Page 151 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

Lest unadvis’d you stain your swords with blood: [45]
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace which here we urge in war,
And then we shall repent each drop of blood

That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter Chatillon.

KING PHILIP
A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, [50]
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv’d!
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;

We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON
Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
And stir them up against a mightier task. [55]
England, impatient of your just demands,

Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stay’d, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I;
His marches are expedient to this town, [60]
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.

With him along is come the mother-queen,
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
With her her niece, the Lady Blanche of Spain;

With them a bastard of the king’s deceas’d, [65]
And all th’unsettled humours of the land;
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies’ faces and fierce dragons’ spleens,
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,

Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, [70]
To make a hazard of new fortunes here:
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits

Than now the English bottoms have waft o’er
Did never float upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [75]
[Drum beats.]