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

1. S.
Serjeant, you shall.[Exit Ser.] Thus are poor servitors
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds)
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 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.

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 conquering name,
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

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

Tal.
Not altogether ^note: 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 o'er the Walls in their Shirts. 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 ^note 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 ^note 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 precínct,
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 ^note them. Alarums. Enter an English Soldier,14Q0775 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. 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 ^note of this cursed town.—
Now have I pay'd my vow unto his soul;

For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath 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 ^note;
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 ^note 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 ^note a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.—
You may not, lord ^note, 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. [Exit Mes.
Will not your honours bear me company?

Bed.
No, truly; that is ^note 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 ^note
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,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:
It cannot be, this weak and wrizl'd ^note 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 ^note patience) that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have;
For soldiers' stomacks always serve them well.

Cou.
With all my heart; and think me honoured,
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [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, was14Q0776 wrangling Somerset i'the right? ^note

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

And never ^note 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.

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.

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 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.

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

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

Pla.
Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

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

Pla.
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.

Pla.
Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

Som.
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Pla.
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.

Pla.
Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy faction ^note, 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 God'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 ^note 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:—Farewel, 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 ^note 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 ^note.
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 ^note14Q0777 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 Edmund 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 ^note 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?

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

Mor.
Enough; my soul shall then ^note 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 ^note 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 their grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Among ^note 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 ^note Richard; Edward's son,
The first-begotten and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the ^note 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 ^note 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 Clarance, ^note the ^note third son
To king Edward the third; whereas he, Bolingbroke,
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but the ^note fourth of that heroick 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.

Pla.
Of which, my ^note 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 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 ^note 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 ^note thy hopes!14Q0778
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 ^note 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 ^note the advantage of my good. [Exit.

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