Edward III

and tell him that this open scar
Doth end the harvest of his Audley’s war. Exeunt.

Scene VII

The same. The English camp.

	Flourish. Enter Prince Edward, in triumph, leading prisoners, King John and his son Charles; and Officers, Soldiers, etc., with ensigns spread.
Prince Edward	Now, John in France, and lately John of France, Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours; And you, high-vaunting Charles of Normandy, That once to-day sent me a horse to fly, Are now the subjects of my clemency. Fie, lords! is’t 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 John	Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquer’d us.
Prince Edward	An argument that Heaven aides the right.⁠—
	Enter Artois, with Philip.
	See, see, Artois doth bring with him along The late good-counsel-giver to my soul!⁠— Welcome, Artois, and welcome, Philip, 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—
	Enter Audley, led by the two Esquires.
	But say, what grim discouragement comes here! Alas, what thousand armed men of France Have writ that note of death in Audley’s face?⁠— Speak, thou that woo’st death with thy careless smile And look’st so merrily upon thy grave As if thou were enamour’d on thine end, What hungry sword hath so bereav’d thy face And lopp’d 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 Edward	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 kings’ 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 Edward	Cheerily, bold man! thy soul is all too proud To yield her city for one little breach; Should be divorced from her earthly spouse By the soft temper of a 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 redeem’d 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 Edward	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.⁠— Come, gentlemen, I will see my friend bestow’d Within an easy litter; then we’ll march Proudly toward Calice with triumphant pace Unto my royal father, and there bring The tribute of my wars, fair France’s king. Exit.

Act V

Scene I

Picardy. The English camp before Calais.

	Enter King Edward, with Philippa his Queen, and Derby; Officers, Soldiers, etc.
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.
	Trumpets sound to arms. Enter, from the town, six Citizens, in their shirts, and barefoot, with halters about their necks.
Citizens	Mercy, King Edward! mercy, gracious lord!
King Edward	Contemptuous villains! call ye now for truce? Mine ears are stopp’d against your bootless cries:⁠— Sound, drums; alarum draw, threat’ning swords!
First Citizen	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 expir’d, And we are come with willingness to bear What torturing death or punishment you please, So that the trembling multitude be sav’d.
King Edward	My promise? Well, I do confess as much: But I do require the chiefest citizens And men of most account that should submit; You, peradventure, are but servile grooms, Or some felonious robbers on the sea, Whom, apprehended, law would execute, Albeit severity lay dead in us: No, no, ye cannot overreach us thus.
Second Citizen	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; 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 dragg’d about these walls And after feel the stroke of quartering steel: This is your doom;⁠—go, soldiers, see it done.
Queen	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 spoil’d 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 controll’d, 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.
Citizens	Long live your highness! happy be your reign!
King Edward	Go, get you hence, return unto the town, And if this kindness hath deserved your love, Learn then to reverence Edward as your king.⁠—Exeunt Citizens. Now, might we