SALISBURY.
That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
PEMBROKE.
They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
[Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers.]
MELUN.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.
SALISBURY.
When we were happy we had other names.
PEMBROKE.
It is the Count Melun.
SALISBURY.
Wounded to death.
MELUN.
Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmunds-bury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.
SALISBURY.
May this be possible? may this be true?
MELUN.
Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure ‘gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Louis do will the day,
He is forsworn if e’er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night,—whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,—
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Louis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,—and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,—
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.
SALISBURY.
We do believe thee:—and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlook’d,
And calmly run on in obedience
Even to our ocean, to our great King John.—
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.]
SCENE 5. The same. The French camp.
[Enter LEWIS and his train.]
LOUIS.
The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
But stay’d, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measur’d backward their own ground
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tattrring colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
[Enter a MESSENGER.]
MESSENGER.
Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
LOUIS.
Here:—what news?
MESSENGER.
The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
By his persuasion are again falln off:
And your supply, which you have wish’d so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
LOUIS.
Ah, foul shrewd news!—beshrew thy very heart!—
I did not think to be so sad tonight
As this hath made me.—Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
MESSENGER.
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
LOUIS.
Keep good quarter and good care tonight;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of tomorrow.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE 6. An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey.
[Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, meeting.]
HUBERT.
Who’s there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.
BASTARD.
A friend.—What art thou?
HUBERT.
Of the part of England.
BASTARD.
Whither dost thou go?
HUBERT.
What’s that to thee? Why may I not demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
BASTARD.
Hubert, I think.
HUBERT.
Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will, upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend that know’st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?
BASTARD.