Philologic Results

Welcome to PhiloLogic

| | | | |

Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].

To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.

Previous section

Next section

SCENE XI. Another part of the Field of Battle. Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and Rambures.

Con.
O Diable!

Orl.
O Signeur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu.

Dau.
Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. [A short alarm.
O meschante fortune!—do not run away.

Con.
Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau.
O perdurable shame! let's stab our selves:
Be these the wretches, that we play'd at dice for?

Orl.
Is this the King we sent to for his ransom?

Bour.
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die, (a) ^note instant:—Once more back again;
The man, that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base pander hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than a dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Con.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl.
We are enow, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs;
If any order might be thought upon.

Bour.
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng;
Let life be short, else shame will be too long. [Exeunt.

-- 403 --

Previous section

Next section