AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love: That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac’d shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean’s roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedg’d in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king; till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE. O, take his mother’s thanks, a widow’s thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP. Well then, to work; our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages. We’ll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen’s blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvis’d you stain your swords with blood. My Lord Chatillion 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 Chatillion. KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillion is arriv’d. What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillion, speak. CHATILLION. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. 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, 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. 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, 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. [_Drums beat within._] The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance. They are at hand, To parley or to fight, therefore prepare. KING PHILIP. How much unlook’d-for is this expedition! AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence, For courage mounteth with occasion. Let them be welcome, then; we are prepar’d.