PRINCE EDWARD. Death’s name is much more mighty than his deeds; Thy parcelling this power hath made it more. As many sands as these my hands can hold, Are but my handful of so many sands; Then, all the world, and call it but a power, Easily ta’en up, and quickly thrown away: But if I stand to count them sand by sand, The number would confound my memory, And make a thousand millions of a task, Which briefly is no more, indeed, than one. These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments, Before, behind us, and on either hand, Are but a power. When we name a man, His hand, his foot, his head hath several strengths; And being all but one self instant strength, Why, all this many, Audley, is but one, And we can call it all but one man’s strength. He that hath far to go, tells it by miles; If he should tell the steps, it kills his heart: The drops are infinite, that make a flood, And yet, thou knowest, we call it but a Rain. There is but one France, one king of France, That France hath no more kings; and that same king Hath but the puissant legion of one king, And we have one: then apprehend no odds, For one to one is fair equality. [Enter an Herald from King John.] PRINCE EDWARD. What tidings, messenger? be plain and brief. HERALD. The king of France, my sovereign Lord and master, Greets by me his foe, the Prince of Wales: If thou call forth a hundred men of name, Of Lords, Knights, Squires, and English gentlemen, And with thy self and those kneel at his feet, He straight will fold his bloody colours up, And ransom shall redeem lives forfeited; If not, this day shall drink more English blood, Than ere was buried in our British earth. What is the answer to his proffered mercy? PRINCE EDWARD. This heaven, that covers France, contains the mercy That draws from me submissive orizons; That such base breath should vanish from my lips, To urge the plea of mercy to a man, The Lord forbid! Return, and tell the king, My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg My mercy on his coward burgonet; Tell him, my colours are as red as his, My men as bold, our English arms as strong: Return him my defiance in his face. HERALD. I go. [Exit.] [Enter another Herald.] PRINCE EDWARD. What news with thee? HERALD. The Duke of Normandy, my Lord & master, Pitying thy youth is so ingirt with peril, By me hath sent a nimble jointed jennet, As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride, And therewithall he counsels thee to fly; Else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die. PRINCE EDWARD. Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him! Tell him I cannot sit a coward’s horse; Bid him to day bestride the jade himself, For I will stain my horse quite o’er with blood, And double gild my spurs, but I will catch him; So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone. [Exit Herald.] [Enter another Herald.]