King

Sir Thomas, now I understand your mirth, Which often plays with wisdom for its pastime, And brings good counsel from the breast of laughter. I hope you’ll stay and see us fight this battle, And reap rich harvest in the fields of Cressy; Then go to England, tell them how we fight, And set all hearts on fire to be with us. Philip is plumed, and thinks we flee from him, Else he would never dare to attack us. Now, Now the quarry’s set! and Death doth sport In the bright sunshine of this fatal day.