LORRAIN.
The garrison of Genoaes, my Lord,
That came from Paris weary with their march,
Grudging to be so suddenly imployd,
No sooner in the forefront took their place,
But, straight retiring, so dismayed the rest,
As likewise they betook themselves to flight,
In which, for haste to make a safe escape,
More in the clustering throng are pressed to death,
Than by the enemy, a thousand fold.
KING JOHN.
O hapless fortune! Let us yet assay,
If we can counsel some of them to stay.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III. SCENE V. The Same.
[Enter King Edward and Audley.]
KING EDWARD.
Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase,
With draw our powers unto this little hill,
And here a season let us breath our selves.
AUDLEY.
I will, my Lord.
[Exit. Sound Retreat.]
KING EDWARD.
Just dooming heaven, whose secret providence
To our gross judgement is inscrutable,
How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works,
That hast this day given way unto the right,
And made the wicked stumble at them selves!
[Enter Artois.]