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| ARTOIS | How fares your grace? are you not shot, my Lord? |
| PRINCE EDWARD | No, dear Artois; but choked
with dust and smoke, And stepped aside for breath and fresher air. |
| ARTOIS | Breath, then, and to it
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. |
| PRINCE EDWARD | Courage, 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 outscold our adversaries? Up, up, Artois! the ground it self is armed With Fire containing flint; command our bows To hurl away their pretty colored Ew, And to it with stones: away, Artois, away! My soul doth prophecy we win the day. |
| [Exeunt.] |
ACT IV, SCENE 7 The same. Another Part of the Field of Battle.
Alarum. Enter King John.
| KING JOHN | Our 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. My self, 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. |
| [Enter Charles.] | |
| CHARLES | Fly, 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 dishonor and retire; The spirit of fear, that feareth nought but death, Cowardly works confusion on it self. |
| [Enter Phillip.] | |
| PHILLIP | Pluck out your eyes, and see
not this day's shame! An arm hath beat an army; one poor David Hath with a stone foiled twenty stout Goliahs; Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints, Hath driven back a puissant host of men, Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements. |
| KING JOHN | Mordieu, they quait at us,
and kill us up; No less than forty thousand wicked elders Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death. |
| CHARLES | O, that I were some other
countryman! This day hath set derision on the French, And all the world will blurt and scorn at us. |
| KING JOHN | What, is there no hope left? |
| PHILLIP | No hope, but death, to bury up our shame. |
| KING JOHN | Make up once more with me;
the twentieth part Of those that live are men enough to quail The feeble handful on the adverse part. |
| CHARLES | Then charge again: if Heaven
be not oppos'd, We cannot lose the day. |
| KING JOHN | On, away! |
| [Exeunt.] |
To see other scenes in the show:
| Full Play Text | |
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ACT IV, SCENE 3 Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French camp; Tent of the Duke of Normandy. |
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ACT IV, SCENE 6 The same. A Part of the Field of Battle./ACT IV, SCENE 7 The same. Another Part of the Field of Battle. |
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| ACT V, SCENE 1 Picardy. The English Camp before Calais. |
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