INTRODUCTION.

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. National transactions, however important they may be in their nature and consequences, are not likely to have a very popular effect, as they tend chiefly to indulge political reflection, but have very little to gratify taste. Such pieces as this are also very barren of female characters and affecting circumstances, without which the Drama is too defective. Shakespeare has herein adhered to facts, and maintained just preservation of character, without producing one striking scene: It is not therefore to be recommended for representation.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. King Henry [King Henry the Sixth]. Duke of Bedford. Duke of Gloster [Duke of Gloucester]. Duke of Exeter. Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester [Winchester]. Richard Plantagenet. Earl of Somerset [Somerset]. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Warwick. Earl of Suffolk. Lord Talbot, his Son [John Talbot]. Edmund Mortimer. Sir Thomas Gargrave. Sir William Glansdale. Sir John Falstaff [Sir John Fastolfe]. Sir William Lucy. Woodville. The Mayor of London. Master Vernon, a Yorkist [Vernon]. Master Basset, a Lancastrian [Basset]. Warders of the Tower, two. Servants of Gloster, two. Servants of Winchester; Servants of Talbot, Messengers, and Officers, eight. Charles, Dauphin of France. Duke of Burgundy. Reignier, Duke of Anjou, titular King of Naples, &c. Duke of Alenson [Duke of Alencon]. The Bastard of Orleans. A Gunner [Master Gunner], and his Son [Master Gunner's Son]; a Serjeant [Sergeant], and two Soldiers; a Porter; General of the French Forces within Bourdeaux; a Legate; Messenger; Shepherd, Father to Pucelle. Margaret, Daughter to Reignier. Countess of Auvergne. Joan of Arc: called, of the French, La Pucelle [Joan la Pucelle]. Fiends, appearing to Pucelle. Governor of Paris. Attendants, Officers, Soldiers, &c. French, and English. [Messenger], [Messenger 2], [Messenger 3], [Warder 1], [Servant], [Servant 1], [Warder 2], [Officer], [Sentinel], [Sentinel 1], [Soldier], [Captain], [Lawyer], [Keeper 1], [Soldier 1], [Guard], [Servant] [Servant 2], [Servant 3] SCENE, dispersed; in England, and France.

Main text ACT I. SCENE I. Westminster. The Prince's Chamber* ^note Solemn Music. The Corpse of King Henry the Fifth discovered, lying in great State: solemnly attended on by the Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, Exeter; Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester; and divers other Noblemen, Prelates, &c.

Bedford.
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry's death!† ^note
Henry the fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo.
England ne'er had a king, until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzl'd and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say, his deeds exceed all speech:
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.

Exe.
We mourn in black, why mourn we not in blood?
Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mis-hap,
That plotted thus our glories' overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magic verses have contriv'd his end?

Win.
He was a king blest of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

Glo.
The church! where is it? Had not church-men pray'd,
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom like a school-boy you may over-awe* ^note.

Win.
Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector;
And lookest to command the prince and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than heav'n, or religious churchmen, may.

Glo.
Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
And ne'er throughout the year, to church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.

&blquo;Bed.
&blquo;Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace!
&blquo;Let's to the altar:—Heralds, wait on us.—
&blquo;Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
&blquo;Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.—
&blquo;Posterity, await for wretched years,
&blquo;When at their mother's moist eyes babes shall suck;
&blquo;Our isle be made a marish* ^note of salt tears,
&blquo;And none but women left to wail the dead.—
&blquo;Henry the fifth, thy ghost I invocate;
&blquo;Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
&blquo;Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
&blquo;A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
&blquo;Than Julius Cæsar, or bright— Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Roan, Orleans,
Paris, Gisors, Poitiers, are all quite lost.

Bed.
What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.

Glo.
Is Paris lost? Is Roan yielded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

Exe.
How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?

Mes.
No treachery; but want of men, and money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,—
That here you maintain several factions;
And, whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man thinks, without expence at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility;
Let not sloth dim your honours, new begot:

Cropt are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Exe.
Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

Bed.
Me they concern, regent I am of France:—
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France.—
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter another Messenger.

2. M.
Lords, view these letters, full of bad mischance,
France is revolted from the English quite;
Except some petty towns, of no import:
The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
Reignier, duke of Anjou, takes his part;
The duke of Alenson flieth to his side.

Exe.
The dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

Glo.
We will not fly but to our enemies' throats:—
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

Bed.
Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is over-run. Enter a third Messenger.

3. M.
My gracious lords,—to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,—
I must inform you of a dismal fight,
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.

Win.
What, wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

3. M.
O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having scarce full six thousand in his troop,
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon:
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers;

Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges,
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew:
The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms;
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him:
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot, a Talbot! cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
If Sir John Falstaff had not play'd the coward:
He being in the rereward plac'd behind,
With purpose to relieve and follow them,
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
Enclosed were they with their enemies:
A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;
Whom all France, with their chief assembl'd strength,
Durst not presume to look once in the face* ^note.

Bed.
Is Talbot slain then? I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease,
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foeman is betray'd.

3. M.
O, no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford:
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise.

Bed.
His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne,
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.—
Farewel, my masters, to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
To keep our great St. George's feast withal:

Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

&blquo;3. M.
&blquo;So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
&blquo;The English army is grown weak and faint:
&blquo;The earl of Salisbury craveth supply;
&blquo;And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
&blquo;Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

&blquo;Exe.
&blquo;Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn;
&blquo;Either to quell the dauphin utterly,
&blquo;Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

&blquo;Bed.
&blquo;I do remember it; and here take leave,
&blquo;To go about my preparation. [Exit.

Glo.
I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
To view the artillery and munition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit.

Exe.
To Eltam will I, where the young king is,
Being ordain'd his special governor;
And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit.

Win.
Each hath his place and function to attend:
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office;
The king from Eltam I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal* ^note [Exit. Scene closes. SCENE II. France. The English Posts before Orleans. Drums. Enter the Dauphin Charles, and his Forces; Reignier, Alenson, and others.

Cha.
Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known:
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans;
The whiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Ale.
They want their porridge, and their fat bull-beeves:

Either they must be dieted like mules,
And have their provender ty'd to their mouths;
Or piteously they will look, like drowned mice.

Rei.
Let's raise the siege; why sit we idly here?
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
Remaineth none, but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war.

Cha.
Sound, sound alarum;—we will rush on them. [Charge sounded.
Now for the honour of the forlorn French:—
Him I forgive my death, that killeth me,
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt. * ^noteAlarums; skirmishings; afterwards a retreat. &blquo;Re-enter Charles and the rest.

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Who ever saw the like? what men have I?—
&blquo;Dogs! cowards! dastards—I would ne'er have fled,
&blquo;But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

&blquo;Rei.
&blquo;Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
&blquo;He fighteth as one weary of his life.
&blquo;The other lords, like lions wanting food,
&blquo;Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Froisard, a countryman of ours, records,
&blquo;England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
&blquo;During the time Edward the third did reign:
&blquo;More truly now may this be verify'd;
&blquo;For none but Sampsons, and Goliasses,
&blquo;It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
&blquo;Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose,
&blquo;They had such courage and audacity?

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Let's leave this town; for they are hair-brain'd slaves,
&blquo;And hunger will enforce them be more eager:
&blquo;Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
&blquo;The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.

&blquo;Rei.
&blquo;I think, by some odd gimmals or device,

&blquo;Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;
&blquo;Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
&blquo;By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone.

&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans.

Bas.
Where's the prince dauphin? I have news for him.

Cha.
Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

Bas.
Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd;
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand:
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege,
And drive the English forth the bounds of France:
The spirit of deep prophesy she hath,
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome;
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
For they are certain and unfallible.

Cha.
Go, call her in: [Exit Bas.] But, first, to try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place:
Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern;—
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. [retires. Enter La Pucelle, ushered.

Rei.
Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous feats?

Puc.
Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?—
Where is the dauphin?—come, come from behind;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me* ^note:
In private will I talk with thee apart;—
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while. [Driving them back.

Rei.
She takes upon her bravely at first dash† ^note.

Puc.
Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven, and our lady gracious, hath it pleas'd
To shine on my contemptible estate:
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me;
And, in a vision full of majesty,
Will'd me to leave my base vocation,
And free my country from calamity:
Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success:
In compleat glory she reveal'd herself* ^note;
And, whereas I was black and swart before,
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me,
That beauty am I blest with, which you see.
Ask me what question thou canst possible,
And I will answer unpremeditated:
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st,
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

Cha.
Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,—
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.

Puc.
I am prepar'd: here is my keen-edg'd sword, [Drawing it.
Deck'd with fine flower-de-luces on each side;
The which at Touraine, in saint Catharine's church-yard,
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose† ^note.

Cha.
Then come o'God's name, for I fear no woman. [Addressing him to the combat.

Puc.
And, while I live, I'll never fly no man. [Engaging him.

Cha.
Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Debora.

Puc.
Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

Cha.
Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French dauphin sueth to thee thus.

Puc.
I must not yield to any rites of love,
For my profession's sacred from above:
When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
Then will I think upon a recompence.

Cha.
Mean time look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

Rei.
My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

Ale.
Doubtless, he shrives this woman to her smock;
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

Rei.
Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

Ale.
He may mean more than we poor men do know:
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

Rei.
My lord, [to the Dauphin, advancing.] where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give o'er this Orleans or no?

Puc.
Why, no, I say: distrustful recreants,
Fight 'till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

Cha.
What she says, I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.

Puc.
Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect saint Martin's summer, Halcyon days,
Since I have enter'd thus into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water;
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
'Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought:
With Henry's death, the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included* ^note.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
Which Cæsar and his fortune bare at once.

Cha.
Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet saint Philip's daughters were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I ever worship thee enough?

Ale.
Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

Rei.
Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
Drive them from hence, and be immortaliz'd.

Cha.
Presently we'll try:—Come, let's away about it:—
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. ^noteSCENE III.

&blquo;* [Footnote: London. Hill before the Tower. &blquo;Warders within attending. Enter, to the Gates, the duke of Gloster, and Servingmen in blue.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;I am come to survey the Tower this day;
&blquo;Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.—
&blquo;Where be these warders, that they wait not here? [Servants knock at the Gates.
&blquo;Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

&blquo;1. W.
&blquo;Who's there, that knocketh so imperiously?

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;It is the noble duke of Glocester.

&blquo;2. W.
&blquo;Whoe'er he be, he may not be let in.

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

&blquo;1. W.
&blquo;The lord protect him! so we answer him:
&blquo;We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Who willed you? or whose will stands, but mine?
&blquo;There's none protector of the realm, but I.—
&blquo;Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize‡ ^note:
&blquo;Shall I be flouted thus by dunghil grooms? &blquo;Servants rush at the Gates. Enter, to the Gates, within, Woodvile, the Lieutenant.

&blquo;Woo.
&blquo;What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear?
&blquo;Open the gates; here's Gloster that would enter.

&blquo;Woo.
&blquo;Have patience, noble duke; I may not open,
&blquo;The cardinal of Winchester forbids:
&blquo;From him I have express commandment,
&blquo;That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
&blquo;Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate,
&blquo;Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
&blquo;Thou art no friend to heav'n, or to the king:
&blquo;Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

&blquo;Ser.
&blquo;Open the gates unto the lord protector;
&blquo;We'll burst them open, if you come not quickly. &blquo;[Servants rush at the gates again. &blquo;Enter Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester; and Train of Servants in Tawny.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;How now, ambitious Humphrey? what means this?

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Piel'd priest, dost thou command me be shut out?

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;I do, thou most usurping proditor,
&blquo;And not protector of the king or realm.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Stand back, thou manifest conspirator;
&blquo;Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord;
&blquo;Thou that giv'st whores indulgencies to sin:
&blquo;I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
&blquo;If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot;
&blquo;This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
&blquo;To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
&blquo;Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
&blquo;I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;What, am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?—
&blquo;Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
&blquo;Blue-coats to tawny-coats.—Priest, beware thy beard; &blquo;[Gloster and his men attack the others.
&blquo;I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly:
&blquo;Under my feet I'll stamp thy cardinal's hat;

&blquo;In spite of pope, or dignities of church,
&blquo;Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Winchester goose, I cry—A rope! a rope!—* ^note
&blquo;Now beat them hence, why do you let them stay?—
&blquo;Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.—
&blquo;Out, tawny-coats!—out, scarlet hypocrite! &blquo;A great Tumult: Enter the Mayor of London, and Officers.

&blquo;May.
&blquo;Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
&blquo;Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Peace, mayor; for thou know'st little of my wrongs:
&blquo;Here's Beaufort, that regards nor heav'n nor king,
&blquo;Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens;
&blquo;One that still motions war, and never peace,
&blquo;O'er-charging your free purses with large fines;
&blquo;That seeks to overthrow religion,
&blquo;Because he is protector of the realm;
&blquo;And would have armour here out of the Tower,
&blquo;To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Tumult begins again.

&blquo;May.
&blquo;Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife,
&blquo;But to make open proclamation:—
&blquo;Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst.

&blquo;Off.

&blquo;All manner of men, assembled here in arms this day, against heaven's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.&brquo;

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
&blquo;But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure:
&blquo;Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

&blquo;May.
&blquo;I'll call for clubs, if you will not away:—
&blquo;This cardinal is more haughty than the devil.

&blquo;Glo.
&blquo;Mayor, farewel: thou dost but what thou may'st.

&blquo;Win.
&blquo;Abominable Gloster! guard thy head;
&blquo;For I intend to have it, ere't be long. [Exeunt either party severally.

&blquo;May.
&blquo;See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.—
&blquo;Good heav'n! that nobles should such stomachs bear!
&blquo;I myself fight not once in forty year* ^note. [Exeunt. &blquo;SCENE IV. France. Under Orleans. &blquo;Enter, upon the walls, above, a Gunner, and his Son.

&blquo;Gun.
&blquo;Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieg'd;
&blquo;And how the English have the suburbs won.

&blquo;Son.
&blquo;Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
&blquo;Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

&blquo;Gun.
&blquo;But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me:
&blquo;Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
&blquo;Something I must do, to procure me grace.
&blquo;The prince's 'spials have informed me,
&blquo;How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd,
&blquo;Went, through a secret grate of iron bars
&blquo;In yonder tower, to over-peer the city;
&blquo;And thence discover, how, with most advantage,
&blquo;They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
&blquo;To intercept this inconvenience,
&blquo;A piece of ord'nance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
&blquo;And fully even these three days have I watch'd,
&blquo;If I could see them: Now, boy, do thou watch;
&blquo;For I can stay no longer.
&blquo;If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
&blquo;And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit, from above.

&blquo;Son.
&blquo;Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
&blquo;I'll never trouble you, if I may 'spy them* ^note. Enter the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, Sir Thomas Gargrave, Sir William Glansdale, and others.

Sal.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handl'd, being prisoner?
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.

Tal.
The duke of Bedford had a prisoner,
Called—the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him was I exchang'd and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far,
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me:
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,
Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
&blquo;But, O, the treacherous Falstaff wounds my heart!
&blquo;Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
&blquo;If I now had him brought into my power.

Sal.
Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd.

Tal.
With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts.
In open market-place produc'd they me,
To be a public spectacle to all;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
The scarecrow that affrights our children so:
Then broke I from the officers that led me;
And with my nails dig'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grizly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death.
An iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
So great fear of my name 'mong'st them was spread,
That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel,
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute while;

And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart* ^note.

Sal.
I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
Here, through this grate, I can count every one,
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions,
Where is best place to make our battery next.

Gar.
I think, at the north gate, for there stand lords.

Gla.
And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

Tal.
For ought I see, this city must be famish'd:
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. [Shot from the town. Sal. and Sir Tho. Gar. fall.

Sal.
O Lord have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

Gar.
O Lord have mercy on me, woful man† ^note!

Tal.
What chance is this that suddenly hath crost us?—
&blquo;Speak, Salisbury, at least, if thou canst speak;
&blquo;How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
&blquo;One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!—
&blquo;Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand,
&blquo;That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars:
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.—
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
&blquo;One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace:
&blquo;The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.—
&blquo;Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
&blquo;If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands.—
&blquo;Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?

Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.—
Salisbury, chear thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die, whiles—
He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.
Plantagenet, I will; and Nero-like,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Thunder heard; afterwards an alarum.
What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
Whence cometh this alarum, and this noise? Enter a Messenger hastily.

Mes.
My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head:
The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,—
A holy prophetess, new risen up,—
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. [Salisbury groans.

Tal.
Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan;
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd.—
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:—
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin, or dog-fish,
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingl'd brains* ^note.—
Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. SCENE V. The same. Before one of the Gates. Alarums. Skirmishings. Enter Talbot.

Tal.
Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. Enter La Pucelle.
Here, here she comes:—I'll have a bout with thee: [Throwing himself in her way.

Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw of thee, thou art a witch,
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Puc.
Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. [They fight.

Tal.
Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage,
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet* ^note. [Fight again.

Puc.
Talbot, farewel; thy hour is not yet come: [Quitting him to head some troops.
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, chear up thy hunger-starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Exit, with troops, to the town.

Tal.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like the whelps, we crying run away. [A short Skirmish.
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf,
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.— [Another skirmish.
It will not be:—Retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death, [Retreat sounded.
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.

Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us, or ought that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Exeunt, Talbot, and forces of both sides. SCENE VI. The same. Enter, upon the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alenson, and Soldiers.

Puc.
Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves:—
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Cha.
Divinest creature, bright Astræa's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.—
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!—
Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
More blessed hap did ne'er befal our state.

Rei.
Why ring not out the bells throughout the town?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that heaven hath given us.

Ale.
All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

Cha.
'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
For which, I will divide my crown with her:
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was:
In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius
Transported, shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France up-born.
No longer on saint Dennis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.

Come in; and let us banquet royally,
After this golden day of victory* ^note. [Flourish. Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. The Same. Enter a French Serjeant and Sentinels, to the Gates:

&blquo;Serjeant.
&blquo;Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant:
&blquo;If any noise, or soldier, you perceive,
&blquo;Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
&blquo;Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;Serjeant, you shall. [Exit Serj.] Thus are poor servitors
&blquo;(When others sleep upon their quiet beds)
&blquo;Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold† ^note. Enter the Dukes of Bedford and Burgundy, the Lord Talbot, and Forces at a Distance, with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead march.

Tal.
Lord regent,—and redoubted Burgundy,—
By whose approach, the regions of Artois,
Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,—
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
Having all day carous'd and banqueted:
Embrace we then this opportunity;
As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.

Bed.
Coward of France!—how much he wrongs his fame,
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
To join with witches, and the help of hell!

&blquo;Bur.
&blquo;Traitors have never other company.
&blquo;But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure?

&blquo;Tal.
&blquo;A maid, they say.

&blquo;Bed.
&blquo;A maid! and be so martial!

&blquo;Bur.
&blquo;Pray heav'n she prove not masculine ere long;
&blquo;If underneath the standard of the French
&blquo;She carry armour, as she hath begun.

Tal.
Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
Heav'n is our fortress; in whose conquering name,
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed.
Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

Tal.
Not all together: better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.

Bed.
Agreed; I'll to yon' corner.

Bur.
And I to this.

Tal.
And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both. [They disperse, and scale the walls, crying, Saint George! A Talbot! &c. and all enter the city.

Sen.
Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault! [The French leap over the walls in their shirts* ^note. Enter confusedly, and unready, the Bastard of Orleans, Alenson, Reignier, and others.

Ale.
How now, my lords? what, all unready so?

Bas.
Unready? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.

Rei.
'Twas time, I trow, to wake, and leave our beds,
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.

Ale.
Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms,
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize
More venturous, or desperate, than this.

Bas.
I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

Rei.
If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

Ale.
Here cometh Charles; I marvel, how he sped.

Enter Charles, and Pucelle.

Bas.
Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.

Cha.
Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain,
That now our loss might be ten times so much?

Puc.
Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?
At all times will you have my power alike?
Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail,
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?—
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

Cha.
Duke of Alenson, this was your default;
That, being captain of the watch to-night,
Did look no better to that weighty charge.

Ale.
Had all your quarters been as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd.

Bas.
Mine was secure.

Rei.
And so was mine, my lord.

Cha.
And, for myself, most part of all this night,
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:
Then how or which way, should they first break in?

Puc.
Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made:
And now there rests no other shift but this,—
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new plat-forms to endammage them. Alarums. Enter an English Soldier, crying, A Talbot! a Talbot! they fly, leaving their Cloaths behind† ^note.

Sol.
I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;

For I have loaden me with many spoils,
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. SCENE II. The same. Within the Town. Flourish. Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain and others.

Bed.
The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. [Retreat sounded.

Tal.
Bring forth the body of old Salisbury;
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.—
Now have I pay'd my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There have at least five Frenchmen dy'd to-night.
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corps shall be interr'd:
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
I muse, we met not with the dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed.
'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began,
Rouz'd on the sudden from their drowzy beds,
They did, amongst the troops of armed men,
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur.
Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night)
Am sure, I scar'd the dauphin, and his trull;
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,
We'll follow them with all the power we have.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
All hail, my lords! which of this princely train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of France?

Tal.
Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?

Mes.
The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown,
By me entreats, great lord, thou would'st vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies;
That she may boast, she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur.
Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.—
You may not, lord, despise her gentle suit.

Tal.
Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd:
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her. [Exit Mes.
Will not your honours bear me company?

Bed.
No, truly; that is more than manners will:
And I have heard it said, Unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal.
Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy!—
Come, hither, captain; [whispers him.] You perceive my mind.

Cap.
I do, my lord; and mean accordingly. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter the Countess of Auvergne, her Porter, and others.

Cou.
Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

Por.
Madam, I will. [Exit.

Cou.
The plot is lay'd: if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his atchievements of no less account:

Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger, and Talbot.

Mes.
Madam, according as your ladyship
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Cou.
And he is welcome: What! is this the man?

Mes.
Madam, it is.

Cou.
Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
That with his name the mothers still their babes?
I see, report is fabulous and false:
I thought, I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspéct† ^note,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:
It cannot be, this weak and wrizl'd shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal.
Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you. [going.

Cou.
What means he now?—Go ask him, whither he goes.

Mes.
Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

Tal.
Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her, Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter, with Keys.

Cou.
If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

Tal.
Prisoner! to whom?

Cou.
To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny, these many years,

Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

Tal.
Ha, ha, ha!

Cou.
Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

Tal.
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,
To think that you have ought but Talbot's shadow,
Whereon to practise your severity.

Cou.
Why, art not thou the man?

Tal.
I am, indeed.

Cou.
Then have I substance too.

Tal.
No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.

Cou.
This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal.
That will I shew you presently. Winds a Horn. Drums heard; then, a Peal of Ordinance: The Gates are forced; and enter certain of his Troops.
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded,
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks;
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
And in a moment makes them desolate.

Cou.
Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse:
I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited,
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
For I am sorry, that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal.
Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done, hath not offended me:

Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
But only (with your patience) that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

Cou.
With all my heart; and think me honoured,
To feast so great a warrior in my house* ^note. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden. Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer.

Pla.
Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suf.
Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;
The garden here is more convenient.

Pla.
Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth;
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset i'the right?

Suf.
'Faith, I have been a truant in the law;
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.

Som.
Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between us.

War.
Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch,
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two horses, which doth bear him best,
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment:
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

Pla.
Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som.
And on my side it is so well apparel'd,
So clear, so shining, and so evident,
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

Pla.
Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loth to speak,
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true-born gentleman,

And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this briar pluck a white rose with me‡ ^note.

Som.
Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

War.
I love no colours; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

Suff.
I pluck this red rose with young Somerset;
And say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver.
Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more,
'Till you conclude—that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropt from the tree,
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

Som.
Good master Vernon, it is well objected;
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

Pla.
And I.

Ver.
Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som.
Prick not your finger, as you pluck it off;
Lest bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
And fall on my side so against your will.

Ver.
If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the side where still I am.

&blquo;Som.
&blquo;Well, well, come on; who else?

&blquo;Law.
&blquo;Unless my study and my books be false,
&blquo;The argument you held [to Som.] was wrong in you;
&blquo;In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too.

&blquo;Pla.
&blquo;Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

&blquo;Som.
&blquo;Here, in my scabbard; meditating that,
&blquo;Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

&blquo;Pla.
&blquo;Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;

&blquo;For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
&blquo;The truth on our side.

&blquo;Som.
&blquo;No, Plantagenet,
&blquo;'Tis not for fear; but anger—that thy cheeks
&blquo;Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses;
&blquo;And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

&blquo;Pla.
&blquo;Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

&blquo;Som.
&blquo;Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

&blquo;Pla.
&blquo;Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
&blquo;Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falshood‡ ^note.

Som.
Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

Pla.
Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy faction, peevish boy.

Suf.
Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

Pla.
Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee.

Suf.
I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

Som.
Away, away, good William De-la Poole!
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.

War.
Now, by Heav'n's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward king of England;
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

Pla.
He bears him on the place's priviledge,
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

Som.
By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
On any plot of ground in Christendom:
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, 'till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Pla.
My father was attached, not attainted;
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;

And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To scourge you for this apprehension:
Look to it well; and say, you are well warn'd.

Som.
Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still:
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes;
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.

Pla.
And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear;
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.

Suf.
Go, forward, and be choak'd with thy ambition!
And so farewel, until I meet thee next.

Som.
Have with thee, Poole:—Farewell, ambitious Richard. [Exeunt Suf. and Som.

Pla.
How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it!

War.
This blot, that they object against your house,
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster:
And, if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole.
Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
And here I prophesy,—This brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction in the Temple garden,
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

Pla.
Good master Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

Ver.
In your behalf still will I wear the same.

Law.
And so will I.

Pla.
Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Edmund Mortimer, supported by two of his Keepers.

Mor.
Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.— [seating him in a Chair.
Even like a man new haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment:
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edward Mortimer.
These eyes—like lamps, whose wasting oil is spent—
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent:
Weak shoulders, over-born with burth'ning grief;
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That drops his sapless branches to the ground:—
Yet are these feet—whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay,—
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have* ^note.—
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

1. K.
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd—that he will come.

Mor.
Enough; my soul shall then be satisfy'd.—
Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whose glory I was great in arms)
This loathsome sequestration have I had;
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance:
But now, the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence;
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.

Enter Richard Plantagenet.

1. K.
My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

Mor.
Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

Pla.
Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes.

Mor.
Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:
O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.—
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
Why didst thou say—of late thou wert despis'd?

Pla.
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my dis-ease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Among which terms, he us'd his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him:
Therefore, good uncle,—for my father's sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,
And for alliance sake,—declare the cause,
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

Mor.
That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.

Pla.
Discover more at large what cause that was;
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.

Mor.
I will; if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his cousin Richard; Edward's son,
The first-begotten and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
During whose reign, the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne:
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,

Was—for that (young king Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body)
I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the third; whereas he, Bolingbroke,
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but the fourth of that heroic line:
But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt,
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the fifth,—
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke,—did reign,
Thy father, earl of Cambridge,—then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,—
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levy'd an army; weening to redeem,
And have instal'd me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd* ^note.

Pla.
Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.

Mor.
True; and thou see'st, that I no issue have;
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather:
But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Pla.
Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor.
With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settl'd place.

Pla.
O, uncle, 'would some part of my young years
Might but redeem the passage of your age!

Mor.
Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaughterer doth,
Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only, give order for my funeral;
And so farewel; and fair befal thy hopes!
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Mortimer sinks in his Chair, and expires.

Pla.
And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a hermit over-pass'd thy days.—
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.—
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life.— [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choak'd with ambition of the meaner sort:—
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,—
I doubt not, but with honour to redress.
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make my ill the advantage of my good‡ ^note. [Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I. The same. The Parliament-house. King Henry is discovered upon his Throne, surrounded by his Nobility; among whom are the Dukes of Gloster, and Exeter; the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; and Bishop of Winchester: Richard Plantagenet, and many others, attending: Gloster comes from his Seat, and offers to put up a Bill.

Winchester.
Com'st thou with deep-premeditated lines, [snatches the Bill, and tears it&verbar2; ^note.
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphry of Gloster? if thou canst accuse,
Or ought intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo.
Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I prefer'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession, and degree;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?
In that thou lay'dst a trap to take my life,
As well at London-bridge, as at the Tower?

Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Win.
Gloster, I do defy thee.—Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, perverse, ambitious,
As he will have me, How am I so poor?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissention, Who preferreth peace
More than I do,—except I be provok'd?
No, my lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he;
No one, but he, should be about the king;
And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good—* ^note

Glo.
As good?
Thou bastard of my grandfather!—

Win.
Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo.
And am I not protector, saucy priest?

Win.
And am not I a prelate of the church?

Glo.
Yes, as an out-law in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.

Win.
Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.
Thou art reverent
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Win.
Rome shall remedy this.

Glo.
Roam thither then† ^note.

Som.
My lord, [to Glo.] it were your duty to forbear.

War.
Ay, see the bishop be not over-borne.

Som.
Methinks, my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.

War.
Methinks, his lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Som.
Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

War.
State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that?
Is not his grace protector to the king?

Pla.
Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue;
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?
Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

Kin.
Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester* ^note, [coming from his Throne.
The special watchmen of our English weal;
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
That two such noble peers as ye should jar?
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell,
Civil dissention is a vip'rous worm,
That gnaws the bowels of the common-wealth.— [Noise within; Down with the tawny-coats! &c.
What tumult's this?

War.
An uproar, I dare warrant,
Begun through malice of the bishop's men. [Noise again; Stones! stones! Enter the Mayor of London, attended.

May.
O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry,—
Pity the city of London, pity us!
The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones;
And, themselves banding in contráry parts† ^note,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in every street,
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.

Enter, skirmishing, certain Retainers and Servants of Gloster and the Bishop, with bloody pates.

Kin.
We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace:
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.

1. S.
Nay, if we be
Forbidden stones, we'll fall to't with our teeth.

2. S.
Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [skirmish again.

Glo.
You of my houshold, leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

3. S.
My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
Inferior to none, but to his majesty:
And, ere that we will suffer such a prince,
So kind a father of the common-weal,
To be disgraced by an ink-horn mate,
We, and our wives, and children, all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

1. S.
Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [begin again* ^note.

Glo.
Stay, stay, I say!
And, if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear a while.

Kin.
O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!—
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War.
My lord protector, yield;—yield, Winchester;—
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm:
You see what mischief, and what murther too,
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win.
He shall submit, or I will never yield.

Glo.
Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that priviledge of me.

War.
Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
Why look you still so stern, and tragical?

Glo.
Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

Kin.
Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
But prove a chief offender in the same?

War.
Sweet king!—the bishop hath a kindly gird.—
For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Win.
Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. [joining Hands with him.

Glo.
Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.—
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen;
This token serveth for a flag of truce,
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers:
So help me Heav'n, as I dissemble not!

Win.
So help me Heav'n, as I intend it not* ^note.

Kin.
O loving uncle! kind, kind duke of Gloster!
How joyful am I made by this contráct.—
Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

1. S.
Content;—I'll to the surgeon's.

2. S.
And so will I.

3. S.
And I will see what physic
The tavern affords† ^note. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, &c.

War.
Accept this scrowl, most gracious sovereign;
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
We do exhibit to your majesty.

Glo.
Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick;—for, sweet prince,
An if your grace mark every circumstance,
You have great reason to do Richard right:
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-place I told your majesty.

Kin.
And those occasions, uncle, were of force:—
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is,
That Richard be restored to his blood.

War.
Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompenc'd.

Win.
As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

Kin.
If Richard will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give,
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.

Pla.
Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And humble service, 'till the point of death.

Kin.
Stoop then, and set your knee against my foot; [Plantagenet kneels to the King.
And, in reguerdon‡ ^note of that duty done,
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York:
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet;
And rise created princely duke of York.

Pla.
And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, [rising.] so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty!

Lor.
Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of York!

Som.
Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York! [Aside.

Glo.
Now will it best avail your majesty,
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France:
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends;
As it disanimates his enemies.

Kin.
When Gloster says the word, king Henry goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

Glo.
Your ships already are in readiness. [Exeunt all but Exeter.

Exe.
Ay, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue:
This late dissention, grown betwixt the peers,
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love,
And will at last break out into a flame;
As fester'd members rot but by degree,
'Till bones, and flesh, and sinews fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophesy,
Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth,
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,—
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all;
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all:
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish,
His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit. SCENE II. France. Before Roan. Enter Pucelle, and Soldiers, disguised like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their Backs.

Puc.
These are the city-gates, the gates of Roan,
Through which our policy must make a breach:—
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men,
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall)
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the dauphin may encounter them.

1. S.
Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we'll be lords and rulers over Roan;
Therefore we'll knock. [they knock.

Gua. [within.]
Qui va là?

Puc.
Paisans, pauvres gens de France:* ^note
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.

Gua.
Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.

Puc.
Now, Roan, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [Guards open, and Pucelle, and her Soldiers, enter the City.

Enter, at a Distance, marching, the Bastard of Orleans, Charles, Alenson, and Forces.

Cha.
Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem,
And once again we'll sleep secure in Roan.

Bas.
Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants:
Now she is there, how will she specify
Where is the best and safest passage in?

Ale.
By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
Which, once discern'd, shews, that her meaning is—
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. Enter Pucelle, on a Battlement; holding out a Torch.

Puc.
Behold, this is the happy wedding-torch,
That joineth Roan unto her countrymen;
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.

Bas.
See, noble Charles! the beacon of our friend,
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

Cha.
Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

Ale.
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
Enter, and cry—The dauphin!—presently,
And then do execution on the watch. [they shout; force open the gate, and enter. Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English.

Tal.
France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. [Enters the City again. Other Alarums. Enter the English Forces retreating, bearing out Bedford (sick) in a Chair; Talbot, and Burgundy, covering them. Then, Enter, upon the Walls, aloft, Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alenson, and others.

Puc.
Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast,
Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?

Bur.
Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan:
I trust, ere long to choak thee with thine own,
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.

Cha.
Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.

Bed.
O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason.

Puc.
What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
And run a tilt at death within a chair?

Tal.
Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age,
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. [English consult together.

Puc.
Are you so hot, sir?—Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.—
Heav'n speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

Tal.
Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field?

Puc.
Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours, or no.

Tal.
I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alenson, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

Ale.
Signior, no.

Tal.
Signior, hang!—base muliteers of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

Puc.
Captains, away; let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.—
Heav'n be wi'you, my lord! we came, sir, but to tell you
That we are here. [Exeunt, from the Walls.

Tal.
And there will we be too, ere it be long;
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!—
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
(Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France)
Either to get the town again, or die:
And I,—as sure as English Henry lives,
And as his father here was conqueror;
As sure as in this late-betrayed town

Great Cœur-de-lion's heart was buried;
So sure I swear, to get the town, or die.

Bur.
My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

Tal.
But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant duke of Bedford:—Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.

Bed.
Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
Here will I sit before the walls of Roan,
And will be partner of your weal, or woe.

Bur.
Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

Bed.
Not to be gone from hence; for once I read,
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick,
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes:
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
Because I ever found them as myself* ^note.

Tal.
Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!—
Then be it so:—Heavens keep old Bedford safe!—
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand,
And set upon our boasting enemy. [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces; leaving Bedford under the Guard of a Captain, and others. Alarums. Excursions. Enter, in one of them, Sir J. Falstaff.

Cap.
Whither away, sir John Falstaff, in such haste?

Fal.
Whither away? to save myself by flight;
We are like to have the overthrow again.

Cap.
What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot?

Fal.
Ay;
All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit.

Cap.
Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! Other Alarums. Afterwards, a Retreat. Enter, flying, Pucelle, Charles, &c. and Exeunt.

Bed.
Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please;
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.

What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs,
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [dies; and is carried off in his Chair. Flourish. Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others.

Tal.
Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
This is a double honour, Burgundy:—
Yet, heavens have glory for this victory!

Bur.
Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.

Tal.
Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle, now?
I think, her old familiar is asleep:
Now where's the bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
What, all amort? Roan hangs her head for grief,
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers‡ ^note;
And then depart to Paris, to the king;
For there young Henry, with his nobles, lies.

Bur.
What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy.

Tal.
But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Roan;
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court:
But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die;
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. Plains near the City. Enter Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alenson, and Forces.

Puc.
Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Roan is recovered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedy'd&verbar2; ^note.

Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while,
And like a peacock sweep-along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train,
If dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd.

Cha.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

Bas.
Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.

Ale.
We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint;
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

Puc.
Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions, mixt with sugar'd words,
We will entice the duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.

Cha.
Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our provinces.

Ale.
For ever should they be expuls'd from France,
And not have title of an earldom here.

Puc.
Your honours shall perceive how I will work,
To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drum heard.
Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. English March. Enter, and pass over, at a Distance, Talbot, and his Forces.
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread!
And all the troops of English after him. French March. Enter the duke of Burgundy, and Forces.
Now, in the rereward, comes the duke, and his:
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley, we will talk with him. [Trumpet.

Cha.
A parley with the duke of Burgundy.

Bur.
Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

Puc.
The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

Bur.
What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

Cha.
Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy words.

Puc.
Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France,
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

Bur.
Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

Puc.
Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe!
As looks the mother on her lowly babe,
When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
See, see, the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
Which thou thyself hast giv'n her woful breast!
O, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots!‡ ^note

Bur.
Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

Puc.
Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Whom join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation,
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
Who then, but English Henry, will be lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive?
Call we to mind,—and mark but this, for proof;—
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free, without his ransom pay'd,
In spight of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men:

Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
‡ ^noteCharles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.

Bur.
I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees.—
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen!
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
My forces and my power of men are yours;—
So, farewel, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.

Puc.
Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again!

Cha.
Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh:

Bas.
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

Ale.
Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Cha.
Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Paris. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, with Gloster and a Train of Nobles; &c. Vernon and Basset in the Train. To them, Talbot, and some of his Officers.

Tal.
My gracious prince,—and honourable peers,—
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have a while given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign:
In sign whereof, this arm—that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,—
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet;
And, with submissive loyalty of heart,
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got,
First unto heav'n, and next unto your grace.

Kin.
Is this the Talbot, uncle Glocester,
That hath so long been resident in France?

Glo.
Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

Kin.
Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord!
When I was young, (as yet I am not old)
I do remember how my father said,
A stouter champion never handl'd arms.
Long since we were resolved of your truth,
Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
Yet never have you tasted our reward,
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
Because, 'till now, we never saw your face:
Therefore, stand up: and for these good deserts,
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury;
And in our coronation take your place. [Flourish. Exeunt King, Glo. Tal. and Nobles.

&blquo;Ver.
&blquo;Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea
&blquo;Disgracing of these colours that I wear
&blquo;In honour of my noble lord of York,—
&blquo;Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?

&blquo;Bas.
&blquo;Yes, Sir; as well as you dare patronage
&blquo;The envious barking of your saucy tongue
&blquo;Against my lord, the duke of Somerset.

&blquo;Ver.
&blquo;Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

&blquo;Bas.
&blquo;Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

&blquo;Ver.
&blquo;Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that. &blquo;[Striking him.

&blquo;Bas.
&blquo;Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such,
&blquo;That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death;
&blquo;Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
&blquo;But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
&blquo;I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
&blquo;When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost.

&blquo;Ver.
&blquo;Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
&blquo;And, after, meet you sooner than you would* ^note. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. A Hall of State. King Henry is seen sitting upon his Throne; attended on by the Dukes of Gloster, Exeter, York, and Somerset; the Lords Suffolk, Warwick, and Talbot; and divers other Nobles, &c. French and English: Winchester bearing his crown, and the governor of Paris attending.

Gloster.
Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

Win.
God save king Henry, of that name the sixth! [Setting on the crown.

Glo.
Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,— [Governor kneels.
That you elect no other king but him:
Esteem none friends but such as are his friends;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend
Malicious practices against his state:
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! [Exeunt Gov. and Train. King comes from his Throne. Enter Sir John Falstaff.

Fal.
My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands, [Presenting it.
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy.

Tal.
Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee!
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg* ^note. [Plucking it off.
(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.—
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Poitiers,—

When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,—
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside,
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners:
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.

Glo.
To say the truth, this fact was infamous,
And ill beseeming any common man;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.

† ^noteTal.
When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extreams:
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort,
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
Prophaning this most honourable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.

Kin.
Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom:
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.— [Exit Falstaff.
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy.

Glo.
What means his grace, that he hath chang'd his stile? [Viewing the superscription.
No more but, plain and bluntly,—To the King?
Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Portend some alteration in good will? [Opens the letter.

What's here?—I have upon especial cause,—
  Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
  Together with the pitiful complaints
  Of such as your oppression feeds upon,—
  Forsaken your pernicious faction,
  And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of France.
O monstrous treachery! can this be so;
That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
There should be found such false dissembling guile?

Kin.
What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

Glo.
He doth, my lord; and is become your foe.

Kin.
Is that the worst, this letter doth contain?

Glo.
It is the worst, and all (my lord) he writes.

Kin.
Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk with him,
And give him chastisement for this abuse:—,
My lord, how say you? are you not content?

Tal.
Content, my liege? Yes; but that I'm prevented,
I should have beg'd I might have been employ'd.

Kin.
Then gather strength, and march unto him straight:
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason;
And what offence it is, to flout his friends.

Tal.
I go, my lord; in heart desiring still,
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. Enter Vernon and Basset.

Ver.
Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!

Bas.
And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!

Yor.
This is my servant, hear him, noble prince!

Som.
And this is mine, sweet Henry, favour him!

Kin.
Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.—
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

Ver.
With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

Bas.
And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

Kin.
What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

Bas.
Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow, here, with envious carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying—the sanguine colour of the leaves

Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth,
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms:
In confutation of which rude reproach,
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.

Ver.
And that is my petition, noble lord:
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit,
To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge,
Pronouncing—that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

Yor.
Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

Som.
Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it* ^note.

Kin.
Good lord! what madness rules in brain-sick men,
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise!—
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

Yor.
Let this dissention first be try'd by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.

Som.
The quarrel toucheth none but us alone,
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

Yor.
There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. [Throwing down a glove.

Ver.
Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

Bas.
Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

Glo.
Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd.
With this immodest clamorous outrage
To trouble and disturb the king and us?—

And you, my lords,—methinks you do not well,
To bear with their perverse objections;
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves;
Let me persuade you take a better course.

Exe.
It grieves his highness;—good, my lords, be friends.

Kin.
Come hither, you that would be combatants:
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause.—
And you, my lords,—remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
If they perceive dissention in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree,
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, what infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certify'd,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France?
O, think upon the conquest of my father,
My tender years; and let us not forego
That for a trifle, which was bought with blood!
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
&blquo;As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
&blquo;Because (forsooth) the king of Scots is crown'd.
&blquo;But your discretions better can persuade,
&blquo;Than I am able to instruct or teach:
&blquo;And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
&blquo;So let us still continue peace and love.—
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France:
And, good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;—
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go chearfully together, and digest

Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope, ere long,
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alenson, and that traiterous rout. [Flourish. Exeunt King, Gloster, Somerset, Winchester, Suffolk, and Basset.

War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily (methought) did play the orator.

Yor.
And so he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War.
Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

Yor.
An if I wist he did,—But let it rest;
Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon.

Exe.
Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decypher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd:
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that he doth presage some ill event* ^note.
'Tis much, when scepters are in children's hands;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division;
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit. SCENE II. France. Before Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot, and Forces, marching.

Tal.
Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall.

Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter General of the French Forces within Bourdeaux, upon the walls.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry king of England;
And thus he would,—Open your city gates,
Be humbl'd to us; call my sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient subjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love.

Gen.
Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge,
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter but by death;
For (I protest) we are well fortify'd,
And strong enough to issue out and fight.
If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the snares of death to tangle thee:
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, dew thee withal;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. [Drum afar off.

Hark, hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. [Exit General.

Tal.
He fables not, I hear the enemy‡ ^note;—
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.—
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood:
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.—
Heav'n, and saint George! Talbot, and England's right!
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt Talbot and Forces. SCENE III. Plains in Gascony. Enter York and Forces; a Messenger with him.

Yor.
Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
That dog'd the mighty army of the dauphin?

Mes.
They are return'd, my lord; and give it out,
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along,
By your espials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux.

Yor.
A plague upon that villain, Somerset;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levy'd for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am louted by a traitor villain,

And cannot help the noble chevalier:
Heav'n comfort him in this necessity!
If he miscarry, farewel wars in France. Enter sir William Lucy.

Luc.
Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdl'd with a waste of iron,
And hem'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
Else, farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.

Yor.
O heav'n! that Somerset—who, in proud heart,
Doth stop my cornets—were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman,
By forfeiting a traitor, and a coward.
Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Luc.
O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!

Yor.
He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word:
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
All long of this vile traitor, Somerset.

Luc.
Then, heav'n take mercy on brave Talbot's soul!
And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since,
I met in travel towards his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son,
And now they meet where both their lives are done.

Yor.
Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.—
Lucy, farewel, no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.—
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours, are won away:
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit.

Luc.
Thus, while the vultur of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the fifth: whiles they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exeunt.‡ ^note SCENE IV. Other Plains in the same. Enter Somerset and Forces. An Officer of Talbot's with him.

Som.
It is too late; [to the Off.] I cannot send them now:
This expedition was by York and Talbot
Too rashly plotted; all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckl'd with: The over-daring Talbot
Hath sully'd all his gloss of former honour
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
York set him on to fight, and die in shame,
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. Enter Sir William Lucy.

Off.
Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.

Som.
How now, Sir William? whither were you sent?

Luc.
Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot;
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-weary'd limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
You his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation:
Let not your private discord keep away
The levy'd succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds;
Orleans the bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,

Alenson, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som.
York set him on, York should have sent him aid.

Luc.
And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
Swearing that you withhold his levy'd host,
Collected for this expedition.

Som.
York lies; he might have sent, and had the horse:
I owe him little duty, and less love;
And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.

Luc.
The fraud of England, not the force of France,
Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

som.
Come, go, I will dispatch the horsemen straight:
Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Luc.
Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en, or slain:
For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, if he might.

Som.
If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu!

Luc.
His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Camp near Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot and Son, Officers at a distance.

Tal.
O young John Talbot! I did send for thee,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war;
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd,
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But,—O malignant and ill-boding stars!—
Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.

Son.
Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard, and a slave of me:

The world will say—He is not Talbot's blood,
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood.

Tal.
Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

Son.
He, that flies so, will ne'er return again.

Tal.
If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

Son.
Then, let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won:
But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say,—it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life, preserv'd with infamy.

Tal.
Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?

Son.
Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

Tal.
Upon my blessing I command thee go.

Son.
To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

Tal.
Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.

Son.
No part of him, but will be shame in me.

Tal.
Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.

Son.
Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?

Tal.
Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

Son.
You cannot witness for me, being slain.
If death be so apparent, then both fly.

Tal.
And leave my followers here, to fight, and die?
My age was never tainted with such shame.

Son.
And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be sever'd from your side,
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
For live I will not, if my father die‡ ^note.

Tal.
Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, [Embracing him.
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt. &blquo;SCENE VI. A Field of Battle. &blquo;Loud Alarums. Enter the English Forces, pursuing; Talbot, and his Son, heading them.

&blquo;Tal.
&blquo;Saint George, and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.
&blquo;The regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
&blquo;And left us to the rage of France's sword.
&blquo;Where is John Talbot?—pause, and take thy breath;
&blquo;I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death.

&blquo;Son.
&blquo;O twice my father! twice am I thy son:
&blquo;The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done;
&blquo;'Till with thy warlike sword, despight of fate,
&blquo;To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.

&blquo;Tal.
&blquo;hen from the dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,
&blquo;It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
&blquo;Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
&blquo;Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
&blquo;Beat down Alenson, Orleans, Burgundy,
&blquo;And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee:
&blquo;The ireful bastard Orleans—that drew blood
&blquo;From thee, my boy; and had the maidenhood
&blquo;Of thy first fight—I soon encountered;
&blquo;And, enterchanging blows, I quickly shed
&blquo;Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace,
&blquo;Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base,
&blquo;And mis-begotten blood I spill of thine,
&blquo;Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine,
&blquo;Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:
&blquo;Here, purposing the bastard to destroy,
&blquo;Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
&blquo;Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?
&blquo;Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
&blquo;Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?

&blquo;Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead;
&blquo;The help of one stands me in little stead.
&blquo;O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
&blquo;To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
&blquo;If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
&blquo;To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
&blquo;By me they nothing gain, an if I stay,
&blquo;'Tis but the shortning of my life one day;
&blquo;In thee thy mother dies, our houshold's name,
&blquo;My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
&blquo;All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay;
&blquo;All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

&blquo;Son.
&blquo;The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
&blquo;These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:
&blquo;Out on that vantage, bought with such a shame,
&blquo;To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame!
&blquo;Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
&blquo;The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die!
&blquo;And like me to the peasant boys of France;
&blquo;To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance!
&blquo;Surely, by all the glory you have won,
&blquo;An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
&blquo;Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
&blquo;If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

&blquo;Tal.
&blquo;Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
&blquo;Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
&blquo;If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
&blquo;And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride* ^note. [Exeunt. Trumpets sounding a charge. SCENE VI. Another part of the same. Alarums. Enter English, retreating; with Talbot wounded, leaning upon a Servant.

Tal.
Where is my other life?—mine own is gone;—
O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?—

Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
And, like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience:
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart,
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French:
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride* ^note. Enter Soldiers with the Body of young Talbot.

Ser.
O my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!

Tal.
Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupl'd in bonds of perpetuity,
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
In thy despight, shall 'scape mortality—
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath:
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.—
Poor boy! he smiles, methinks; as who should say—
Had death been French, then death had dy'd to-day.
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies. [Alarums. Exeunt Sol. and Ser. leaving the two bodies.

Drums. Enter Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Burgundy, and Soldiers.

Cha.
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.

Bas.
How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

Puc.
Once I encounter'd him; and thus I said,
Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:
But—with a proud, majestical, high scorn—
He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench* ^note:
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur.
Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight:
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

Bas.
Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder;
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Cha.
O, no; forbear: for that which we have fled
‡ ^noteDuring the life, let us not wrong it dead. Enter Sir William Lucy, attended: Herald of the French preceding.

Luc.
Herald, conduct me to the dauphin's tent;
To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. [Herald shews the Dauphin to him.

Cha.
On what submissive message art thou sent?

Luc.
Submission, dauphin? 'tis a meer French word;
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.

Cha.
For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.

Luc.
Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare success in arms,

Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwel of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffield,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge;
Knight of the noble order of saint George,
Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece;
Great marishal to Henry the sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France† ^note?

Puc.
Here is a silly stately stile, indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a stile as this.—
He, whom thou magnify'st with all these titles,
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.

Luc.
Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd;
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as beseems their worth.

Puc.
I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
For heaven's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here,
They would but stink, and putrify the air‡ ^note.

Cha.
Go, take their bodies hence.

Luc.
I'll bear them hence: [Att. take up their bodies.
But from their ashes, dauphin, shall be rear'd
A phœnix, that shall make all France afeard.

Cha.
So we be rid, do with them what thou wilt. [Exeunt Luc. and Att. bearing out the bodies.
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King, Gloster, Exeter, and others.

King.
Have you perus'd the letters from the pope,
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac?

Glo.
I have, my lord; and their intent is this,—
They humbly sue unto your excellence,
To have a godly peace concluded of,
Between the realms of England and of France.

Kin.
How doth your grace affect their motion?

Glo.
Well, my good lord; and as the only means
To stop effusion of our christian blood,
And 'stablish quietness on every side.

Kin.
Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought,
It was both impious and unnatural,
That such immanity and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith.

Glo.
Beside, my lord,—the sooner to effect,
And surer bind, this knot of amity,—
The earl of Armagnac—near knit to Charles,
A man of great authority in France,—
Proffers his only daughter to your grace
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

Kin.
Marriage, good uncle! alas, my years are young;
And fitter is my study and my books,
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet, call the embassadors; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one:
I shall be well content with any choice,
Tends to heaven's glory, and my country's weal. Enter a Legate and two Ambassadors, usher'd; Winchester with them, habited as a Cardinal.

Exe.
What! is my lord of Winchester install'd,
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree!
Then, I perceive, that will be verify'd,

Henry the fifth did some time prophesy,—
If once he come to be a cardinal,
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.

Kin.
My lords embassadors, your several suits
Have been consider'd and debated on.
Your purpose is both good and reasonable:
And, therefore, we are certainly resolv'd
To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean
Shall be transported presently to France.

Glo.
And for the proffer of my lord your master,—
I have inform'd his highness so at large,
As—liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
Her beauty, and the value of her dower—
He doth intend she shall be England's queen.

Kin.
In argument and proof of which contract,
Bear her this jewel, [to the Amb.] pledge of my affection.—
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded,
And safely brought to Dover; where, inship'd,
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. [Exeunt Kin. Glo. Exe. &c. Ambassadors follow.

Win.
Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive
The sum of money, which I promised
Should be deliver'd to his holiness
For cloathing me in these grave ornaments.

Leg.
I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.

Win.
Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,
Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
Humphry of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive,
That, nor in birth, nor for authority,
The bishop will not be o'er-born by thee:
I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee,
Or sack this country with a mutiny* ^note. [Exeunt.

&blquo;SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou. &blquo;Enter Pucelle, Charles, Burgundy, Alenson, and Forces, marching.

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;These news, my lords, may chear our drooping spirits:
&blquo;'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt,
&blquo;And turn again unto the warlike French.

&blquo;Ale.
&blquo;Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France:
&blquo;And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

&blquo;Puc.
&blquo;Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
&blquo;Else, ruin combat with their palaces! &blquo;Enter a Messenger.

&blquo;Mes.
&blquo;Success unto our valiant general,
&blquo;And happiness to his accomplices!

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, speak.

&blquo;Mes.
&blquo;The English army, that divided was
&blquo;Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one;
&blquo;And means to give you battle presently.

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
&blquo;But we will presently provide for them.

&blquo;Bur.
&blquo;I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there;
&blquo;Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

&blquo;Puc.
&blquo;Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd:—
&blquo;Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine;
&blquo;Let Henry fret, and all the word repine.

&blquo;Cha.
&blquo;Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! [Exeunt, marching* ^note. SCENE III. The same. Under Angiers. Alarums, as of a Battle joined. Excursions. Enter Pucelle, hastily.

Puc.
The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.—
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts;
And ye choice spirits, that admonish me
And give me signs of future accidents! [She performs certain Ceremonies. Thunder heard.

You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north,
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize. [Thunder again. Enter certain Fiends.
This speedy quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
Out of the powerful regions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field. [they walk sullenly about her.
O, hold me not with silence over-long!
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off, and give it you,
In earnest of a further benefit;
So you do condescend to help me now.— [they hang their Heads.
No hope to have redress?—My body shall
Pay recompence, if you will grant my suit. [they shake their Heads.
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice,
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all,
Before that England give the French the foil. [Thunder; and they depart:
See! they forsake me. Now the time is come,
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest,
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My antient incantations are too weak,
And hell too strong for me to buckle with:—† ^note
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. Other Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting; York and Pucelle heading them: French fly, leaving Pucelle.

Yor.
Damsel of France, I think I have you fast: [laying Hands on her.

Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,
And try if they can gain your liberty.—
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.

Puc.
Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.

Yor.
O, Charles the dauphin is a proper man;
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

Puc.
A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee!
And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

Yor.
Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue.

Puc.
I pr'ythee give me leave to curse a while.

Yor.
Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. [Exeunt, with Pucelle. Other short Alarums. Enter Suffolk, bringing in Margaret.

Suf.
Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [gazes earnestly on her.
O fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly;
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
I kiss these fingers [kissing her Hand.] for eternal peace:
Who art thou, say, that I may honour thee?

Mar.
Margaret my name; and daughter to a king,
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

Suf.
An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
Be not offended, nature's miracle,
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
So doth the swan her downy cignets save,
Keeping them pris'ners underneath her wings.
Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend. [she turns from him, as going.
O, stay!—I have no power to let her pass;
My hand would free her, but my heart says—no.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:

I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind:
Fie, De-la-poole! disable not thyself;
Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses crouch* ^note.

Mar.
Say, earl of Suffolk,—if thy name be so,—
What ransom must I pay before I pass?
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit,
&blquo;Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
&blquo;She is a woman; therefore to be won. [Aside.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no?

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife;
&blquo;Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? [Aside.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;I were best leave him, for he will not hear.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;And yet a dispensation may be had.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;And yet I would that you would answer me.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom?
&blquo;Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;He talks of wood; it is some carpenter.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Yet, so my fancy may be satisfy'd,
&blquo;And peace established between these realms.
&blquo;But there remains a scruple in that too:
&blquo;For though her father be the king of Naples,
&blquo;Duke of Anjóu and Maine, yet he is poor,
&blquo;And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Hear ye me, captain; are you not at leisure?

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much:
&blquo;Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.—
&blquo;Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;What though I be enthral'd? he seems a knight,
&blquo;And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French;
&blquo;And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause—

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;Tush! women have been captivate ere now. [Aside.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Nay, hear me, lady; wherefore talk you so?

&blquo;Mar.
&blquo;I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo* ^note.

Suf.
Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

Mar.
To be a queen in bondage, is more vile,
Than is a slave in base servility;
For princes should be free.

Suf.
And so shall you,
If happy England's royal king be free.

Mar.
Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

Suf.
I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen;
To put a golden scepter in thy hand,
And set a precious crown upon thy head,
If thou wilt condescend to be my—

Mar.
What?

Suf.
His love.

Mar.
I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.

Suf.
No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, madam; are you so content.

Mar.
An if my father please, I am content.

Suf.
Then call our captains, and our colours, forth;— [to his Troops; who come forward.
And, madam, at your father's castle walls
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.— Trumpet sounds a Parley: Is answered from within; and Enter Reignier, upon the Walls.
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.

Rei.
To whom?

Suf.
To me.

Rei.
Suffolk, what remedy?
I am a soldier; and unapt to weep,
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

Suf.
Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
Consent, (and, for thy honour, give consent)
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
And this her easy-held imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.

Rei.
Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

Suf.
Fair Margaret knows,
That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.

Rei.
Upon thy princely warrant, I descend,
To give thee answer of thy just demand. [Exit, from the Walls.

Suf.
And here I will expect thy coming, Reignier. Trumpets. Enter Reignier, below.

Rei.
Welcome, brave earl, into our territories;
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

Suf.
Thanks, Reignier; happy for so sweet a child,
Fit to be made companion with a king:
What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

Rei.
Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth,
To be the princely bride of such a lord;
Upon condition I may quietly
Enjoy mine own, the countries Maine and Anjou,
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war,
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please:

Suf.
That is her ransom, I deliver her;
And those two countries, I will undertake,
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

Rei.
And I again,—in Henry's royal name,
As deputy unto that gracious king,—
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

Suf.
Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
Because this is in traffic of a king:
And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case.
I'll over then to England with this news,
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd:
So, farewel, Reignier! Set this diamond safe:
In golden palaces, as it becomes.

Rei.
I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The christian prince, king Henry, were he here.

Mar.
Farewel, my lord! good wishes, praise, and prayers,
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [going.

Suf.
Farewel, sweet madam! But hark you, Margaret; [calling her back.
No princely commendations to my king?

Mar.
Such commendations as becomes a maid,
A virgin, and his servant, say to him.

Suf.
Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed.
But, madam, I must trouble you again,—
No loving token to his majesty?

Mar.
Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart,
Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

Suf.
And this withal. [kisses her.

Mar.
That for thyself; I will not so presume,
To send such peevish tokens to a king. [Exeunt Reignier, and Margaret.

Suf.
O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;
Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth;
There minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk.
Sollicit Henry with her wond'rous praise:
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,
And natural graces, that extinguish art;
Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. [Exit. SCENE IV. Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. Enter York, Warwick, and others.

Yor.
Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. Enter Pucelle, guarded; Shepherd, her Father, with her.

She.
Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
Have I sought every country far and near,
And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!

Puc.
Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
I am descended of a gentler blood;
Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine.

She.
Out, out!—My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
I did beget her, all the parish knows:
Her mother liveth yet, can testify
She was the first-fruit of my batchelorship.

War.
Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?

Yor.
This argues what her kind of life hath been;
Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

She.
Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle!
Heav'n knows, thou art a collop* ^note of my flesh;
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.

Puc.
Peasant, avaunt!—You have suborn'd this man,
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

She.
'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest,
The morn that I was wedded to her mother.—
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast,
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield,
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good† ^note. [Exit Shepherd.

Yor.
Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Puc.
First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
But issu'd from the progeny of kings;
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above,
By inspiration of celestial grace,
To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits:

But you,—that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,—
Because you want the grace that others have,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders, but by help of devils:
No, misconceivers; Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

Yor.
Ay, ay;—away with her to execution.

War.
And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
Spare for no faggots, let there be enough:
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.

Puc.
Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?—
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity;
That warranteth by law to be thy priviledge.—
I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murther not then the fruit within my womb,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.

Yor.
Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with child?

War.
The greatest miracle that ere ye wrought:
Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

Yor.
She and the dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine what would be her refuge.

War.
Well, well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
Especially, since Charles must father it.

Puc.
You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his;
It was Alenson, that enjoy'd my love.

Yor.
Alenson! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

Puc.
O, give me leave, I have deluded you;
'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd,
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

War.
A marry'd man! that's most intolerable.

Yor.
Why, here's a girl! I think, she knows not well,
There were so many, whom she may accuse.

War.
It's sign, she hath been liberal and free.

Yor.
And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.—
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

Puc.
Then lead me hence;—with whom I leave my curse:
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness, and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you; 'till mischief, and despair,
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves!* ^note [Exit, guarded.

Yor.
Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes,
You foul accursed minister of hell! Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended.

Car.
Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils,
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
And here at hand the dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matters.

Yor.
Is all our travel turn'd to this effect?
After the slaughter of so many peers,
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,
That in this quarrel have been overthrown,
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
By treason, falshood, and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered?—
O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
The utter loss of all the realm of France.

War.
Be patient, York; if we conclude a peace,
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants,
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.

Enter Charles, attended; Reignier, Alenson, and others.

Cha.
Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed,
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
I come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.

Yor.
Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler choaks
The hollow passage of my prison'd voice,
By sight of these our baleful enemies.

Car.
Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
That—in regard king Henry gives consent,
Of mere compassion, and of lenity,
To ease your country of distressful war,
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,—
You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself,
Thou shalt be plac'd as vice-roy under him,
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

Ale.
Must he be then as shadow of himself?
Adorn his temples with a coronet;
And yet, in substance and authority,
Retain but priviledge of a private man?
This proffer is absurd and reasonless* ^note.

Cha.
'Tis known, already that I am possess'd
Of more than half the Gallian territories,
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king:
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
Detract so much from that prerogative,
As to be call'd but vice-roy of the whole?
No, lord embassador; I'll rather keep
That which I have, than, coveting for more,
Be cast from possibility of all.

Yor.
Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
Us'd intercession to obtain a league;
And, now the matter grows to compromise,
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?

Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
Of benefit proceeding from our king,
And not of any challenge of desert,
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.

Rei.
My lord, [to Cha.] you do not well, in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contráct:* ^note
If once it be neglected, ten to one,
We shall not find like opportunity.

Ale.
To say the truth, it is your policy,
To save your subjects from such massacre,
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen
By our proceeding in hostility:
And therefore take this compact of a truce,
Although you break it when your pleasure serves. [Aside, to the Dauphin.

War.
How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?

Cha.
It shall: only reserv'd, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison.

Yor.
Then swear allegiance to his majesty;
As thou art knight, never to disobey,
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
So, now dismiss your army when ye please;
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still,
For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeunt. SCENE V. London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, and Suffolk, conferring; Gloster, and Exeter, after them.

Kin.
Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
Her virtues, graced with external gifts,
Do breed love's settl'd passions in my heart:
&blquo;And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts
&blquo;Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide;† ^note

&blquo;So am I driven, by breath of her renown,
&blquo;Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive
&blquo;Where I may have fruition of her love.

Suf.
Tush, my good lord! this superficial tale
Is but a preface of her worthy praise:
The chief perfections of that lovely dame
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them)
Would make a volume of enticing lines,
Able to ravish any dull conceit.
And, which is more, she is not so divine,
So full replete with choice of all delights,
But, with as humble lowliness of mind,
She is content to be at your command;
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
To love and honour Henry as her lord.

Kin.
And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume:—
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent,
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.

Glo.
So should I give consent to flatter sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
Unto another lady of esteem;
How shall we then dispense with that contráct* ^note,
And not deface your honour with reproach?

Suf.
As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
Or one, that, at a triumph having vow'd
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds:
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
And therefore may be broke without offence.

Glo.
Why, what (I pray) is Margaret more than that?
Her father is no better than an earl,
Although in glorious titles he excel.

Suf.
Yes, my good lord, her father is a king,
The king of Naples, and Jerusalem;
And of such great authority in France,
As his alliance will confirm our peace,
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.

Glo.
And so the earl of Armagnac may do,
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.

Exe.
Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal dower;
While Reignier sooner will receive, than give.

Suf.
A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
That he should be so abject, base, and poor,
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love.
Henry is able to enrich his queen,
And not to seek a queen to make him rich:
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
But marriage is a matter of more worth,
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship* ^note;
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
It most of all these reasons bindeth us
In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,
An age of discord and continual strife?
Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss,
And is a pattern of celestial peace.
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
&blquo;Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
&blquo;Approves her fit for none, but for a king:
&blquo;Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit,
&blquo;(More than in women commonly is seen)
&blquo;Answer our hope in issue of a king;
&blquo;For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
&blquo;Is likely to beget more conquerors,
&blquo;If with a lady of so high resolve,
&blquo;As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love.
Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me,
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

Kin.
Whether it be through force of your report,
My noble lord of Suffolk; or for that
My tender youth was never yet attaint
With any passion of inflaming love,

I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd,
I feel such sharp dissention in my breast,
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
Agree to any covenants; and procure
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
For your expences and sufficient charge,
Among the people gather up a tenth.
Be gone, I say; for, 'till you do return,
‡ ^noteI rest perplexed with a thousand cares.—
And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
If you do censure me by what you were,
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my will.
And so conduct me, where from company
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit.

Glo.
Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. [Exeunt Gloster, and Exeter.

Suf.
Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd: and thus he goes,
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece;
With hope to find the like event in love,
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Exit&verbar2; ^note. The End of the First Part of King Henry VI.

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