SALISBURY. We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight, And like a bated and retired flood, Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlook’d, And calmly run on in obedience Even to our ocean, to our great King John. My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight, And happy newness, that intends old right. [_Exeunt, leading off Melun._] SCENE V. The same. The French camp. Enter Louis and his train. LOUIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, But stay’d, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measure 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 wound our tott’ring colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? LOUIS. Here. What news? MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords By his persuasion are again fall’n off, And your supply, which you have wish’d so long, Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. LOUIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be so sad tonight 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? MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. LOUIS. Well, keep good quarter and good care tonight. The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of tomorrow. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey. Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. HUBERT. Who’s there? Speak, ho! Speak quickly, or I shoot. BASTARD. A friend. What art thou? HUBERT. Of the part of England. BASTARD. Whither dost thou go? HUBERT. What’s that to thee? Why may I not demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? BASTARD. Hubert, I think. HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought. I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know’st my tongue so well. Who art thou? BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please, Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! Thou and eyeless night Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent breaking from thy tongue Should ’scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night, To find you out. BASTARD. Brief, then; and what’s the news? HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news. I am no woman, I’ll not swoon at it.