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. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.