’ordine di vostra altezza, è venuto in Francia, e con animo umile abbassa il berretto della sua vittoria. Ricevete, temuto signore, il dazio del mio carico, il ricco tributo delle mie mani affaticate, che da tempo avrebbe dovuto esser consegnato, se solo la vostra graziosa persona fosse stata colà.
REGINA FILIPPA	Ma, Copland, tu sdegnasti il comando del re, trascurando il nostro mandato in nome suo.
COPLAND	Il suo nome io riverisco, ma la sua persona di più. Il suo nome mi terrà sempre nella fedeltà, ma alla sua persona piegherò il ginocchio.
RE EDOARDO	(alla regina) Ti prego, Filippa, lascia passare il dispiacere. Quest’uomo mi piace, e mi piacciono le sue parole. Ché chi è colui che intraprenderà grandi imprese e perderà la gloria che ne segue, la fama? Tutti i fiumi hanno ricorso al mare, e la fede di Copland, riferimento al suo re. (A Copland) Inginocchiati dunque. Egli lo fa cavaliere Ora alzati, cavaliere di re Edoardo. E per mantenere il tuo stato, io ti do liberamente 96 cinquecento marchi l’anno, a te e ai tuoi.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Salisbury, con un cerchietto
RE EDOARDO	Benvenuto, lord Salisbury! Che nuove dalla Bretagna?
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Queste, possente re: il paese l’abbiamo conquistato, e Carlo di Montfort, reggente di quel luogo, presenta a vostra altezza questo cerchietto, protestando vera fedeltà a vostra grazia.
RE EDOARDO	Ti ringraziamo per il tuo servizio, valoroso conte. Reclama il nostro favore, ché te lo dobbiamo.
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Ma ora, mio signore, come questa è lieta notizia, così la mia voce deve tornare tragica, e devo cantare di dolorose sciagure.
RE EDOARDO	Come, i nostri uomini hanno avuto la peggio a Poitiers, o nostro figlio è assediato da forze troppo grandi?
CONTE DI SALISBURY	Lo era, mio signore, e mentre la mia indegna persona, con altri quaranta cavalieri atti al servizio, sotto salvacondotto col sigillo del Delfino, viaggiava per quella via, trovandolo in angustia, una schiera di lance ci venne incontro sul cammino, ci sorprese e ci condusse prigionieri al re, il quale, superbo di ciò e avido di vendetta, comandò subito di mozzarci tutte le teste. E certamente saremmo morti, se non che il duca, più pieno d’onore del suo adirato padre, ci procurò di là una pronta liberazione. Ma prima ch’andassimo, «Salutate il vostro re», diss’egli, «ditegli di preparare un funerale per suo figlio. Oggi la nostra spada taglierà il filo della sua vita, e, prima di quanto egli creda, saremo da lui a rendergli quei dispiaceri che ci ha fatto.» Detto questo, passammo, non osando replicare. I nostri cuori erano morti, i volti smarriti e smorti. Errando, alfine salimmo sopra una collina donde, benché il nostro dolore fosse già grande, pure ora vedere coi nostri occhi l’occasione accrebbe tre volte tanto la nostra pena. Ché là, mio signore, oh là scorgemmo giù in una valle come giacessero i due eserciti. I Francesi avevano gettato le trincee a guisa d’anello, e il fronte aperto d’ogni barricata era fitto e sbalzato di bocche di bronzo. Qui stava una schiera di diecimila cavalli, là due volte tante picche in forma di quadrato, qui balestre e là dardi che feriscono a morte, e nel mezzo, come un punto sottile
(didascalia)	entro il giro dell’orizzonte,
CONTE DI SALISBURY	come fosse una bolla che sale nel mare, una verga di nocciolo in mezzo a un bosco di pini, o come un orso saldamente incatenato a un palo, stava il famoso Edoardo, ancora aspettando quando quei cani di Francia gli si sarebbero avventati sulla carne. Poi comincia il rintocco che procura la morte. Partono i cannoni che, con tremante fragore, scossero la montagna stessa dove stavano. Poi risuona nell’aria lo squillo delle trombe. Le schiere si serrano, e quando non potemmo più discernere la differenza tra l’amico e il nemico, tanto intricata era l’oscura confusione, volgemmo altrove i nostri occhi lacrimosi con sospiri neri come polvere che fuma in fumo. E così, temo, infelicemente ho narrato l’intempestivo racconto della caduta d’Edoardo.
REGINA FILIPPA	Ahimè! È questo il mio benvenuto in Francia? È questo il conforto che speravo d’avere quando avrei incontrato il mio amato figlio? Dolce Ned, vorrei che tua madre, in mezzo al mare, fosse stata risparmiata da questo mortale dolore.
RE EDOARDO	Calmati, Filippa. Non son le lacrime che servono a richiamarlo, s’egli è tolto di qui. Confortati come faccio io, gentile regina, con la speranza d’aspra, inaudita, tremenda vendetta! Egli m’ordina di provvedere al suo funerale! E così farò, ma tutti i pari di Francia ne saranno i piangenti, e verseranno lacrime di sangue finché le loro vene vuote non siano secche e arse. Le colonne del suo carro funebre saranno le loro ossa; la terra che lo copre, le ceneri della loro città; il suo rintocco, i gemiti degli uomini che muoiono; e, invece di ceri sulla sua tomba, centocinquanta torri arderanno fiammeggiando mentre piangeremo la morte del nostro valoroso figlio!
(didascalia)	Squilli dentro. Entra un araldo
ARALDO	Rallegratevi, mio signore! Salite l’imperiale trono! Il possente e temuto principe di Galles, gran servitore in armi del sanguinoso Marte, terrore dei Francesi e fama del suo paese, cavalca trionfante come un signore romano, e, umilmente, alla sua staffa, viene a piedi re Giovanni di Francia insieme a suo figlio in ceppi di prigionia, il cui diadema egli reca per incoronarti e proclamarti re.
RE EDOARDO	Via il lutto, Filippa! Asciugati gli occhi!
(didascalia)	Suonate, trombe! Salutate l’entrata del Plantageneto!
(didascalia)	Entra Edoardo principe di Galles con Giovanni re di Francia e il principe Filippo suoi prigionieri. Entra pure lord Audley in una lettiga portata dai due scudieri, e il conte d’Artois
RE EDOARDO	Come le cose a lungo perdute quando si ritrovano, così mio figlio rallegra il cuore di suo padre, per il quale, or ora, la mia anima era assai turbata.
REGINA FILIPPA	Sia questo un segno a esprimere la mia gioia— Ella bacia il principe di Galles ché le passioni interne non mi lasciano parlare.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	(a re Edoardo) Mio grazioso padre, ricevete qui il vostro dono, questa corona di conquista e premio di guerra, ottenuta con tanto pericolo delle nostre vite quanto mai cosa di pregio prima di questo giorno. Insediate vostra altezza nel suo proprio diritto, e con ciò rimetto nelle vostre mani questi prigionieri, principale cagione della nostra contesa.
RE EDOARDO	(al re di Francia) Ecco, Giovanni di Francia, vedo che mantieni la parola! Promettesti d’essere con noi più presto di quanto pensassimo, e così è in verità. Ma se aveste fatto da principio come fate ora, quante città civili sarebbero rimaste intatte che ora son ridotte a scabri mucchi di pietre! Quante vite di popolo avresti potuto salvare che ora sono anzitempo sprofondate nelle loro tombe!
RE DI FRANCIA	Edoardo, non rammentare cose irrevocabili. Dimmi quale riscatto tu richieda d’avere.
RE EDOARDO	Il tuo riscatto, Giovanni, si saprà in seguito. Ma prima devi attraversare i mari verso l’Inghilterra per vedere quale accoglienza essa offra. Comunque vada, non potrà essere così cattiva quanto è stata la nostra da che arrivammo in Francia.
RE DI FRANCIA	Uomo maledetto! Di questo m’era stato predetto, ma io fraintesi quel che il profeta mi disse.
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	(a re Edoardo) Ora, padre, questa petizione Edoardo rivolge a te, la cui grazia è stata il suo più forte scudo: che, come il tuo piacere scelse me come l’uomo che fosse strumento a mostrare la tua potenza, così tu conceda che molti altri principi, generati e cresciuti dentro quella piccola isola, possano ancora esser famosi per simili vittorie. E per parte mia, le cruente cicatrici che porto, le notti stanche che ho vegliato in campo, 5 i pericolosi conflitti che spesso ho avuto, le paurose minacce che mi furono rivolte, il caldo e il freddo, e ogni altra cosa che possa spiacere, vorrei fossero ora raddoppiati venti volte, affinché le età future, quando leggeranno il penoso traffico della mia tenera giovinezza, ne siano infiammate di tale risolutezza che non i territori di Francia soltanto, ma parimenti la Spagna, la Turchia e ogni altro paese che giustamente provocasse l’ira della bella Inghilterra, possano alla tua presenza tremare e ritirarsi.
RE EDOARDO	Qui, signori inglesi, proclamiamo una tregua, un’interruzione delle nostre armi affannate. Rinfoderate le spade, ristorate le membra stanche, passate in rassegna le vostre spoglie, e dopo che avremo respirato un giorno o due dentro questa città di porto, a Dio piacendo ci imbarcheremo per l’Inghilterra, dove in felice ora confido che arriveremo: tre re, due principi, e una regina.
(didascalia)	Escono
PASSO AGGIUNTIVO	In Q i versi seguenti, che sono probabilmente un’aggiunta fuori posto, compaiono alla fine di 8.108, tra «foot» e «Exeunt», e cadono fra quelli che possono essere stati i turni di lavoro di due autori diversi. Potrebbero essere stati destinati a seguire o 8.93 o 8.98.
RE EDOARDO	Che raffigura questa immagine?
PRINCIPE DI GALLES	Un pellicano, mio signore, che si ferisce il petto col becco ricurvo affinché il suo nido di piccoli sia nutrito con gocce di sangue che escono dal suo cuore. Il motto, «Sic et vos»—«e così dovreste voi».