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
-- 474 --
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.
-- 475 --
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.
-- 476 --
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.
-- 477 --
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
-- 478 --
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.
-- 479 --
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;
-- 480 --
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,
-- 481 --
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares;
1 note
That hardly we escap'd the pride of France.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
An alarm: Excursions. Bedford brought in, sick, in a
chair. Enter Talbot and Burgundy, without; within,
Joan la Pucelle, Dauphin, Bastard, and Reignier,
on the walls.
Pucel.
Good morrow, gallants, want ye corn for bread?
I think, the Duke of Burgundy will fast,
Before he'll buy again at such a rate.
'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?
Burg.
Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless curtizan!
I trust, ere long to choak thee with thine own;
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
Dau.
Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.
Bed.
Oh let not words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
Pucel.
What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
And run a'tilt at death within a chair?
Tal.
Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despight,
Incompass'd with thy lustful paramours,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age,
And twit with cowardise a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with his shame.
-- 482 --
Pucel.
Are you so hot? yet, Pucelle, hold thy Peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
[They whisper together in counsel.
God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?
Tal.
Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field?
Pucel.
Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours, or no.
Tal.
I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alanson, and the rest.
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
Alan.
Seignior, no.
Tal.
Seignior, hang:—base muleteers of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
Pucel.
Captains, away; let's get us from the walls,
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
God be wi' you, my lord: we came, Sir, but to tell you
That we are here.
[Exeunt from the walls.
Tal.
And there will we be too, ere it be long,
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy House,
Prick'd on by publick wrongs sustain'd in France,
Either to get the town again, or die.
And I, as sure as English Henry lives,
And as his father here was Conqueror,
As sure as in this late-betrayed town
Great Cœurdelion's heart was buried;
So sure I swear, to get the town, or die.
Burg.
My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
Tal.
But ere we go, regard this dying Prince,
The valiant Duke of Bedford: come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place;
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.
Bed.
Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
Here I will sit before the walls of Roan,
And will be partner of your weal and woe.
Burg.
Couragious Bedford, let us now persuade you.
-- 483 --
Bed.
Not to be gone from hence: for once I read,
That stout Pendragon, in his litter sick,
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts;
Because I ever found them as my self.
Tal.
Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
Then be it so: heav'ns keep old Bedford safe!
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand,
And set upon our boasting enemy.
[Exit.
An alarm: excursions: Enter Sir John Fastolfe, and
a Captain.
Cap.
Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?
Fast.
Whither away? to save my self by flight.
We are like to have the overthrow again.
Cap.
What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot?
Fast.
Ay, all the Talbots in the world to save my life.
[Exit.
Cap.
Cowardly Knight, ill fortune follow thee!
[Exit.
Retreat: excursions. Pucelle, Alanson, and Dauphin fly.
Bed.
Now, quiet soul, depart when heav'n shall please;
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs,
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
[Dies; and is carried off in his chair.
-- 484 --
SCENE VI.
Within the Walls of Roan.
An Alarm: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and the rest.
Tal.
Lost and recover'd in a day again?
This is a double honour, Burgundy;
Yet, heav'ns have glory for this victory!
Burg.
Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Inshrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as Valour's monuments.
Tal.
Thanks, gentle Duke; but where is Pucelle now?
I think, her old Familiar is asleep.
Now where's the Bastard's braves, and 2 noteCharles his glikes?
What, all a-mort? Roan hangs her head for grief;
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now we will take some order in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers,
And then depart to Paris to the King;
For there young Henry with his Nobles lyes.
Burg.
What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy.
Tal.
But yet before we go, let's not forget
The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd;
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Roan.
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in Court.
But Kings and mightiest Potentates must die,
For that's the end of human misery.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Enter Dauphin, Bastard, Alanson, and Joan la Pucelle.
Pucel.
Dismay not, Princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Roan is so recovered.
-- 485 --
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedy'd.
Let frantick Talbot triumph for a while;
And, like a Peacock, sweep along his tail:
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd.
Dau.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence.
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Bast.
Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.
Alan.
We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed Saint.
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Pucel.
Then thus it must be, this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions mixt with sugar'd words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.
Dau.
Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do That,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor shall that Nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our provinces.
Alan.
For ever should they be expuls'd from France,
And not have title of an Earldom here.
Pucel.
Your honours shall perceive how I will work,
To bring this matter to the wished end.
[Drum beats afar off.
Hark, by the sound of drum you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
[Here beat an English march.
There goes the Talbot with his colours spread,
And all the troops of English after him.
[French March.
Now, in the rereward, comes the Duke and his:
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind,
Summon a parley, we will talk with him.
[Trumpets sound a parley.
-- 486 --
SCENE VIII.
Enter the Duke of Burgundy marching.
Dau.
A parley with the Duke of Burgundy.—
Burg.
Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
Pucel.
The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
Burg.
What sayst thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.
Dau.
Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
Pucel.
Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble hand-maid speak to thee.
Burg.
Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
Pucel.
Look on thy country, look on fertile France;
And see the cities, and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
As looks the mother 3 noteon her lovely babe,
When death doth close his tender dying eyes;
See, see the pining malady of France,
Behold the wounds, the most unnat'ral wounds,
Which thou thy self hast giv'n her woful breast.
Oh, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt; and hurt not those that help:
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of common gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.
Burg.
Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Pucel.
Besides, all French and France exclaim on thee;
Doubting thy birth, and lawful progeny.
Whom join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation
-- 487 --
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of Ill;
Who then but English Henry will be lord,
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof;
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was not he in England prisoner?
But when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free without his ransom paid;
In spight of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen;
And join'st with them, will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
Charles, and the rest will take thee in their arms.
Burg.
I'm vanquished. These haughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees.
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen;
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
My forces and my pow'r of men are yours.
So farewel, Talbot, I'll no longer trust thee.
Pucel.
4 noteDone, like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!—
Dau.
Welcome, brave Duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.
Bast.
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
Alan.
Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
And doth deserve a Coronet of gold.
Dau.
Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
[Exeunt.
-- 488 --
SCENE IX.
Changes to PARIS.
Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Winchester, York,
Suffolk, Somerset, Warwick, Exeter, &c. To them
Talbot, with his Soldiers.
Tal.
My gracious Prince, and honourable Peers,
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have a while giv'n truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my Sovereign.
In sign whereof, this arm (that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and sev'n walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem;)
Lets fall the sword before your Highness' feet:
And with submissive loyalty of heart
Ascribes the glory of his Conquest got,
First to my God, and next unto your Grace.
K. Henry.
Is this the fam'd lord Talbot, uncle Glo'ster,
That hath so long been resident in France?
Glou.
Yes, if it please your Majesty, my Liege.
K. Henry.
Welcome, brave Captain, and victorious lord.
When I was young, (as yet I am not old)
I do remember how my father said,
A stouter champion never handled sword.
Long since we were resolved of your truth,
Your faithful service and your toil in war;
Yet never have you tasted your reward,
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
Because 'till now we never saw your face:
Therefore stand up, and, for these good deserts,
We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury,
And in our Coronation take your place.
[Exeunt.
-- 489 --
Manent Vernon and Basset.
Ver.
Now, Sir, to you that were so hot at sea,
Disgracing of these colours that I wear
In honour of my noble lord of York;
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
Bas.
Yes, Sir, as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord, the Duke of Somerset.
Ver.
Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
Bas.
Why, what is he? as good a man as York.
Ver.
Hark ye; not so: in witness, take you that.
[Strikes him.
Bas.
Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such,
5 note
That, whoso draws a sword in th' presence 't's death;
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his Majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost.
Ver.
Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
And, after meet you sooner than you would.
[Exeunt.
-- 490 --
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
