Introductory matter

Dramatis Personæ. KING Henry VI. [King Henry the Sixth] Duke of Gloucester, Uncle to the King, and Protector. Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent of France. Cardinal Beauford, Bishop of Winchester, and Uncle likewise to the King. Duke of Exeter. Duke of Somerset. Earl of Warwick. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Suffolk. Lord Talbot [Shrewsbury]. Young Talbot [John Talbot], his Son. Richard Plantagenet, afterwards Duke of York. Mortimer [Edmund Mortimer], Earl of March. Sir John Fastolfe. Woodvile [Woodville], Lieutenant of the Tower. Lord Mayor of London. Sir Thomas Gargrave. Sir William Glansdale. Sir William Lucy. Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction. Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction. Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France. Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and Titular King of Naples. Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Alanson [Duke of Alencon]. Bastard of Orleans. Governor of Paris. Master Gunner of Orleans. Boy, his Son [Master Gunner's Son]. An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. Margaret, Daughter to Reignier, and afterwards Queen to King Henry. Countess of Auvergne. Joan la Pucelle, a Maid pretending to be inspir'd from Heaven, and setting up for the Championess of France. Fiends, attending her. Lords, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants both on the English and French. [Messenger], [Messenger 2], [Messenger 3], [Keeper], [Warder 1], [Warder 2], [Servant 1], [Sergeant], [Legate], [Sentinel], [Soldier], [Porter], [Lawyer], [Servant 2], [Servant 3], [Captain], [General], [Scout], The SCENE is partly in England, and partly in France.

The First Part of King HENRY VI. ACT I. SCENE I. Westminster-Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloucester, Protector; the Duke of Exeter, and the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerset.

Bedford.
Hung be the heav'ns with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing ^{1 note}change of times and states,
^{2 note}Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,

That have consented unto Henry's death!
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a King of so much worth.

Glou.
England ne'er had a King until his time:
Virtue he had, deserving to command.
His brandish'd sword did blind men with its beams;
His arms spread wider than a Dragon's wings:
His sparkling eyes, repleat with awful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say; his deeds exceed all speech:
He never lifted up his hand, but conquer'd.

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 glorifie,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conj'rers and sorc'rers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verse have thus 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 pray'rs made him so prosperous.

Glou.
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.

Win.
Glo'ster, 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 God, or religious churchmen may.

Glou.
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.

Bed.
Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace:
Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us;
Instead of gold we'll offer up our arms,
Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead!
Posterity await for wretched years,
When at their mother's moist eyes babes shall suck;
^{3 note}Our isle be made a Marish of salt tears,
And none but women left to 'wail the dead!
Henry the Fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
^{4 note}Than Julius Cæsar, or bright—

SCENE II. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My honourable lords, health to you all;
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture;
Guienne, Champaign, and Rheims, and Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

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

Glou.
Is Paris lost, and 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?

Mess.
No treachery, but want of men and mony.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintain sev'ral factions;
And, whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your Generals.
One would have lingring 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;
Crop'd 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 I will lend the French, instead of eyes,
^{5 note}To weep their intermissive miseries. SCENE III. Enter to them another Messenger.

2 Mess.
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 Orleans with him is join'd:
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part,
The Duke of Alanson flies to his side. [Exit.

Exe.
The Dauphin crowned King? all fly to him?
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

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

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

3 Mess.
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 Mess.
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, pluckt 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 flew:
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! 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 Fastolfe had not play'd the coward;
He being in the vaward, (plac'd behind,
With purpose to relieve and follow them)
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroak.
Hence grew the gen'ral 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 her chief assembled strength
Durst not presume to look once in the face.

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

3 Mess.
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.

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

Exe.
Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn:
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
Or bring him in obedience to your yoak.

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

Glou.
I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
To view th' artillery and ammunition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry King. [Exit Gloucester.

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 thus out of office:
The King from Eltam I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of publick weal. [Exit.

SCENE V. Before Orleans, in France. Enter Charles, Alanson, and Reignier, marching with a drum and Soldiers.

Char.
Mars his true moving, ev'n as in the heav'ns,
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 lye near Orleans:
Tho' still the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Alan.
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 piteous they will look like drowned mice.

Reig.
Let's raise the siege: why live 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 mony, hath he to make war.

Char.
Sound, sound alarum: we will rush on them:
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. [Here Alarm, they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter Charles, Alanson, and Reignier.

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

Reig.
Salisbury is a desp'rate homicide,
He fighteth as one weary of his life:
The other lords, like lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

Alan.
Froysard, a countryman of ours, records,
^{6 note}England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
During the time Edward the Third did reign:
More truly now may this be verified;
For none but Sampsons and Goliasses
It sendeth forth to skirmish; one to ten!
Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose,
They had such courage and audacity!

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

Reig.
I think, ^{7 note}by some odd gimmals or device
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on;
Else they could ne'er hold out so, as they do:
By my consent we'll e'en let them alone.

Alan.
Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans.

Bast.
Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

Dau.
Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

Bast.
Methinks, your looks are sad, your chear appal'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 heav'n,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege;
And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecie she hath,
Exceeding the ^{8 note}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 infallible.

Dau.
Go, call her in; 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. SCENE VI. Enter Joan la Pucelle.

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

Pucel.
Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
Where is the Dauphin? come, come from behind,
I know thee well, tho' never seen before.
Be not amaz'd: there's nothing hid from me:
In private will I talk with thee apart:
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

Reig.
She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Pucel.
Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter.
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art:
Heav'n, 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 her self;
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.

Dau.
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.

Pucel.
I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword,
Deck'd with fine Flow'r-de-luces on each side;
The which, at Tourain in St. Catharine's church,
Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth.

Dau.
Then come o' God's name, for I fear no woman.

Pucel.
And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. [Here they fight, and Joan la Pucelle overcomes.

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

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

Dau.
Who-e'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.

Pucel.
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.

Dau.
Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

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

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

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

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

Reig.
My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans or no?

Pucel.
Why, no I say; distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp, for I'll be your guard.

Dau.
What she says, I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.

Pucel.
Assign'd I am 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.
&plquo;Glory is like a circle in the water;
&plquo;Which never ceaseth to enlarge it self,
&plquo;Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.&prquo;
With Henry's death the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included:
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
Which Cæsar and his fortune bore at once.

Dau.
Was Mahomet inspired with a Dove?
Thou with an Eagle art inspired then.
Helen the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet St. Philip's daughters, were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee?

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

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

Dau.
Presently try: come, let's away about it.
No prophet will I trust, if she proves false. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Tower-gates, in London. Enter Gloucester, with his Serving-men.

Glou.
I am this day come to survey the Tower;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
Open the gates. 'Tis Gloucester, that calls.

1 Ward.
Who's there, that knocketh so imperiously?

1 Man.
It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

2 Ward.
Who e'er he be, you may not be let in.

1 Man.
Villains, answer you so the Lord Protector?

1 Ward.
The Lord protect him! so we answer him;
We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

Glou.
Who willed you? or whose will stands, but mine?
There's none Protector of the realm but I.
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize;
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghil grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower-gates, and Woodvile the Lieutenant speaks within.

Wood.
What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

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

Wood.
Have patience, noble Duke; I may not open;
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids;
From him I have express commandment,

That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.

Glou.
Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,
Whom Henry, our late Sovereign, ne'er could brook?
Thou art no friend to God, or to the King:
Open the gate, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Serv.
Open the gates there to the Lord Protector;
We'll burst them open, if you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower-gates, Winchester and his men in tawny coats.

Win.
How now, ambitious Umpire, what means this?

Glou.
^{9 note}Piel'd Priest, dost thou command me be shut out?

Win.
I do, thou most usurping proditor,
And not protector, of the King or realm.

Glou.
Stand back, thou manifest conspirator;
Thou, that contriv'st to murder our dead lord;
Thou, that ^{1 note}giv'st whores indulgences to sin;
I'll canvas thee in thy broad Cardinal's hat,
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Win.
Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:
^{2 note}This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

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

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

Glou.
What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?
Draw, men, for all this privileged place.
Blue coats to tawny. Priest, beware thy beard;
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly.
Under my feet I'll stamp thy Cardinal's hat:
In spight of Pope or dignities of Church,
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

Win.
Glo'ster, thou'lt answer this before the Pope.

Glou.
Winchester Goose! I cry, a rope, a rope.
Now beat them hence, why do you let them stay?
Thee I'll chase hence, thou Wolf in Sheep's array.
Out, tawny coats; out, scarlet hypocrite! Here Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's; and enter in the hurly-burly the Mayor of London, and his Officers.

Mayor.
Fy, Lords; that you, being supreme magistrates,
Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

Glou.
Peace, Mayor, for thou know'st little of my wrongs:
Here's Beauford, that regards not God nor King,
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

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

Glou.
I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Here they skirmish again.

Mayor.
Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife,
But to make open proclamation.
Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst.

All manner of men assembled here in arms this day, against God's peace and the King's, we charge and command you in his Highness's name, to repair to your several dwelling places; and not wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger henceforward upon pain of Death.

Glou.
Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
But we shall meet, and tell our minds at large.

Win.
Glo'ster, we'll meet to thy dear cost, be sure?
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

Mayor.
I'll call for clubs, if you will not away:
This Cardinal is more haughty than the devil.

Glou.
Mayor, farewel: thou dost but what thou may'st.

Win.
Abominable Glo'ster, guard thy head,
For I intend to have it, ere be long. [Exeunt.

Mayor.
See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.

Offic.
Good God! ^{2 note}
that nobles should such stomachs bear!
I my self fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to Orleans in France. Enter the Master-gunner of Orleans, and his Boy.

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

Boy.
Father, I know, and oft have shot at them,
How e'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

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

Boy.
Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. SCENE IX. Enter Salisbury and Talbot on the turrets, with others.

Sal.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handled, 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 Santraile.
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.
But, oh! the treach'rous Fastolfe wounds my heart;
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my pow'r.

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 publick spectacle to all.
Here, said they, is the terror of the French;
The scare-crow, that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me,
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure:
So great a fear my name amongst them 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;
They walk'd about me ev'ry minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy, with a Linstock.

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 thro' 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 batt'ry next?

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

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

Tal.
For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,

Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. [Here they shoot, and Salisbury falls down.

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

Gar.
O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man.

Tal.
What chance is this, that suddenly hath crost us?
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
Accursed tow'r, accursed fatal hand,
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? tho' thy speech doth fail,
One eye thou hast to look to heav'n for grace.
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Heav'n, be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
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.
O Salisb'ry, chear thy spirit with this comfort,
Thou shalt not die, while—
—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. [Here an alarm, and it thunders and lightens.
What stir is this? what tumults in the heav'ns?
Whence cometh this alarum and this noise? Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
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. [Here Salisbury lifteth himself up, and 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 Pussel, Dauphin or Dog-fish,
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my Horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey brave Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. [Alarm. Exeunt, bearing Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave out. SCENE X. Here an alarm again; and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then 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 Pucelle.
Here, here, she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch;
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Pucel.
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.

Pucel.
Talbot, farewel, thy hour is not yet come,
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. [A short alarm. Then enter the town with soldiers.

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 Pucelle.

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 noisom stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driv'n away.
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs,
Now, like their whelps, we crying run away. [A short alarm.
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 tim'rous from the Wolf,
Or Horse or Oxen from the Leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarm. Here another Skirmish.
It will not be: retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spight of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Exit Talbot. [Alarm, Retreat, Flourish. SCENE XI. Enter on the Wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alanson, and Soldiers.

Pucel.
Advance our waving colours on the walls,
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English Wolves:
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Dau.
Divinest creature, bright Astrea's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success!
Thy promises are ^{3 note}

France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
Recover'd is the town of Orleans;
More blessed hap did ne'er befal our state.

Reig.
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 God hath giv'n us.

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

Dau.
'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 pyramid 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.
No longer on St. 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. [Flourish. Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I. Before ORLEANS. Enter a Serjeant of a Band, with two Centinels.

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. 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 unready so?

Bast.
Unready? I, 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 your quarters been as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd.

Bast.
Mine was secure.

Reign.
And so was mine, my lord.

Char.
And for my self, 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 clothes 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 sound 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.
My self, as far as I could well discern
For smoak 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 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 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; you perceive my mind. [Whispers.

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.
^{1 note}Great is the rumour of this dreadful Knight,
And his atchievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
^{2 note}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.
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, whither 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 certifie 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 my self:
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 eates 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:
Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?

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 through 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,
^{3 note}From off this briar pluck a white rose with me.

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 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 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,
^{4 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:
^{5 note}Spring crestless Yeomen from so deep a root?

Plan.
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,
^{6 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 your self,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To scourge you ^{7 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 Gloucester:
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 prophesie; 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,
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 Edmund Mortimer.

These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
Wax dim, ^{8 note}as drawing to their exigent.
Weak shoulders over-born with burthening 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 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.

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

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

Plan.
I, 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 Disease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
^{9 note}
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 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
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!

Mort.
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; and fair (a) ^note befal thy hopes,
And prosp'rous be thy life, in peace and war! [Dies.

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 my self
Will see his burial better than his life.
^{1 note}Here lies 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,
Or make my (b) ^noteIll th' advantage of my Good. [Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I. The PARLIAMENT. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloucester, Winchester, Warwick, Somerset, Suffolk, and Richard Plantagenet; Gloucester offers to put up a Bill: Winchester snatches it, and tears it.

Winchester.
Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd?
Humphry of Glo'ster, if thou can'st accuse,
Or aught 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.

Glou.
Presumptuous Priest, this place commands my patience;
Or thou should'st find, thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, altho' in writing I prefer'd
The manner of thy vile outragious 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 leud, pestif'rous, and dissentious pranks,
The 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 treach'ry, what's more manifest?
In that thou laid'st 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.
Glo'ster, I do defie 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?
How haps it then, I seek not to advance
Or raise my self? but keep my wonted Calling.
And for dissention, who preferreth peace
More than I do? except I be provok'd.
No, my good lords, it is not That offends;
It is not That, which 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—

Glou.
As good?
Thou bastard of my grandfather!

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

Glou.
Am not I then Protector, saucy priest?

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

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

Win.
Unrev'rend Glo'ster!

Glou.
Thou art reverend
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Win.
This Rome shall remedy.

War.
Roam thither then.

Som.
My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

War.
Ay, see, the Bishop be not over-born.

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

War.
Methinks his lordship should be humbler then,
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?

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

K. Henry.
Uncles of Glo'ster, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal;
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
Oh, 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. [A noise within; Down with the tawny coats.

K. Henry.
What tumult's this?

War.
An uproar, I dare warrant,
Begun thro' malice of the Bishop's men. [A noise again, Stones, Stones. SCENE II. Enter Mayor.

Mayor.
Oh, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city London, pity us;
The Bishop and the Duke of Glo'ster's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones;
And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pates,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in ev'ry street,
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.

Enter, in Skirmish, with bloody pates.

K. Henry.
We charge you on allegiance to our selves,
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace:
Pray, uncle Glo'ster, mitigate this strife.

1 Serv.

Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.

2 Serv.
Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again.

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

3 Serv.
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 Inkhorn mate;
We, and our wives, and children, all will fight:
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

1 Serv.
Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Begin again.

Glou.
Stay, stay, I say;
And if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

K. Henry.
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.
Ye see, what mischief, and what murther too,
Hath been enacted thro' your enmity:
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

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

Glou.
Compassion on the King commands me stoop;
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege 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?

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

K. Henry.
Fie, uncle Beauford: 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 Glo'ster, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand, I give.

Glou.
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 our selves, and all our followers:
So help me God, as I dissemble not!

Win. [Aside.]
So help me God, as I intend it not!

K. Henry.
O loving uncle, gentle Duke of Glo'ster,
How joyful am I made by this contract!
Away, my masters, trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

1 Serv.
Content, I'll to the surgeon's.

2 Serv.
So will I.

3 Serv.
And I'll see what physick the tavern affords. [Exeunt. SCENE III.

War.
Accept this scrowl, most gracious Sovereign,
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet

We do exhibit to your Majesty.

Glou.
Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick; For, sweet Prince,
An if your Grace mark ev'ry circumstance,
You have great reason to do Richard right:
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-place I told your Majesty.

K. Henry.
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 recompens'd.

Win.
As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

K. Henry.
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.

Rich.
Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And faithful service, till the point of death.

K. Henry.
Stoop, then, and set your knee against my foot.
And in reguerdon of that duty done,
I gird thee with the valiant Sword of York.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And rise created Princely Duke of York.

Rich.
And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, so perish they,
That grudge one thought against your Majesty!

All.
Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York!

Som.
Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of York! [Aside.

Glou.
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.

K. Henry.
When Glo'ster says the word, King Henry goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

Glou.
Your ships already are in readiness. [Exeunt. Manet 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 degrees,
'Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away;
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal Prophecy,
Which in the time of Henry, nam'd the Fifth,
Was in the mouth of ev'ry 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 IV. Changes to Roan in France. Enter Joan la Pucelle disguis'd, and four Soldiers with Sacks upon their backs.

Pucel.
These are the city-gates, the gates of Roan,
Thro' 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 mony 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.

Sol.
Our Sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we be lords and rulers over Roan;
Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks.

Watch.
Qui va là?

Pucel.
Paisans, pauvres gens de France.
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.

Watch.
Enter, go in, the market-bell is rung.

Pucel.
Now, Roan, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [Exeunt. Enter Dauphin, Bastard, and Alanson.

Dau.
St. Dennis bless this happy stratagem!
And once again we'll sleep secure in Roan.

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

Reig.
By thrusting out a torch from yonder tow'r,
Which, once discern'd, shews, that her meaning is,
No way to that (for weakness) which she enter'd. Enter Joan la Pucelle on the top, thrusting out a torch burning.

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

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

Dau.
Now shines it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes.

Reig.
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
Enter and cry, The Dauphin! presently,
And then do execution on the Watch. [An Alarm; Talbot in an Excursion.

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;
^{1 note}