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

Cent.
Serjeant, you shall. [Exit Serjeant] Thus are poor servitors
When others sleep upon their quiet beds
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy, 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 banquetted,
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 arms fortitude,
To join with witches and the help of hell!

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

Tal.
A maid, they say.

Bed.
A maid? and be so martial?

Bur.
Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long!
If underneath the standard of the French
She carry armour, as she hath begun.

Tal.
Well, let them practise and converse with spirits;
God is our fortress, in whose conqu'ring 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.
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.

Cent. [within.]
Arm, arm; the enemy doth make assault. [The English, scaling the Walls, cry, St. George! A Talbot!

SCENE II. The French leap o'er the Walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, Bastard, Alanson, Reignier, half ready and half unready.

Alan.
How now, my Lords? what all * ^noteunready so?

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

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

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

Bast.
I think, this Talbot is a fiend of hell.

Reig.
If not of hell, the heav'ns, sure, favour him.

Alan.
Here cometh Charles, I marvel how he sped. Enter Charles and Joan.

Bast.
Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.

Char.
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 as much?

Pucel.
Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?
At all times will you have my pow'r 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 fal'n.

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

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

Bast.
Mine was secure.

Reig.
And so was mine, my Lord.

Char.
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 centinels.
Then how, or which way, should they first break in?

Pucel.
Question, my Lords, no further of the case,
How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some part
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this,
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and disperst,
And lay new platforms to endamage them. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Within the Walls of Orleans. Alarm. Enter a Soldier crying, a Talbot! a Talbot! they fly, leaving their cloaths behind.

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. Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy.

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

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 ev'ry 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 treach'rous 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,
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy 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 pow'r we have. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
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?

Mess.
The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
With modesty, admiring thy renown,
By me intreats, great Lord, thou wouldst 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 ev'n so? nay, then, I see, our wars

Will turn into a peaceful comick sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.
You can't, my 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 over-rul'd:
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her.
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.]—You perceive my mind.

Capt.
I do, my Lord, and mean accordingly. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Countess of Auvergne's Castle. Enter the Countess, and her Porter.

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

Port.
Madam, I will. [Exit.

Count.
The plot is laid. 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.

Mess.
Madam, according as your ladyship

By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come.

Count.
And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Mess.
Madam, it is.

Count. [as musing]
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 aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf.
It cannot be, this weak and writhled Shrimp
Should strike such terror in 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.

Count.
What means he now? Go ask him, whether he goes.

Mess.
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. Enter Porter with keys.

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

Tal.
Pris'ner? to whom?

Count.
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.

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

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

Count.
Why? art not thou the man?

Tal.
I am, indeed.

Count.
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 it.

Count.
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 his horn; drums strike up; a peal of Ordnance. Enter Soldiers.
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 yoaketh your rebellious necks,
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count.
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.

Count.
With all my heart, and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Changes to London, in the Temple garden. Enter Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, Somerset, Suffolk, and others.

Plan.
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.

Plan.
Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth;
And was not wrangling Somerset in th' error?^{6 note}

Suf.
'Faith, I have been a truant in the law;
I 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.

Plan.
Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance.
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any pur-blind eye may find it out.

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

Plan.
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,
^{7 note}

Som.
Let him that is no coward, and no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

War.
I love no ^{8 note}colours; and without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

Suf.
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 crop'd from the tree,

Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

Som.
Good master Vernon, it is ^{9 note}well objected;
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

Plan.
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.

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

Lawyer.
Unless my study and my books be false,
The argument, you held, was wrong in you; [To Somerset.
In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

Plan.
Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

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

Plan.
Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our Roses;
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.

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

Plan.
Hath not thy Rose a canker, Somerset?

Som.
Hath not thy Rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Plan.
Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falshood.

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.

Plan.
Now by this maiden blossom in my hand,
^{1 note}

Suf.
Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

Plan.
Proud Pool, 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 Pool!
We grace the Yeoman by conversing with him.

War.
Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset,
His grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward King of England;
Spring ^{2 note}crestless Yeomen from so deep a root?

Plan.
^{3 note}He bears him on the place's privilege,
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 headed in our late King's days?
And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted,
^{4 note}Corrupted and exempt from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan.
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 Pool, and you yourself,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
^{5 note}To scourge you^{6 note} for this apprehension;
Look to it well, and say, you are well warn'd.

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

Plan.
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. [Exit.

Som.
Have with thee, Pool: farewel, ambitious Richard. [Exit.

Plan.
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 Glo'ster,
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 Pool,
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.

Plan.
Good master Vernon, I am bound to you;
That you on my behalf would pluck a flow'r.

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

Lawyer.
And so will I.

Plan.
Thanks, gentle Sir.
Come, let us four to dinner; I dare say,
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. A PRISON. Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and jailors.

Mor.
Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
^{7 note}Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
Ev'n 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 ^{8 note}Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their * ^noteexigent.
Weak shoulders over-born with burd'ning grief,
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That droops 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.

But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

Keep.
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 then shall 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 loathsom sequestration have I had;
And ev'n since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance;
But now the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind * ^noteumpire 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.

Keep.
My Lord, your loving nephew now is come.

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

Plan.
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 latest gasp.
Oh, 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?

Plan.
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm,
And in that ease I'll tell thee my † ^noteDisease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me,
Amongst 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.
This 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.

Plan.
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 Lyonel Duke of Clarence, the third son
To the Third Edward; whereas Bolingbroke
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but the Fourth of that heroick Line.
But mark; as in this * ^notehaughty great attempt
They laboured to plant the rightful heir;
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth
After 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

Levied an army, weening to redeem
And re-instal 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 supprest.

Plan.
Of which, my Lord, your honour is the last.

Mor.
True; and thou seest, 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.

Plan.
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 politick:
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 settled place.

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

Mor.
Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaught'rer 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;^{9 note}

Plan.
And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And, like a hermit, over-past 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.
^{1 note}Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
^{2 note}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,
^{3 note}

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