The Prince of Wales,--that mighty conqueror,--knowing his weakness, and feeling his responsibility, would have even consented to give back the provinces he had taken--the captives of his valour--and agreed to remain for seven years without drawing the sword.

But King John demanded that he should yield himself prisoner, with a hundred of his knights; and, confident in his strength, he had no second proposal to make.
Sixty thousand warriors, full of pride, hope, and exultation, had spread themselves over the plains, confident of success, and looking forward to annihilate at a blow the harassed enemy which had so long annoyed them, but which were now hunted into the toils, and could be made an easy prey.

The redoubtable Black Prince would no longer terrify France with his name: he knew his weakness, and had sent to offer terms the most advantageous, provided he and his impoverished bands might be permitted to go free; but, with victory in their hands, why should the insulted knights of France agree to his dictation?
it were better to punish the haughty islanders as they deserved, and at once rid their country of a nest of hornets which allowed her no peace.
The king, his four sons, all the princes and nobles of France were in arms, and had not followed the English to listen to terms at the last moment.

King John,--the very flower of chivalry, the soul of honour and valour,--rode through his glittering ranks, and surveyed his banners with delight and pride.

"At Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen, at Orleans," he exclaimed, "you defied these English; you desired to encounter them hand to hand.