Shakespeare's Kings

by John Julius Norwich

  Or by violence fell beside his horse?

  ART. 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.

  K. ED. Tut, let him fight; we gave him arms to-day,

  And he is labouring for a knighthood, man.

  Enter Derby

  DER. The prince, my lord, the prince! O, succour him;

  He's close encompass'd with a world of odds!

  K. ED. 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.

  Enter Audley

  AUD. 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,

  Frantic'ly rends and bites the woven toil:

  (III, iv) But all in vain, he cannot free himself.

  K. ED. Audley, content: I will not have a man,

  On pain of death, sent forth to succour him:

  This is the day ordain'd by destiny

  To season his courage with those grievous thoughts,

  That, if he break out, Nestor's years on earth,

  Will make him savour still of this exploit.

  DER. Ah, but he shall not live to see those days.

  K. ED. Why, then his epitaph is lasting praise.

  AUD. Yet, good my lord, 'tis too much wilfulness,

  To let his blood be spilt that may be sav'd.

  K. ED. Exclaim no more; for none of you can tell

  Whether a borrow'd 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 deliver'd by our hands,

  And still in danger he'll expect the like;

  But if himself himself redeem from thence,

  He will have vanquish'd, cheerful, death and fear,

  And ever after dread their force no more

  Than if they were but babes or captive slaves.

  AUD. O cruel father! - Farewell, Edward, then!

  DER. Farewell, sweet prince, the hope of chivalry!

  ART. O, would my life might ransom him from death!

  K. ED. But, soft, methinks I hear [Retreat sounded]

  The dismal charge of trumpets' loud retreat:

  All are not slain, I hope, that went with him;

  Some will return with tidings, good or bad.

  Enter Prince Edward in triumph, bearing in his

  hand his shivered lance, and the King of

  Bohemia, borne before wrapped in the colours.

  They run and embrace him.

  AUD. O joyful sight! victorious Edward lives!

  DER. Welcome, brave prince!

  K. ED. Welcome, Plantagenet!

  PR. ED. First having done my duty, as beseem'd,

  Kneels, and kisses his father's hand

  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 fraught unto the wished port,

  My summer's hope, my travel's sweet reward:

  (III, iv) And here with humble duty I present

  This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword,

  Cropp'd and cut down even at the gate of death,

  The King of Boheme, father, whom I slew;

  Whose thousands had intrench'd me round about,

  And lay as thick upon my batter'd crest

  As on an anvil with their pond'rous glaives:

  Yet marble courage still did underprop;

  And when my weary arms with often blows,

  Like the continual-lab'ring woodman's axe

  That is enjoin'd to fell a load of oaks,

  Began to falter, straight I would remember

  My gifts you gave me and my zealous vow,

  And then new courage made me fresh again;

  That, in despite, I carv'd my passage forth

  And put the multitude to speedy flight.

  Lo, thus hath Edward's hand fill'd your request,

  And done, I hope, the duty of a knight.

  K. ED. Ay, well thou hast deserv'd a knighthood, Ned!

  And, therefore, with thy sword, yet reeking warm

  His sword borne by a soldier

  With blood of those that fought to be thy bane,

  Arise, Prince Edward, trusty knight at arms:

  This day thou hast confounded me with joy

  And proved thyself fit heir unto a king.

  PR. ED. 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.

  [K. ED.] Our God be praised!

  Now, John 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 escap'd?

  PR. ED. Towards Poitiers, noble father, and his sons.

  K. ED. Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still;

  Myself and Derby will to Calice straight,

  And there begirt that haven-town with siege:

  Now lies it on an upshot; therefore strike,

  And wistly follow while the game's on foot.

  What picture's this? [Pointing to the colours]

  PR. ED. A pelican, my lord,

  (IV, ii) That so expense of victuals may be sav'd.

  K. ED. 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 you to the sword,

  Since, when we proffer'd truce, it was refus'd.

  FIRST FR. An if your grace no otherwise vouchsafe,

  As welcome death is unto us as life.

  K. ED. Poor silly men, much wrong'd and more distress'd!

  -Go, Derby, go, and see they be reliev'd;

  Command that victuals be appointed them

  And give to every one five crowns a-piece:-

  [Exeunt Derby and Frenchmen]

  The Hon scorns to touch the yielding prey,

  And Edward's sword must flesh itself in such

  As wilful stubbornness hath made perverse. -

  Enter Lord Percy

  Lord Percy! welcome: what's the news in England?

  PER. The queen, my lord, comes here 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 travel of the queen herself

  That, big with child, was every day in arms,

  Vanquish'd, subdu'd and taken prisoner.

  K. ED. Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart!

  What was he, took him prisoner in the field?

  PER. 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 displeas'd.

  K. ED. Well, then we'll have a pursu
ivant despatch'd

  To summon Copland hither out of hand,

  And with him he shall bring his prisoner king.

  PER. The queen's, my lord, herself by this at sea,

  And purposeth, as soon as wind will serve,

  To land at Calice and to visit you.

  K. ED. She shall be welcome; and, to wait her coming

  I'll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore.

  (IV, ii) Enter a [French] Captain

  CAP. The burgesses of Calice, 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.

  K. ED. 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 proclaim'd,

  They shall not have it now, although they would;

  [I] will accept nought 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 hang'd about his neck,

  And prostrate yield themselves, upon their knees,

  To be afflicted, hang'd, or what I please;

  And so you may inform their masterships.

  Exeunt

  CAP. Why, this it is to trust a broken staff.

  Had we not been persuaded, John our king

  Would with his army have reliev'd the town,

  We had not stood upon defiance so.

  But now 'tis past that no man can recall,

  And better some do go to work, than all.

  Exit

  SCENE III

  Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French Camp. Enter

  Charles of Normandy and Villiers.

  CHAR. I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldst importune me

  For one that is our deadly enemy.

  VIL. Not for his sake, my gracious lord, so much

  Am I become an earnest advocate

  As that thereby my ransom will be quit.

  CHAR. 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? VIL. No, good, my lord, except the same be just;

  For profit must with honour be comix'd

  (IV, iii) Or else our actions are but scandalous:

  But, letting pass these intricate objections,

  Will't please your highness to subscribe, or no?

  CHAR. Villiers, I will not nor I cannot do it;

  Salisbury shall not have his will so much,

  To claim a passport how it please himself.

  VIL. Why, then I know the extremity, my lord:

  I must return to prison whence I came.

  CHAR. Return! I hope, thou wilt not.

  What bird that hath escap'd the fowler's gin

  Will not beware how she's ensnar'd again?

  Or what is he so senseless and secure,

  That, having hardly pass'd a dangerous gulf,

  Will put himself in peril there again?

  VIL. 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.

  CHAR. Thine oath! why, that doth bind thee to abide:

  Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy prince?

  VIL. 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.

  CHAR. Why, is it lawful for a man to kill

  And not to break a promise with his foe?

  VIL. To kill, my lord, when war is once proclaim'd,

  So that our quarrel be for wrongs receiv'd,

  No doubt, is lawfully permitted us:

  But, in an oath, we must be well advis'd

  How we do swear, and, when we once have sworn,

  Not to infringe it, though we die therefore.

  Therefore, my lord, as willing I return

  As if I were to fly to paradise.

  CHAR. Stay, my Villiers; thine honourable mind

  Deserves to be eternally admir'd.

  Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferr'd;

  Give me the paper, I'll subscribe to it:

  And, wheretofore I lov'd thee as Villiers,

  Hereafter I'll embrace thee as myself;

  Stay, and be still in favour with thy lord.

  VIL. I humbly thank your grace, I must despatch

  And send this passport first unto the earl,

  And then I will attend your highness' pleasure.

  (IV, iii) CHAR. DO SO, Villiers; - and Charles, when he hath need,

  Be such his soldiers, howsoe'er he speed!

  Exit Villiers

  Enter King John

  K. JOHN. Come, Charles, and arm thee; Edward is entrapp'd,

  The Prince of Wales is fall'n into our hands,

  And we have compass'd him, he cannot scape.

  CHAR. But will your highness fight to-day?

  K. JOHN. What else, my son? he's scarce eight thousand strong,

  And we are threescore thousand at the least.

  CHAR. I have a prophecy, my gracious lord,

  Wherein is written what success is like

  To happen us in this outrageous war;

  It was deliver'd me at Cressy's field

  By one that is an aged hermit there.

  [Reads]

  'When feather'd fowl shall make thine army tremble,

  And flint-stones 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.'

  K. JOHN. 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 it is like, we shall not be subdu'd:

  Or, say this might be true, yet, in the end,

  Since he doth promise we shall drive him hence

  And forage their country as they have done ours,

  By this revenge that loss will seem the less.

  But all are frivolous fancies, toys and dreams:

  Once we are sure we have ensnar'd the son,

  Catch we the father after how we can.

  Exeunt

  (IV, iv)

  SCENE IV

  The Same. The English Camp. Enter

  Prince Edward, Audley, and others.

  PR. ED. 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 Cressy field our clouds of warlike smoke

  Chok'd up those French mouths and dissever'd 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.

  AUD. This sudden, mighty and expedient head,

  That they have made, fair prince, is wonderful.

  Before us in the valley lies the king,

  Vantag'd with all that heaven and earth can yield;

  His party stronger battled than our whole:

  His son, the braving Duke of Normandy,

  Hath trimm'd 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 banne
rs, bannerets,

  And new-replenish'd pendants cuff the air,

  And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness

  Struggles to kiss them: on our left hand lies

  Philip, the younger issue of the king,

  Coring the other hill in such array

  That all his gilded upright pikes do seem

  Straight trees of gold, the pendant[s] leaves,

  And their device of antique heraldry,

  Quarter'd in colours seeming sundry fruits,

  Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides:

  Behind us too the hill doth bear his height,

  For, like a half-moon, op'ning but one way,

  It rounds us in; there at our backs are lodg'd

  The fatal cross-bows, and the Battle there

  Is governed by the rough Chatillion.

  Then thus it stands, - the valley for our flight

  The king binds in; the hills on either hand

  Are proudly royalized by his sons;

  And on the hill behind stands certain death,

  In pay and service with Chatillion.

  (IV, iv) PR. ED. Death's name is much more mighty than his deeds;

  -Thy parcelling this power hath made it more.

  As many sands as these my hands can hold

  Are but my handful of so many sands;

  Then, all the world, - and call it but a power,

  -Easily 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, indeed, than one.

  These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments,

  Before, behind us, and on either hand,

  Are but a power: when we name a man,

  His hand, his foot, his head, hath several strengths;

  And being all but one self instant strength,

  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, 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,