The Same. The French Camp. |
|
Enter LEWIS and his Train. |
Lew. 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 tottering colours clearly up, |
Last in the field, and almost lords of it! |
|
Enter a Messenger. |
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? |
Lew. Here: what news? |
Mess. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords, |
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off; |
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, |
Are cast away and sunk, on Goodwin sands. |
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! |
I did not think to be so sad to-night |
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? |
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. |
Lew. Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night: |
The day shall not be up so soon as I, |
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. |
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