ARKCODEX
Act IV, Scene 6
1The same. A part of the field of battle.
2Alarums, as of a battle joined, skirmishings. Enter Prince Edward and Artois.
3ArtoisHow fares your grace? are you not shot, my lord?
4Prince EdwardNo, dear Artois; but chok’d with dust and smoke
And stepp’d aside for breath and fresher air.
5ArtoisBreath, then, and to’t 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 want.
6Prince EdwardCourage, Artois! a fig for feathered shafts
When feathered fowls do bandy on our side!
What need we fight and sweat, and keep a coil
When railing crows out-scold our adversaries?
Up, up, Artois! the ground itself is arm’d
With10 fire containing flint; command our bows
To hurl away their pretty-color’d yew,
And to’t with stones: away, Artois, away;
My soul doth prophesy we win the day. Exeunt.
7Alarums, and Parties skirmishing. Enter King John.
8King JohnOur multitudes are in themselves confounded,
Dismayed, and distraught; swift-starting fear
Hath buzz’d 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.
9Enter Charles.
10CharlesFly, 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 nought but death,
Cowardly works confusion on itself.
11Enter Philip.
12PhilipPluck out your eyes and see not this day’s shame!
An arm hath beat an army; one poor David
Hath with a stone foil’d twenty stout Goliahs:
Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints
Hath driven back a puissant host of men,
Array’d and fenc’d in all accomplements.
13King JohnMordieu, they quoit at us and kill us up;
No less than forty thousand wicked elders
Have forty lean slaves this day ston’d to death.
14CharlesO, that I were some-other-countryman!
This day hath set derision on the French,
And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.
15King JohnWhat, is there no hope left?
16PhilipNo hope, but death, to bury up our shame.
17King JohnMake up once more with me; the twentieth part
Of those that live are men enough to quail
The feeble handful on the adverse part.
18CharlesThen charge again: if Heaven be not oppos’d,
We cannot lose the day.
19King JohnOn, on;11 away. Exeunt.
20Alarums, etc. Enter Audley, wounded, and two Esquires, his rescuers.
21First EsquireHow fares my lord?
22AudleyEven as a man may do,
That dines at such a bloody feast as this.
23Second EsquireI hope, my lord, that is no mortal scar.
24AudleyNo 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.