SCENE IV.
The English Camp.
Enter King, Sir Walter Manny, Harcourt, Arundel, Warwick, and Attendants.
King. Fie, lords! it slurs our name;—the town is succour'd.
'Twas dull neglect to let them pass: a blot
Upon our English camp; where vigilance
Should be the watch-word. Which way got they in?
Sir W. By sea, as we do learn, my gracious liege?
King. Where was our fleet then? does it ride the ocean
In idle mockery? It should float to awe
These Frenchmen here. How are they stored, my lord?
Harc. Barely, as it should seem. Their crazy vessel,
Driven among the rocks, that skirt the shore,
Let in the waves so fast upon the cargo,
The better half is either sunk or spoilt.
They scarce can hold another day, my liege.
King. Thanks to the sea for't—not our Admiral.
They brave it, stubborn, to the very last:—
But they shall smart for't shortly; smart severely.
Meantime, prepare we for our Queen; who comes
From England, deck'd in conquest. Say, Lord Harcourt,
Are all prepared to welcome her arrival?
Harc. All, my dread liege. The beach is thickly lined
With English soldiery, in ardent watch,
Fixing their eyes upon the bark, which bears
Our royal mistress. It was hoped, ere this,
'T had reach'd the harbour.—
[Grand Flourish.
Hark! the queen has landed.
King. Do you then, good my lord! escort her hither.
[Exit Harcourt.
Sir Walter Manny?
Sir W. Ay, my gracious sovereign.
King. Guard well this packet. When the Governor
Of this same peevish town shall call a parley,
Break you it up, and from it speak our pleasure.
Here are the terms—the only terms—on which
We do allow them to capitulate.
Enter the Queen Philippa, attended.
Oh, welcome! welcome! We shall give you here
Rude martial fare, and soldiers' entertainment.
Queen. Royal sir!
Well met, and happily. I learn your labours
Draw to a glorious end.—When you return,
Besides the loyal subjects who would greet you,
The Scottish king, my lord! waits your arrival;
Who, somewhat partial to his neighbour's land,
Did come an uninvited guest among us.
I doubt he'll think us over-hospitable;
For, dreading his too quick departure from us,
I have made bold to guard him in the Tower:
And hither have I sail'd, my noble liege!
To glad you with the tidings.
King. My sweet warrior!
We will dispatch our work here, then for England.
Calais will soon be ours;—of that hereafter.
Think we, to-day, on nought but revelry.
You, madam, shall diffuse your influence
Throughout our camp.—Strike, there, our martial music!
For want of better, good Philippa, take
A soldier's noisy concert. Strike! I say.