Edward III, William Shakespeare [novels to read for beginners txt] 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
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Which if with grudging he refuse to yield,
I’ll take away those borrow’d plumes of his
And send him naked to the wilderness. Lorraine
Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy lords,
I do pronounce defiance to thy face.
Defiance, Frenchman? we rebound it back,
Even to the bottom of thy master’s throat:
And—be it spoke with reverence of the king
My gracious father, and these other lords.—
I hold thy message but as scurrilous,
And him that sent thee, like the lazy drone
Crept up by stealth unto the eagle’s nest;
From whence we’ll shake him with so rough a storm,
As others shall be warned by his harm.
Bid him leave of the lion’s case he wears,
Lest, meeting with the lion in the field,
He chance to tear him piecemeal for his pride.
The soundest counsel I can give his grace
Is to surrender ere he be constrain’d.
A voluntary mischief hath less scorn,
Than when reproach with violence is borne.
Degenerate traitor, viper to the place
Where thou was foster’d in thine infancy, Drawing his sword.
Bear’st thou a part in this conspiracy?
Lorraine, behold the sharpness of this steel: Drawing his.
Fervent desire, that sits against my heart,
Is far more thorny-pricking than this blade;
That, with the nightingale, I shall be scar’d,
As oft as I dispose my self to rest,
Until my colours be display’d in France.
This is thy final answer; so be gone.
It is not that, nor any English brave,
Afflicts me so, as doth his poison’d view,
That is most false, should most of all be true. Exeunt Lorraine and Train.
Now, lords, our fleeting bark is under sail:
Our gage is thrown, and war is soon begun,
But not so quickly brought unto an end.—
But wherefore comes Sir William Mountague?
How stands the league between the Scot and us?
Crack’d and dissever’d, my renowned lord.
The treacherous king no sooner was inform’d
Of your withdrawing of our army back,
But straight, forgetting of his former oath,
He made invasion on the bordering towns.
Berwick is won; Newcastle spoil’d and lost;
And now the tyrant hath begirt with siege
The castle of Roxborough, where enclos’d
The Countess Salisbury is like to perish.
That is thy daughter, Warwick—is it not?—
Whose husband hath in Britain serv’d so long,
About the planting of Lord Mountford there?
Ignoble David! hast thou none to grieve,
But silly ladies, with thy threat’ning arms?
But I will make you shrink your snaily horns.—
First, therefore, Audley, this shall be thy charge;
Go levy footmen for our wars in France:
And, Ned, take muster of our men at arms:
In every shire elect a several band.
Let them be soldiers of a lusty spirit,
Such as dread nothing but dishonour’s blot:
Be wary therefore; since we do commence
A famous war and with so mighty a nation.
Derby, be thou ambassador for us
Unto our father-in-law, the Earl of Hainault:
Make him acquainted with our enterprise;
And likewise will him, with our own allies
That are in Flanders, to solicit too
The Emperour of Almaine in our name.
Myself, whilst you are jointly thus employ’d,
Will, with these forces that I have at hand,
March and once more repulse the trait’rous Scot.
But, sirs, be resolute; we shall have wars
On every side; and, Ned, thou must begin
Now to forget thy study and thy books
And ure thy shoulders to an armour’s weight.
As cheerful sounding to my youthful spleen
This tumult is of war’s increasing broils,
As at the coronation of a king
The joyful clamours of the people are
When, “Ave, Caesar!” they pronounce aloud.
Within this school of honour I shall learn,
Either to sacrifice my foes to death
Or in a rightful quarrel spend my breath.
Then cheerfully forward, each a several way;
In great affairs ’tis naught to use delay. Exeunt.
Roxborough. Before the castle.
Enter Countess of Salisbury, and certain of her People, upon the walls. CountessAlas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze
For succour that my sovereign should send!
Ah, cousin Mountague, I fear, thou want’st
The lively spirit sharply to solicit
With vehement suit the king in my behalf:
Thou dost not tell him, what a grief it is
To be the scornful captive of a Scot;
Either to be woo’d with broad untuned oaths,
Or forc’d by rough insulting barbarism:
Thou dost not tell him, if he here prevail,
How much they will deride us in the north;
And, in their wild, uncivil, skipping jigs,
Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow,
Even in the barren, bleak, and fruitless air.
I must withdraw; the everlasting foe
Comes to the wall: I’ll closely step aside,
And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. Retiring behind the works.
My Lord of Lorraine, to our brother of France
Commend us, as the man in Christendom
That we most reverence and entirely love.
Touching your embassage, return and say
That we with England will not enter parley
Nor never make fair weather or take truce,
But burn their neighbour towns, and so persist
With eager roads beyond their city York.
And never shall our bonny riders rest,
Nor rusting canker have the time to eat
Their light-borne snaffles nor their nimble spurs;
Nor lay aside their jacks of gymold mail;
Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash
In peaceful wise upon their city walls;
Nor from their button’d tawny leathern belts
Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your king
Cry out, Enough; spare England now for pity.
Farewell, and tell him, that you leave us here
Before this castle; say, you came from us
Even when we had that yielded to our hands.
I take my leave, and fairly will return
Your acceptable greeting to my king. Exit.
Now, Douglas, to our former task again,
For the division of this certain spoil.
Nay, soft ye, sir, first I must make my choice;
And first I do bespeak her for myself.
Those are her own, still liable to her,
And, who inherits her, hath those withal.
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