All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
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.
Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Be of good comfort; for the great supply That was expected by the Dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now: The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field And send him word by me which way you go.
With all my heart, my liege.
Under the Dauphin.
My liege, her ear Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April died Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord, The Lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue I idly heard; if true or false I know not.
From France to England. Never such a power For any foreign preparation Was levied in the body of a land. The copy of your speed is learn'd by them; For when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings come that they are all arrived.