DARBY.
Ah, but he shall not live to see those days.
KING EDWARD.
Why, then his Epitaph is lasting praise.
AUDLEY.
Yet, good my Lord, tis too much willfulness,
To let his blood be spilt, that may be saved.
KING EDWARD.
Exclaim no more; for none of you can tell
Whether a borrowed aid will serve, or no;
Perhaps he is already slain or ta’en.
And dare a Falcon when she’s in her flight,
And ever after she’ll be haggard like:
Let Edward be delivered by our hands,
And still, in danger, he’ll expect the like;
But if himself himself redeem from thence,
He will have vanquished cheerful death and fear,
And ever after dread their force no more
Than if they were but babes or Captive slaves.
AUDLEY.
O cruel Father! Farewell, Edward, then!
DARBY.
Farewell, sweet Prince, the hope of chivalry!
ARTOIS.
O, would my life might ransom him from death!
KING EDWARD.
But soft, me thinks I hear
[Retreat sounded.]
The dismal charge of Trumpets’ loud retreat.
All are not slain, I hope, that went with him;
Some will return with tidings, good or bad.