Edward III
Act IV, Scene 7
Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. Another part of the field of battle.
John de Valois, King of France
1 - 10
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Our multitudes are in themselves confounded,
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Dismayed, and distraught; swift starting fear
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Hath buzzed a cold dismay through all our army,
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And every petty disadvantage prompts
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The fear possessed abject soul to fly.
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Myself, whose spirit is steel to their dull lead,
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What with recalling of the prophecy,
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And that our native stones from English arms
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Rebel against us, find myself attainted
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With strong surprise of weak and yielding fear.
Charles
11 - 16
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Fly, father, fly! The French do kill the French,
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Some that would stand let drive at some that fly;
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Our drums strike nothing but discouragement,
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Our trumpets sound dishonor and retire;
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The spirit of fear, that feareth nought but death,
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Cowardly works confusion on itself.
Philip
17 - 22
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Pluck out your eyes, and see not this day’s shame!
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An arm hath beat an army; one poor David
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Hath with a stone foiled twenty stout Goliaths;
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Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints,
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Hath driven back a puissant host of men,
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Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements.
John de Valois, King of France
23 - 25
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Mordieu! They quoit at us and kill us up;
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No less than forty thousand wicked elders
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Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death.
Charles
26 - 28
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O, that I were some other countryman!
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This day hath set derision on the French,
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And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.
John de Valois, King of France
29
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What, is there no hope left?
Philip
30
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No hope, but death, to bury up our shame.
John de Valois, King of France
31 - 33
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Make up once more with me; the twentieth part
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Of those that live, are men inow to quail
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The feeble handful on the adverse part.
Charles
34 - 35
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Then charge again: if heaven be not opposed,
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We cannot lose the day.
John de Valois, King of France
36
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On, away!
