_Hen._ Hark, my lords! Divinity is here. [_To Gersa_] How was this done? What know you of the battle? _Ger._ When we met The opposing fleet, we crept by swift and silent, As to escape the fight. So near we coursed We heard the jeers cast on us as we passed. Well by, we turned, and with the wind at back, Bore down full sail and grappled. _Hen._ Here were men! _Ger._ Then, sire, we cut the lime-sacks on our decks---- _Hen._ Lime-sacks? _Ger._ Which gave out smarting clouds that rose---- _Hen._ Now here were fools! _Ger._ Sire, you forget the wind. The sweeping breeze took up the stinging lime, Clearing our decks, but wrapping round our foes, Blinding all eyes. _Hen._ St. George! _Ger._ 'Twas easy then To hook our vessels to the great French ships, Cut down their rigging and make way at will O'er the wallowing crew. _Pem._ Must we believe this tale? _Hen._ Goes it against your wish? _Pem._ Nay, but 'tis strange. _Ger._ [_To Henry_] One hundred knights, eight hundred officers, Now wait their doom from you. Le Moine was found Hid in his ship, and offered mighty sums For his vile life, but Fitzroy closed the parley By striking off his head. _Alb._ What? Le Moine dead? _Hen._ Why so amazed, my lord of Albemarle? Did you not prophesy a victory? _Alb._ True, true, my liege, but this surpasses all My hope of it. Call it a miracle, Not victory. _Gualo._ Call it whate'er you will, The Lord of Hosts was with this noble knight. _Hen._ Not knight, but the right noble earl of Kent, And for his life our grand justiciary. [_To Gersa_] Thou art the mavis to a happy dawn. Come, sing again. [_Talks aside with him_] _Win._ [_To Albemarle and Pembroke_] Your lordships, do you ride? _Alb._ What tone is this? _Win._ A tone you'll tune to, sir. Didst think me such a fool to stay and fall With Henry into Louis' hands? Nay, I've No wish to enter that small cell of earth Which needs no turnkey, as you say. _Alb._ What, sir? _Win._ No, by the Lord! At the first castle where You planned to stop I had my servants laid To take you prisoners. It stirs my blood That you should think I came to the bishopric By a fool's wit. Now Rome is at my back, And Henry king! But I'll make peace with you, For I foresee a power in De Burgh That warns me not to scorn even traitor strength. _Alb._ Ay, we've no fear you'll let this sudden turn Cut off our fortunes. _Hen._ Come, my lords. Come, all! We'll to the gates to greet the earl of Kent! [_Exeunt. Curtain_]