Scene
III
Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French camp; tent of the Duke of Normandy.
Enter Charles and Villiers.
Charles
I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldst importune me
For one that is our deadly enemy.
Villiers
Not for his sake, my gracious lord, so much
Am I become an earnest advocate
As that thereby my ransom will be quit.
Charles
Thy ransom, man! why need’st thou talk of that?
Art thou not free? and are not all occasions,
That happen for advantage of our foes,
To be accepted of and stood upon?
Villiers
No, good, my lord, except the same be just;
For profit must with honour be comix’d
Or else our actions are but scandalous:
But, letting pass these intricate objections,
Will’t please your highness to subscribe, or no?
Charles
Villiers, I will not nor I cannot do it;
Salisbury shall not have his will so much,
To claim a passport how it please himself.
Villiers
Why, then I know the extremity, my lord:
I must return to prison whence I came.
Charles
Return! I hope, thou wilt not.
What bird that hath escap’d the fowler’s gin
Will not beware how she’s ensnar’d again?
Or what is he so senseless and secure,
That, having hardly pass’d a dangerous gulf,
Will put himself in peril there again?
Villiers
Ah, but it is mine oath, my gracious lord,
Which I in conscience may not violate,
Or else a kingdom should not draw me hence.
Charles
Thine oath! why, that doth bind thee to abide:
Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy prince?
Villiers
In all things that uprightly he commands.
But either to persuade or threaten me
Not to perform the covenant of my word
Is lawless and I need not to obey.
Charles
Why, is it lawful for a man to kill,
And not, to break a promise with his foe?
Villiers
To kill, my lord, when war is once proclaim’d,
So that our quarrel be for wrongs receiv’d,
No doubt, is lawfully permitted us:
But, in an oath, we must be well advis’d
How we do swear, and, when we once have sworn,
Not to infringe it, though we die therefore.
Therefore, my lord, as willing I return
As if I were to fly to paradise. Going.
Charles
Stay, my Villiers; thine honourable mind
Deserves to be eternally admir’d.
Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferr’d;
Give me the paper, I’ll subscribe to it: Signs, and gives it back.
And, wheretofore I lov’d thee as Villiers,
Hereafter I’ll embrace thee as myself;
Stay, and be still in favour with thy lord.
Villiers
I humbly thank you grace, I must dispatch
And send this passport first unto the earl,
And then I will attend your highness’ pleasure.
Charles
Do so, Villiers;—and Charles, when he hath need,
Be such his soldiers, howsoe’er he speed! Exit Villiers.
Enter King John.
King John
Come, Charles, and arm thee; Edward is entrapp’d,
The Prince of Wales is fall’n into our hands,
And we have compass’d him, he cannot scape.
Charles
But will your highness fight to-day?
King John
What else, my son? he’s scarce eight thousand strong,
And we are threescore thousand at the least.
Charles
I have a prophecy, my gracious lord,
Wherein is written what success is like
To happen us in this outrageous war;
It was deliver’d me at Cressy’s field
By one that is an aged Hermit there. Reads.
“When feather’d foul shall make thine army tremble,
And flint-stones rise, and break the battle ’ray,
Then think on him that doth not now dissemble,
For that shall be the hapless dreadful day:
Yet in the end thy foot thou shalt advance
As far in England as thy foe in France.”
King John
By this it seems we shall be fortunate:
For as it is impossible that stones
Should ever rise and break the battle ’ray,
Or airy foul make men in arms to quake,
So is it like, we shall not be subdu’d:
Or, say this might be true, yet in the end,
Since he doth promise we shall drive him hence
And forage their country as they have done ours,
By this revenge that loss will seem the less.
But all are frivolous fancies, toys and dreams:
Once we are sure we have ensnar’d the son,
Catch we the father after how we can. Exeunt.