Lew.
The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set;

But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measur'd ^note backward their own ground
In faint retire: O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good-night;
And wound14Q0569 our tatter'd ^note colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger, hastily.

Mes.
Where is my prince, the ^note dauphin?

Lew.
Here; What news?

Mes.
The count Melun is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again faln ^note off:
And your supplies ^note, which you have wish'd so long,
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.

Lew.
Ah, foul shrewd news!—Beshrew thy very heart!
I did not think to be so sad to-night,
As this hath made me.—Who was he, that said,
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Mes.
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

Lew.
Well; keep good quarter, and good care to-night:
The day shall not be up so soon as I.
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

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