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The French camp.
Enter LEWIS and his train.

The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,

But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,

When 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 tattering colors clearly up,

Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger.

Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

Here: what news? (10)

The Count Melun is slain; the English lords

By his persuasion are again fall'n off,

And your supply, which you have wished so long,

Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!

I did not think to be so sad to-night

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 ?

Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. (20)

Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:

The day shall not be up so soon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

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