KING EDWARD. What moved thee, then, to be so obstinate To contradict our royal Queen's desire?
COPLAND. No wilful disobedience, mighty Lord, But my desert and public law at arms: I took the king my self in single fight, And, like a soldiers, would be loath to lose The least pre-eminence that I had won. And Copland straight upon your highness' charge Is come to France, and with a lowly mind Doth vale the bonnet of his victory: Receive, dread Lord, the custom of my fraught, The wealthy tribute of my laboring hands, Which should long since have been surrendered up, Had but your gracious self been there in place.
QUEEN PHILLIP. But, Copland, thou didst scorn the king's command, Neglecting our commission in his name.
COPLAND. His name I reverence, but his person more; His name shall keep me in allegiance still, But to his person I will bend my knee.
KING EDWARD. I pray thee, Phillip, let displeasure pass; This man doth please me, and I like his words: For what is he that will attempt great deeds, And lose the glory that ensues the same? All rivers have recourse unto the Sea, And Copland's faith relation to his king. Kneel, therefore, down: now rise, king Edward's knight; And, to maintain thy state, I freely give Five hundred marks a year to thee and thine.
[Enter Salisbury.]
Welcome, Lord Salisbury: what news from Brittain?
SALISBURY. This, mighty king: the Country we have won, And John de Mountford, regent of that place, Presents your highness with this Coronet, Protesting true allegiance to your Grace.
KING EDWARD. We thank thee for thy service, valiant Earl; Challenge our favour, for we owe it thee.
SALISBURY. But now, my Lord, as this is joyful news, So must my voice be tragical again, And I must sing of doleful accidents.
KING EDWARD. What, have our men the overthrow at Poitiers? Or is our son beset with too much odds?
SALISBURY. He was, my Lord: and as my worthless self With forty other serviceable knights, Under safe conduct of the Dauphin's seal, Did travail that way, finding him distressed, A troop of Lances met us on the way, Surprised, and brought us prisoners to the king, Who, proud of this, and eager of revenge, Commanded straight to cut off all our heads: And surely we had died, but that the Duke, More full of honor than his angry sire, Procured our quick deliverance from thence; But, ere we went, 'Salute your king', quoth he, 'Bid him provide a funeral for his son: To day our sword shall cut his thread of life; And, sooner than he thinks, we'll be with him, To quittance those displeasures he hath done.' This said, we past, not daring to reply; Our hearts were dead, our looks diffused and wan. Wandering, at last we climed unto a hill, >From whence, although our grief were much before, Yet now to see the occasion with our eyes Did thrice so much increase our heaviness: For there, my Lord, oh, there we did descry Down in a valley how both armies lay. The French had cast their trenches like a ring, And every Barricado's open front Was thick embossed with brazen ordinance; Here stood a battaile of ten thousand horse, There twice as many pikes in quadrant wise, Here Crossbows, and deadly wounding darts: And in the midst, like to a slender point Within the compass of the horizon, As twere a rising bubble in the sea, A Hasle wand amidst a wood of Pines, Or as a bear fast chained unto a stake, Stood famous Edward, still expecting when Those dogs of France would fasten on his flesh. Anon the death procuring knell begins: Off go the Cannons, that with trembling noise Did shake the very Mountain where they stood; Then sound the Trumpets' clangor in the air, The battles join: and, when we could no more Discern the difference twixt the friend and foe, So intricate the dark confusion was, Away we turned our watery eyes with sighs, As black as powder fuming into smoke. And thus, I fear, unhappy have I told The most untimely tale of Edward's fall.
QUEEN PHILLIP. Ah me, is this my welcome into France? Is this the comfort that I looked to have, When I should meet with my beloved son? Sweet Ned, I would thy mother in the sea Had been prevented of this mortal grief!
KING EDWARD. Content thee, Phillip; tis not tears will serve To call him back, if he be taken hence: Comfort thy self, as I do, gentle Queen, With hope of sharp, unheard of, dire revenge.-- He bids me to provide his funeral, And so I will; but all the Peers in France Shall mourners be, and weep out bloody tears, Until their empty veins be dry and sere: The pillars of his hearse shall be his bones; The mould that covers him, their City ashes; His knell, the groaning cries of dying men; And, in the stead of tapers on his tomb, An hundred fifty towers shall burning blaze, While we bewail our valiant son's decease.