Lewis.
The sun of heav'n methought was loth to set;
But staid, and made the western welkin blush,
When th'English measur'd backward their own ground
In faint retire: oh bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil we bid good night,
And wound our ^{c note}tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Where is my Prince, the Dauphin?

Lewis.
Here, what news?

Mes.
The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
By his perswasion are at length fall'n off,
And your supply which you have wish'd so long
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin sands.

Lewis.
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.
Who ever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

Lewis.
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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