{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/kh61/kh61.htm","path":"sks/kh61/kh61.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/kh61/kh61.htm","text":"1 KING HENRY VI\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\nKING\nHENRY THE SIXTH (KING HENRY VI:)\nDUKE OF GLOUCESTER uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)\nDUKE OF BEDFORD uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)\nTHOMAS BEAUFORT Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)\nHENRY BEAUFORT great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and\nafterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)\nJOHN BEAUFORT Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD\nPLANTAGENET:) afterwards Duke of York.\n(YORK:)\nEARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)\nEARL OF SALISBURY (SALISBURY:)\nEARL OF SUFFOLK (SUFFOLK:)\nLORD TALBOT afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)\nJOHN TALBOT Lord Talbot's son.\nEDMUND MORTIMER Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)\nSIR JOHN FASTOLFE (FASTOLFE:)\nSIR WILLIAM LUCY (LUCY:)\nSIR\nWILLIAM GLANSDALE (GLANDSDALE:)\nSIR\nTHOMAS GARGRAVE (GARGRAVE:)\nMayor of London (Mayor:)\nWOODVILE Lieutenant of the Tower.\nVERNON of the White-Rose or York faction.\nBASSET of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.\nA Lawyer. (Lawyer:)\nMortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)\nCHARLES Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.\nREIGNIER Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.\nDUKE OF BURGUNDY (BURGUNDY:)\nDUKE OF ALENCON (ALENCON:)\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS:\nGovernor of Paris.\nMaster-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)\nand his Son. (Boy:)\nGeneral of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)\nA French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)\nA Porter.\nAn old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)\nMARGARET daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE:\nJOAN LA PUCELLE commonly called Joan of Arc.\nLords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,\nSoldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.\n(First Warder:)\n(Second Warder:)\n(Captain:)\n(Officer:)\n(Soldier:)\n(First Soldier:)\n(Watch:)\n(Scout:)\n(First Sentinel:)\n(Servant:)\n(First Serving-Man:)\n(Second Serving-Man:)\n(Third Serving-Man:)\nFiends appearing to La Pucelle.\nSCENE Partly in England, and partly in France.\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE I Westminster Abbey.\n[Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the\nFifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of\nFrance; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of\nWARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c]\nBEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!\nComets, importing change of times and states,\nBrandish your crystal tresses in the sky,\nAnd with them scourge the bad revolting stars\nThat have consented unto Henry's death!\nKing Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!\nEngland ne'er lost a king of so much worth.\nGLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time.\nVirtue he had, deserving to command:\nHis brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:\nHis arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;\nHis sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,\nMore dazzled and drove back his enemies\nThan mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.\nWhat should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:\nHe ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.\nEXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?\nHenry is dead and never shall revive:\nUpon a wooden coffin we attend,\nAnd death's dishonourable victory\nWe with our stately presence glorify,\nLike captives bound to a triumphant car.\nWhat! shall we curse the planets of mishap\nThat plotted thus our glory's overthrow?\nOr shall we think the subtle-witted French\nConjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him\nBy magic verses have contrived his end?\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.\nUnto the French the dreadful judgement-day\nSo dreadful will not be as was his sight.\nThe battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:\nThe church's prayers made him so prosperous.\nGLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,\nHis thread of life had not so soon decay'd:\nNone do you like but an effeminate prince,\nWhom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector\nAnd lookest to command the prince and realm.\nThy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,\nMore than God or religious churchmen may.\nGLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,\nAnd ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st\nExcept it be to pray against thy foes.\nBEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:\nLet's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:\nInstead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:\nSince arms avail not now that Henry's dead.\nPosterity, await for wretched years,\nWhen at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,\nOur isle be made a nourish of salt tears,\nAnd none but women left to wail the dead.\nHenry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:\nProsper this realm, keep it from civil broils,\nCombat with adverse planets in the heavens!\nA far more glorious star thy soul will make\nThan Julius Caesar or bright--\n[Enter a Messenger]\nMessenger My honourable lords, health to you all!\nSad tidings bring I to you out of France,\nOf loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:\nGuienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,\nParis, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.\nBEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?\nSpeak softly, or the loss of those great towns\nWill make him burst his lead and rise from death.\nGLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?\nIf Henry were recall'd to life again,\nThese news would cause him once more yield the ghost.\nEXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used?\nMessenger No treachery; but want of men and money.\nAmongst the soldiers this is muttered,\nThat here you maintain several factions,\nAnd whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,\nYou are disputing of your generals:\nOne would have lingering wars with little cost;\nAnother would fly swift, but wanteth wings;\nA third thinks, without expense at all,\nBy guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.\nAwake, awake, English nobility!\nLet not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:\nCropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;\nOf England's coat one half is cut away.\nEXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral,\nThese tidings would call forth their flowing tides.\nBEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France.\nGive me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.\nAway with these disgraceful wailing robes!\nWounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,\nTo weep their intermissive miseries.\n[Enter to them another Messenger]\nMessenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.\nFrance is revolted from the English quite,\nExcept some petty towns of no import:\nThe Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;\nThe Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;\nReignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;\nThe Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.\nEXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!\nO, whither shall we fly from this reproach?\nGLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.\nBedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.\nBEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?\nAn army have I muster'd in my thoughts,\nWherewith already France is overrun.\n[Enter another Messenger]\nMessenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments,\nWherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,\nI must inform you of a dismal fight\nBetwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?\nMessenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:\nThe circumstance I'll tell you more at large.\nThe tenth of August last this dreadful lord,\nRetiring from the siege of Orleans,\nHaving full scarce six thousand in his troop.\nBy three and twenty thousand of the French\nWas round encompassed and set upon.\nNo leisure had he to enrank his men;\nHe wanted pikes to set before his archers;\nInstead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges\nThey pitched in the ground confusedly,\nTo keep the horsemen off from breaking in.\nMore than three hours the fight continued;\nWhere valiant Talbot above human thought\nEnacted wonders with his sword and lance:\nHundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;\nHere, there, and every where, enraged he flew:\nThe French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;\nAll the whole army stood agazed on him:\nHis soldiers spying his undaunted spirit\nA Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain\nAnd rush'd into the bowels of the battle.\nHere had the conquest fully been seal'd up,\nIf Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:\nHe, being in the vaward, placed behind\nWith purpose to relieve and follow them,\nCowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.\nHence grew the general wreck and massacre;\nEnclosed were they with their enemies:\nA base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,\nThrust Talbot with a spear into the back,\nWhom all France with their chief assembled strength\nDurst not presume to look once in the face.\nBEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,\nFor living idly here in pomp and ease,\nWhilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,\nUnto his dastard foemen is betray'd.\nMessenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,\nAnd Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:\nMost of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.\nBEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay:\nI'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:\nHis crown shall be the ransom of my friend;\nFour of their lords I'll change for one of ours.\nFarewell, my masters; to my task will I;\nBonfires in France forthwith I am to make,\nTo keep our great Saint George's feast withal:\nTen thousand soldiers with me I will take,\nWhose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.\nMessenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;\nThe English army is grown weak and faint:\nThe Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,\nAnd hardly keeps his men from mutiny,\nSince they, so few, watch such a multitude.\nEXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,\nEither to quell the Dauphin utterly,\nOr bring him in obedience to your yoke.\nBEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave,\nTo go about my preparation.\n[Exit]\nGLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,\nTo view the artillery and munition;\nAnd then I will proclaim young Henry king.\n[Exit]\nEXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is,\nBeing ordain'd his special governor,\nAnd for his safety there I'll best devise.\n[Exit]\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend:\nI am left out; for me nothing remains.\nBut long I will not be Jack out of office:\nThe king from Eltham I intend to steal\nAnd sit at chiefest stern of public weal.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE II France. Before Orleans.\n[Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and\nREIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers]\nCHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens\nSo in the earth, to this day is not known:\nLate did he shine upon the English side;\nNow we are victors; upon us he smiles.\nWhat towns of any moment but we have?\nAt pleasure here we lie near Orleans;\nOtherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,\nFaintly besiege us one hour in a month.\nALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:\nEither they must be dieted like mules\nAnd have their provender tied to their mouths\nOr piteous they will look, like drowned mice.\nREIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?\nTalbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:\nRemaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;\nAnd he may well in fretting spend his gall,\nNor men nor money hath he to make war.\nCHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.\nNow for the honour of the forlorn French!\nHim I forgive my death that killeth me\nWhen he sees me go back one foot or fly.\n[Exeunt]\n[Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English\nwith great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER]\nCHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I!\nDogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,\nBut that they left me 'midst my enemies.\nREIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide;\nHe fighteth as one weary of his life.\nThe other lords, like lions wanting food,\nDo rush upon us as their hungry prey.\nALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,\nEngland all Olivers and Rowlands bred,\nDuring the time Edward the Third did reign.\nMore truly now may this be verified;\nFor none but Samsons and Goliases\nIt sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!\nLean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose\nThey had such courage and audacity?\nCHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,\nAnd hunger will enforce them to be more eager:\nOf old I know them; rather with their teeth\nThe walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.\nREIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device\nTheir arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;\nElse ne'er could they hold out so as they do.\nBy my consent, we'll even let them alone.\nALENCON Be it so.\n[Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS]\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.\nCHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:\nHath the late overthrow wrought this offence?\nBe not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:\nA holy maid hither with me I bring,\nWhich by a vision sent to her from heaven\nOrdained is to raise this tedious siege\nAnd drive the English forth the bounds of France.\nThe spirit of deep prophecy she hath,\nExceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:\nWhat's past and what's to come she can descry.\nSpeak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,\nFor they are certain and unfallible.\nCHARLES Go, call her in.\n[Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS]\nBut first, to try her skill,\nReignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:\nQuestion her proudly; let thy looks be stern:\nBy this means shall we sound what skill she hath.\n[Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE]\nREIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?\nWhere is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;\nI know thee well, though never seen before.\nBe not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:\nIn private will I talk with thee apart.\nStand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.\nREIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,\nMy wit untrain'd in any kind of art.\nHeaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased\nTo shine on my contemptible estate:\nLo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,\nAnd to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,\nGod's mother deigned to appear to me\nAnd in a vision full of majesty\nWill'd me to leave my base vocation\nAnd free my country from calamity:\nHer aid she promised and assured success:\nIn complete glory she reveal'd herself;\nAnd, whereas I was black and swart before,\nWith those clear rays which she infused on me\nThat beauty am I bless'd with which you see.\nAsk me what question thou canst possible,\nAnd I will answer unpremeditated:\nMy courage try by combat, if thou darest,\nAnd thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.\nResolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,\nIf thou receive me for thy warlike mate.\nCHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:\nOnly this proof I'll of thy valour make,\nIn single combat thou shalt buckle with me,\nAnd if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;\nOtherwise I renounce all confidence.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,\nDeck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;\nThe which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's\nchurchyard,\nOut of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.\nCHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.\n[Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]\nCHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon\nAnd fightest with the sword of Deborah.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.\nCHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:\nImpatiently I burn with thy desire;\nMy heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.\nExcellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,\nLet me thy servant and not sovereign be:\n'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love,\nFor my profession's sacred from above:\nWhen I have chased all thy foes from hence,\nThen will I think upon a recompense.\nCHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.\nREIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.\nALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;\nElse ne'er could he so long protract his speech.\nREIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?\nALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know:\nThese women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.\nREIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on?\nShall we give over Orleans, or no?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!\nFight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.\nCHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.\nThis night the siege assuredly I'll raise:\nExpect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,\nSince I have entered into these wars.\nGlory is like a circle in the water,\nWhich never ceaseth to enlarge itself\nTill by broad spreading it disperse to nought.\nWith Henry's death the English circle ends;\nDispersed are the glories it included.\nNow am I like that proud insulting ship\nWhich Caesar and his fortune bare at once.\nCHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?\nThou with an eagle art inspired then.\nHelen, the mother of great Constantine,\nNor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.\nBright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,\nHow may I reverently worship thee enough?\nALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.\nREIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;\nDrive them from Orleans and be immortalized.\nCHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:\nNo prophet will I trust, if she prove false.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE III London. Before the Tower.\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats]\nGLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day:\nSince Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.\nWhere be these warders, that they wait not here?\nOpen the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.\nFirst Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously?\nFirst Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.\nSecond Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.\nFirst Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector?\nFirst Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him:\nWe do no otherwise than we are will'd.\nGLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?\nThere's none protector of the realm but I.\nBreak up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.\nShall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?\n[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and\nWOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within]\nWOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here?\nGLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?\nOpen the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.\nWOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;\nThe Cardinal of Winchester forbids:\nFrom him I have express commandment\nThat thou nor none of thine shall be let in.\nGLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?\nArrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,\nWhom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?\nThou art no friend to God or to the king:\nOpen the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.\nServing-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector,\nOr we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.\n[Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats]\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?\nGLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor,\nAnd not protector, of the king or realm.\nGLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,\nThou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;\nThou that givest whores indulgences to sin:\nI'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,\nIf thou proceed in this thy insolence.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:\nThis be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,\nTo slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.\nGLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:\nThy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth\nI'll use to carry thee out of this place.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.\nGLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face?\nDraw, men, for all this privileged place;\nBlue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard,\nI mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:\nUnder my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat:\nIn spite of pope or dignities of church,\nHere by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.\nGLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!\nNow beat them hence; why do you let them stay?\nThee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.\nOut, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!\n[Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly-\nburly the Mayor of London and his Officers]\nMayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,\nThus contumeliously should break the peace!\nGLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:\nHere's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,\nHath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,\nOne that still motions war and never peace,\nO'ercharging your free purses with large fines,\nThat seeks to overthrow religion,\nBecause he is protector of the realm,\nAnd would have armour here out of the Tower,\nTo crown himself king and suppress the prince.\nGLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows.\n[Here they skirmish again]\nMayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife\nBut to make open proclamation:\nCome, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst,\nCry.\nOfficer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day\nagainst God's peace and the king's, we charge and\ncommand you, in his highness' name, to repair to\nyour several dwelling-places; and not to wear,\nhandle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger,\nhenceforward, upon pain of death.\nGLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:\nBut we shall meet, and break our minds at large.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure:\nThy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.\nMayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away.\nThis cardinal's more haughty than the devil.\nGLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;\nFor I intend to have it ere long.\n[Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER with their Serving-men]\nMayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.\nGood God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!\nI myself fight not once in forty year.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE IV Orleans.\n[Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy]\nMaster-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged,\nAnd how the English have the suburbs won.\nBoy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,\nHowe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.\nMaster-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:\nChief master-gunner am I of this town;\nSomething I must do to procure me grace.\nThe prince's espials have informed me\nHow the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,\nWont, through a secret grate of iron bars\nIn yonder tower, to overpeer the city,\nAnd thence discover how with most advantage\nThey may vex us with shot, or with assault.\nTo intercept this inconvenience,\nA piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;\nAnd even these three days have I watch'd,\nIf I could see them.\nNow do thou watch, for I can stay no longer.\nIf thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;\nAnd thou shalt find me at the governor's.\n[Exit]\nBoy Father, I warrant you; take you no care;\nI'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.\n[Exit]\n[Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT,\nGLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others]\nSALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!\nHow wert thou handled being prisoner?\nOr by what means got'st thou to be released?\nDiscourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.\nTALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner\nCall'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;\nFor him was I exchanged and ransomed.\nBut with a baser man of arms by far\nOnce in contempt they would have barter'd me:\nWhich I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,\nRather than I would be so vile esteem'd.\nIn fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.\nBut, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,\nWhom with my bare fists I would execute,\nIf I now had him brought into my power.\nSALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.\nTALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.\nIn open market-place produced they me,\nTo be a public spectacle to all:\nHere, said they, is the terror of the French,\nThe scarecrow that affrights our children so.\nThen broke I from the officers that led me,\nAnd with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,\nTo hurl at the beholders of my shame:\nMy grisly countenance made others fly;\nNone durst come near for fear of sudden death.\nIn iron walls they deem'd me not secure;\nSo great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,\nThat they supposed I could rend bars of steel,\nAnd spurn in pieces posts of adamant:\nWherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,\nThat walked about me every minute-while;\nAnd if I did but stir out of my bed,\nReady they were to shoot me to the heart.\n[Enter the Boy with a linstock]\nSALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured,\nBut we will be revenged sufficiently\nNow it is supper-time in Orleans:\nHere, through this grate, I count each one\nand view the Frenchmen how they fortify:\nLet us look in; the sight will much delight thee.\nSir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,\nLet me have your express opinions\nWhere is best place to make our battery next.\nGARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.\nGLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.\nTALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,\nOr with light skirmishes enfeebled.\n[Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall]\nSALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!\nGARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!\nTALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?\nSpeak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:\nHow farest thou, mirror of all martial men?\nOne of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!\nAccursed tower! accursed fatal hand\nThat hath contrived this woful tragedy!\nIn thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;\nHenry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;\nWhilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,\nHis sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.\nYet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,\nOne eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:\nThe sun with one eye vieweth all the world.\nHeaven, be thou gracious to none alive,\nIf Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!\nBear hence his body; I will help to bury it.\nSir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?\nSpeak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.\nSalisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;\nThou shalt not die whiles--\nHe beckons with his hand and smiles on me.\nAs who should say 'When I am dead and gone,\nRemember to avenge me on the French.'\nPlantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,\nPlay on the lute, beholding the towns burn:\nWretched shall France be only in my name.\n[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]\nWhat stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?\nWhence cometh this alarum and the noise?\n[Enter a Messenger]\nMessenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head:\nThe Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,\nA holy prophetess new risen up,\nIs come with a great power to raise the siege.\n[Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]\nTALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!\nIt irks his heart he cannot be revenged.\nFrenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:\nPucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,\nYour hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,\nAnd make a quagmire of your mingled brains.\nConvey me Salisbury into his tent,\nAnd then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.\n[Alarum. Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE V The same.\n[Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the\nDAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA\nPUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit\nafter them then re-enter TALBOT]\nTALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?\nOur English troops retire, I cannot stay them:\nA woman clad in armour chaseth them.\n[Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]\nHere, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;\nDevil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:\nBlood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,\nAnd straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.\n[Here they fight]\nTALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?\nMy breast I'll burst with straining of my courage\nAnd from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.\nBut I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.\n[They fight again]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:\nI must go victual Orleans forthwith.\n[A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]\nO'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.\nGo, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;\nHelp Salisbury to make his testament:\nThis day is ours, as many more shall be.\n[Exit]\nTALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;\nI know not where I am, nor what I do;\nA witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,\nDrives back our troops and conquers as she lists:\nSo bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench\nAre from their hives and houses driven away.\nThey call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;\nNow, like to whelps, we crying run away.\n[A short alarum]\nHark, countrymen! either renew the fight,\nOr tear the lions out of England's coat;\nRenounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:\nSheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,\nOr horse or oxen from the leopard,\nAs you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.\n[Alarum. Here another skirmish]\nIt will not be: retire into your trenches:\nYou all consented unto Salisbury's death,\nFor none would strike a stroke in his revenge.\nPucelle is enter'd into Orleans,\nIn spite of us or aught that we could do.\nO, would I were to die with Salisbury!\nThe shame hereof will make me hide my head.\n[Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT I\nSCENE VI The same.\n[Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,\nREIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls;\nRescued is Orleans from the English\nThus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.\nCHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,\nHow shall I honour thee for this success?\nThy promises are like Adonis' gardens\nThat one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.\nFrance, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!\nRecover'd is the town of Orleans:\nMore blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.\nREIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?\nDauphin, command the citizens make bonfires\nAnd feast and banquet in the open streets,\nTo celebrate the joy that God hath given us.\nALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy,\nWhen they shall hear how we have play'd the men.\nCHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;\nFor which I will divide my crown with her,\nAnd all the priests and friars in my realm\nShall in procession sing her endless praise.\nA statelier pyramis to her I'll rear\nThan Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:\nIn memory of her when she is dead,\nHer ashes, in an urn more precious\nThan the rich-jewel'd of Darius,\nTransported shall be at high festivals\nBefore the kings and queens of France.\nNo longer on Saint Denis will we cry,\nBut Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.\nCome in, and let us banquet royally,\nAfter this golden day of victory.\n[Flourish. Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT II\nSCENE I Before Orleans.\n[Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels]\nSergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:\nIf any noise or soldier you perceive\nNear to the walls, by some apparent sign\nLet us have knowledge at the court of guard.\nFirst Sentinel Sergeant, you shall.\n[Exit Sergeant]\nThus are poor servitors,\nWhen others sleep upon their quiet beds,\nConstrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.\n[Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with\nscaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march]\nTALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,\nBy whose approach the regions of Artois,\nWallon and Picardy are friends to us,\nThis happy night the Frenchmen are secure,\nHaving all day caroused and banqueted:\nEmbrace we then this opportunity\nAs fitting best to quittance their deceit\nContrived by art and baleful sorcery.\nBEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,\nDespairing of his own arm's fortitude,\nTo join with witches and the help of hell!\nBURGUNDY Traitors have never other company.\nBut what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?\nTALBOT A maid, they say.\nBEDFORD A maid! and be so martial!\nBURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,\nIf underneath the standard of the French\nShe carry armour as she hath begun.\nTALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:\nGod is our fortress, in whose conquering name\nLet us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.\nBEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.\nTALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess,\nThat we do make our entrance several ways;\nThat, if it chance the one of us do fail,\nThe other yet may rise against their force.\nBEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner.\nBURGUNDY And I to this.\nTALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.\nNow, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right\nOf English Henry, shall this night appear\nHow much in duty I am bound to both.\nSentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!\n[Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.']\n[The French leap over the walls in their shirts.\nEnter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS,\nALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready]\nALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so?\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.\nREIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,\nHearing alarums at our chamber-doors.\nALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,\nNe'er heard I of a warlike enterprise\nMore venturous or desperate than this.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.\nREIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.\nALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.\n[Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE]\nCHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?\nDidst thou at first, to flatter us withal,\nMake us partakers of a little gain,\nThat now our loss might be ten times so much?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!\nAt all times will you have my power alike?\nSleeping or waking must I still prevail,\nOr will you blame and lay the fault on me?\nImprovident soldiers! had your watch been good,\nThis sudden mischief never could have fall'n.\nCHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default,\nThat, being captain of the watch to-night,\nDid look no better to that weighty charge.\nALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept\nAs that whereof I had the government,\nWe had not been thus shamefully surprised.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure.\nREIGNIER And so was mine, my lord.\nCHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night,\nWithin her quarter and mine own precinct\nI was employ'd in passing to and fro,\nAbout relieving of the sentinels:\nThen how or which way should they first break in?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case,\nHow or which way: 'tis sure they found some place\nBut weakly guarded, where the breach was made.\nAnd now there rests no other shift but this;\nTo gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,\nAnd lay new platforms to endamage them.\n[Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A\nTalbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their\nclothes behind]\nSoldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left.\nThe cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;\nFor I have loaden me with many spoils,\nUsing no other weapon but his name.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT II\nSCENE II Orleans. Within the town.\n[Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others]\nBEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled,\nWhose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.\nHere sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.\n[Retreat sounded]\nTALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,\nAnd here advance it in the market-place,\nThe middle centre of this cursed town.\nNow have I paid my vow unto his soul;\nFor every drop of blood was drawn from him,\nThere hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.\nAnd that hereafter ages may behold\nWhat ruin happen'd in revenge of him,\nWithin their chiefest temple I'll erect\nA tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:\nUpon the which, that every one may read,\nShall be engraved the sack of Orleans,\nThe treacherous manner of his mournful death\nAnd what a terror he had been to France.\nBut, lords, in all our bloody massacre,\nI muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,\nHis new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,\nNor any of his false confederates.\nBEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,\nRoused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,\nThey did amongst the troops of armed men\nLeap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.\nBURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern\nFor smoke and dusky vapours of the night,\nAm sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,\nWhen arm in arm they both came swiftly running,\nLike to a pair of loving turtle-doves\nThat could not live asunder day or night.\nAfter that things are set in order here,\nWe'll follow them with all the power we have.\n[Enter a Messenger]\nMessenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train\nCall ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts\nSo much applauded through the realm of France?\nTALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?\nMessenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,\nWith modesty admiring thy renown,\nBy me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe\nTo visit her poor castle where she lies,\nThat she may boast she hath beheld the man\nWhose glory fills the world with loud report.\nBURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars\nWill turn unto a peaceful comic sport,\nWhen ladies crave to be encounter'd with.\nYou may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.\nTALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men\nCould not prevail with all their oratory,\nYet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:\nAnd therefore tell her I return great thanks,\nAnd in submission will attend on her.\nWill not your honours bear me company?\nBEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will:\nAnd I have heard it said, unbidden guests\nAre often welcomest when they are gone.\nTALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,\nI mean to prove this lady's courtesy.\nCome hither, captain.\n[Whispers]\nYou perceive my mind?\nCaptain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT II\nSCENE III Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle.\n[Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter]\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge;\nAnd when you have done so, bring the keys to me.\nPorter Madam, I will.\n[Exit]\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,\nI shall as famous be by this exploit\nAs Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.\nGreat is the rumor of this dreadful knight,\nAnd his achievements of no less account:\nFain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,\nTo give their censure of these rare reports.\n[Enter Messenger and TALBOT]\nMessenger Madam,\nAccording as your ladyship desired,\nBy message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man?\nMessenger Madam, it is.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France?\nIs this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad\nThat with his name the mothers still their babes?\nI see report is fabulous and false:\nI thought I should have seen some Hercules,\nA second Hector, for his grim aspect,\nAnd large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.\nAlas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!\nIt cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp\nShould strike such terror to his enemies.\nTALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;\nBut since your ladyship is not at leisure,\nI'll sort some other time to visit you.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.\nMessenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves\nTo know the cause of your abrupt departure.\nTALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,\nI go to certify her Talbot's here.\n[Re-enter Porter with keys]\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.\nTALBOT Prisoner! to whom?\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE To me, blood-thirsty lord;\nAnd for that cause I trained thee to my house.\nLong time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,\nFor in my gallery thy picture hangs:\nBut now the substance shall endure the like,\nAnd I will chain these legs and arms of thine,\nThat hast by tyranny these many years\nWasted our country, slain our citizens\nAnd sent our sons and husbands captivate.\nTALBOT Ha, ha, ha!\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.\nTALBOT I laugh to see your ladyship so fond\nTo think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow\nWhereon to practise your severity.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Why, art not thou the man?\nTALBOT I am indeed.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Then have I substance too.\nTALBOT No, no, I am but shadow of myself:\nYou are deceived, my substance is not here;\nFor what you see is but the smallest part\nAnd least proportion of humanity:\nI tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,\nIt is of such a spacious lofty pitch,\nYour roof were not sufficient to contain't.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;\nHe will be here, and yet he is not here:\nHow can these contrarieties agree?\nTALBOT That will I show you presently.\n[Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of\nordnance. Enter soldiers]\nHow say you, madam? are you now persuaded\nThat Talbot is but shadow of himself?\nThese are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,\nWith which he yoketh your rebellious necks,\nRazeth your cities and subverts your towns\nAnd in a moment makes them desolate.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:\nI find thou art no less than fame hath bruited\nAnd more than may be gather'd by thy shape.\nLet my presumption not provoke thy wrath;\nFor I am sorry that with reverence\nI did not entertain thee as thou art.\nTALBOT Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue\nThe mind of Talbot, as you did mistake\nThe outward composition of his body.\nWhat you have done hath not offended me;\nNor other satisfaction do I crave,\nBut only, with your patience, that we may\nTaste of your wine and see what cates you have;\nFor soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.\nCOUNTESS\nOF AUVERGNE With all my heart, and think me honoured\nTo feast so great a warrior in my house.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT II\nSCENE IV London. The Temple-garden.\n[Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;\nRICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer]\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?\nDare no man answer in a case of truth?\nSUFFOLK Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;\nThe garden here is more convenient.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;\nOr else was wrangling Somerset in the error?\nSUFFOLK Faith, I have been a truant in the law,\nAnd never yet could frame my will to it;\nAnd therefore frame the law unto my will.\nSOMERSET Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.\nWARWICK Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;\nBetween two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;\nBetween two blades, which bears the better temper:\nBetween two horses, which doth bear him best;\nBetween two girls, which hath the merriest eye;\nI have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;\nBut in these nice sharp quillets of the law,\nGood faith, I am no wiser than a daw.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:\nThe truth appears so naked on my side\nThat any purblind eye may find it out.\nSOMERSET And on my side it is so well apparell'd,\nSo clear, so shining and so evident\nThat it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,\nIn dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:\nLet him that is a true-born gentleman\nAnd stands upon the honour of his birth,\nIf he suppose that I have pleaded truth,\nFrom off this brier pluck a white rose with me.\nSOMERSET Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,\nBut dare maintain the party of the truth,\nPluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.\nWARWICK I love no colours, and without all colour\nOf base insinuating flattery\nI pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.\nSUFFOLK I pluck this red rose with young Somerset\nAnd say withal I think he held the right.\nVERNON Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,\nTill you conclude that he upon whose side\nThe fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree\nShall yield the other in the right opinion.\nSOMERSET Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:\nIf I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET And I.\nVERNON Then for the truth and plainness of the case.\nI pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,\nGiving my verdict on the white rose side.\nSOMERSET Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,\nLest bleeding you do paint the white rose red\nAnd fall on my side so, against your will.\nVERNON If I my lord, for my opinion bleed,\nOpinion shall be surgeon to my hurt\nAnd keep me on the side where still I am.\nSOMERSET Well, well, come on: who else?\nLawyer Unless my study and my books be false,\nThe argument you held was wrong in you:\n[To SOMERSET]\nIn sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Now, Somerset, where is your argument?\nSOMERSET Here in my scabbard, meditating that\nShall dye your white rose in a bloody red.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;\nFor pale they look with fear, as witnessing\nThe truth on our side.\nSOMERSET No, Plantagenet,\n'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks\nBlush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,\nAnd yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?\nSOMERSET Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;\nWhiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.\nSOMERSET Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,\nThat shall maintain what I have said is true,\nWhere false Plantagenet dare not be seen.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,\nI scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.\nSUFFOLK Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.\nSUFFOLK I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.\nSOMERSET Away, away, good William de la Pole!\nWe grace the yeoman by conversing with him.\nWARWICK Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;\nHis grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,\nThird son to the third Edward King of England:\nSpring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET He bears him on the place's privilege,\nOr durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.\nSOMERSET By him that made me, I'll maintain my words\nOn any plot of ground in Christendom.\nWas not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,\nFor treason executed in our late king's days?\nAnd, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,\nCorrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?\nHis trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;\nAnd, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET My father was attached, not attainted,\nCondemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;\nAnd that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,\nWere growing time once ripen'd to my will.\nFor your partaker Pole and you yourself,\nI'll note you in my book of memory,\nTo scourge you for this apprehension:\nLook to it well and say you are well warn'd.\nSOMERSET Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;\nAnd know us by these colours for thy foes,\nFor these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,\nAs cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,\nWill I for ever and my faction wear,\nUntil it wither with me to my grave\nOr flourish to the height of my degree.\nSUFFOLK Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!\nAnd so farewell until I meet thee next.\n[Exit]\nSOMERSET Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.\n[Exit]\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET How I am braved and must perforce endure it!\nWARWICK This blot that they object against your house\nShall be wiped out in the next parliament\nCall'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;\nAnd if thou be not then created York,\nI will not live to be accounted Warwick.\nMeantime, in signal of my love to thee,\nAgainst proud Somerset and William Pole,\nWill I upon thy party wear this rose:\nAnd here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,\nGrown to this faction in the Temple-garden,\nShall send between the red rose and the white\nA thousand souls to death and deadly night.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,\nThat you on my behalf would pluck a flower.\nVERNON In your behalf still will I wear the same.\nLawyer And so will I.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Thanks, gentle sir.\nCome, let us four to dinner: I dare say\nThis quarrel will drink blood another day.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT II\nSCENE V The Tower of London.\n[Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers]\nMORTIMER Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,\nLet dying Mortimer here rest himself.\nEven like a man new haled from the rack,\nSo fare my limbs with long imprisonment.\nAnd these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,\nNestor-like aged in an age of care,\nArgue the end of Edmund Mortimer.\nThese eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,\nWax dim, as drawing to their exigent;\nWeak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,\nAnd pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine\nThat droops his sapless branches to the ground;\nYet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,\nUnable to support this lump of clay,\nSwift-winged with desire to get a grave,\nAs witting I no other comfort have.\nBut tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?\nFirst Gaoler Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:\nWe sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;\nAnd answer was return'd that he will come.\nMORTIMER Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.\nPoor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.\nSince Henry Monmouth first began to reign,\nBefore whose glory I was great in arms,\nThis loathsome sequestration have I had:\nAnd even since then hath Richard been obscured,\nDeprived of honour and inheritance.\nBut now the arbitrator of despairs,\nJust death, kind umpire of men's miseries,\nWith sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:\nI would his troubles likewise were expired,\nThat so he might recover what was lost.\n[Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET]\nFirst Gaoler My lord, your loving nephew now is come.\nMORTIMER Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,\nYour nephew, late despised Richard, comes.\nMORTIMER Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,\nAnd in his bosom spend my latter gasp:\nO, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,\nThat I may kindly give one fainting kiss.\nAnd now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,\nWhy didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;\nAnd, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.\nThis day, in argument upon a case,\nSome words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;\nAmong which terms he used his lavish tongue\nAnd did upbraid me with my father's death:\nWhich obloquy set bars before my tongue,\nElse with the like I had requited him.\nTherefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,\nIn honour of a true Plantagenet\nAnd for alliance sake, declare the cause\nMy father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.\nMORTIMER That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me\nAnd hath detain'd me all my flowering youth\nWithin a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,\nWas cursed instrument of his decease.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Discover more at large what cause that was,\nFor I am ignorant and cannot guess.\nMORTIMER I will, if that my fading breath permit\nAnd death approach not ere my tale be done.\nHenry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,\nDeposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,\nThe first-begotten and the lawful heir,\nOf Edward king, the third of that descent:\nDuring whose reign the Percies of the north,\nFinding his usurpation most unjust,\nEndeavor'd my advancement to the throne:\nThe reason moved these warlike lords to this\nWas, for that--young King Richard thus removed,\nLeaving no heir begotten of his body--\nI was the next by birth and parentage;\nFor by my mother I derived am\nFrom Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son\nTo King Edward the Third; whereas he\nFrom John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,\nBeing but fourth of that heroic line.\nBut mark: as in this haughty attempt\nThey laboured to plant the rightful heir,\nI lost my liberty and they their lives.\nLong after this, when Henry the Fifth,\nSucceeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,\nThy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived\nFrom famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,\nMarrying my sister that thy mother was,\nAgain in pity of my hard distress\nLevied an army, weening to redeem\nAnd have install'd me in the diadem:\nBut, as the rest, so fell that noble earl\nAnd was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,\nIn whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.\nMORTIMER True; and thou seest that I no issue have\nAnd that my fainting words do warrant death;\nThou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:\nBut yet be wary in thy studious care.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:\nBut yet, methinks, my father's execution\nWas nothing less than bloody tyranny.\nMORTIMER With silence, nephew, be thou politic:\nStrong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,\nAnd like a mountain, not to be removed.\nBut now thy uncle is removing hence:\nAs princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd\nWith long continuance in a settled place.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET O, uncle, would some part of my young years\nMight but redeem the passage of your age!\nMORTIMER Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth\nWhich giveth many wounds when one will kill.\nMourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;\nOnly give order for my funeral:\nAnd so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes\nAnd prosperous be thy life in peace and war!\n[Dies]\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!\nIn prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage\nAnd like a hermit overpass'd thy days.\nWell, I will lock his counsel in my breast;\nAnd what I do imagine let that rest.\nKeepers, convey him hence, and I myself\nWill see his burial better than his life.\n[Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out the body of MORTIMER]\nHere dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,\nChoked with ambition of the meaner sort:\nAnd for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,\nWhich Somerset hath offer'd to my house:\nI doubt not but with honour to redress;\nAnd therefore haste I to the parliament,\nEither to be restored to my blood,\nOr make my ill the advantage of my good.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT III\nSCENE I London. The Parliament-house.\n[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,\nWARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.\nGLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it]\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,\nWith written pamphlets studiously devised,\nHumphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,\nOr aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,\nDo it without invention, suddenly;\nAs I with sudden and extemporal speech\nPurpose to answer what thou canst object.\nGLOUCESTER Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,\nOr thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.\nThink not, although in writing I preferr'd\nThe manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,\nThat therefore I have forged, or am not able\nVerbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:\nNo, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,\nThy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,\nAs very infants prattle of thy pride.\nThou art a most pernicious usurer,\nForward by nature, enemy to peace;\nLascivious, wanton, more than well beseems\nA man of thy profession and degree;\nAnd for thy treachery, what's more manifest?\nIn that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,\nAs well at London bridge as at the Tower.\nBeside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,\nThe king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt\nFrom envious malice of thy swelling heart.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe\nTo give me hearing what I shall reply.\nIf I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,\nAs he will have me, how am I so poor?\nOr how haps it I seek not to advance\nOr raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?\nAnd for dissension, who preferreth peace\nMore than I do?--except I be provoked.\nNo, my good lords, it is not that offends;\nIt is not that that hath incensed the duke:\nIt is, because no one should sway but he;\nNo one but he should be about the king;\nAnd that engenders thunder in his breast\nAnd makes him roar these accusations forth.\nBut he shall know I am as good--\nGLOUCESTER As good!\nThou bastard of my grandfather!\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,\nBut one imperious in another's throne?\nGLOUCESTER Am I not protector, saucy priest?\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER And am not I a prelate of the church?\nGLOUCESTER Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps\nAnd useth it to patronage his theft.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Unreverent Gloster!\nGLOUCESTER Thou art reverent\nTouching thy spiritual function, not thy life.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Rome shall remedy this.\nWARWICK Roam thither, then.\nSOMERSET My lord, it were your duty to forbear.\nWARWICK Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.\nSOMERSET Methinks my lord should be religious\nAnd know the office that belongs to such.\nWARWICK Methinks his lordship should be humbler;\nit fitteth not a prelate so to plead.\nSOMERSET Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.\nWARWICK State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?\nIs not his grace protector to the king?\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,\nLest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;\nMust your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'\nElse would I have a fling at Winchester.\nKING HENRY VI Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,\nThe special watchmen of our English weal,\nI would prevail, if prayers might prevail,\nTo join your hearts in love and amity.\nO, what a scandal is it to our crown,\nThat two such noble peers as ye should jar!\nBelieve me, lords, my tender years can tell\nCivil dissension is a viperous worm\nThat gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.\n[A noise within, 'Down with the tawny-coats!']\nWhat tumult's this?\nWARWICK An uproar, I dare warrant,\nBegun through malice of the bishop's men.\n[A noise again, 'Stones! stones!' Enter Mayor]\nMayor O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,\nPity the city of London, pity us!\nThe bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,\nForbidden late to carry any weapon,\nHave fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones\nAnd banding themselves in contrary parts\nDo pelt so fast at one another's pate\nThat many have their giddy brains knock'd out:\nOur windows are broke down in every street\nAnd we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.\n[Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates]\nKING HENRY VI We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,\nTo hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.\nPray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.\nFirst Serving-man Nay, if we be forbidden stones,\nWe'll fall to it with our teeth.\nSecond Serving-man Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.\n[Skirmish again]\nGLOUCESTER You of my household, leave this peevish broil\nAnd set this unaccustom'd fight aside.\nThird Serving-man My lord, we know your grace to be a man\nJust and upright; and, for your royal birth,\nInferior to none but to his majesty:\nAnd ere that we will suffer such a prince,\nSo kind a father of the commonweal,\nTo be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,\nWe and our wives and children all will fight\nAnd have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.\nFirst Serving-man Ay, and the very parings of our nails\nShall pitch a field when we are dead.\n[Begin again]\nGLOUCESTER Stay, stay, I say!\nAnd if you love me, as you say you do,\nLet me persuade you to forbear awhile.\nKING HENRY VI O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!\nCan you, my Lord of Winchester, behold\nMy sighs and tears and will not once relent?\nWho should be pitiful, if you be not?\nOr who should study to prefer a peace.\nIf holy churchmen take delight in broils?\nWARWICK Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;\nExcept you mean with obstinate repulse\nTo slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.\nYou see what mischief and what murder too\nHath been enacted through your enmity;\nThen be at peace except ye thirst for blood.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER He shall submit, or I will never yield.\nGLOUCESTER Compassion on the king commands me stoop;\nOr I would see his heart out, ere the priest\nShould ever get that privilege of me.\nWARWICK Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke\nHath banish'd moody discontented fury,\nAs by his smoothed brows it doth appear:\nWhy look you still so stern and tragical?\nGLOUCESTER Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.\nKING HENRY VI Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach\nThat malice was a great and grievous sin;\nAnd will not you maintain the thing you teach,\nBut prove a chief offender in the same?\nWARWICK Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.\nFor shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!\nWhat, shall a child instruct you what to do?\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;\nLove for thy love and hand for hand I give.\nGLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.--\nSee here, my friends and loving countrymen,\nThis token serveth for a flag of truce\nBetwixt ourselves and all our followers:\nSo help me God, as I dissemble not!\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not!\nKING HENRY VI O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,\nHow joyful am I made by this contract!\nAway, my masters! trouble us no more;\nBut join in friendship, as your lords have done.\nFirst Serving-man Content: I'll to the surgeon's.\nSecond Serving-man And so will I.\nThird Serving-man And I will see what physic the tavern affords.\n[Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c]\nWARWICK Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,\nWhich in the right of Richard Plantagenet\nWe do exhibit to your majesty.\nGLOUCESTER Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: or sweet prince,\nAnd if your grace mark every circumstance,\nYou have great reason to do Richard right;\nEspecially for those occasions\nAt Eltham Place I told your majesty.\nKING HENRY VI And those occasions, uncle, were of force:\nTherefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is\nThat Richard be restored to his blood.\nWARWICK Let Richard be restored to his blood;\nSo shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.\nKING HENRY VI If Richard will be true, not that alone\nBut all the whole inheritance I give\nThat doth belong unto the house of York,\nFrom whence you spring by lineal descent.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET Thy humble servant vows obedience\nAnd humble service till the point of death.\nKING HENRY VI Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;\nAnd, in reguerdon of that duty done,\nI gird thee with the valiant sword of York:\nRise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,\nAnd rise created princely Duke of York.\nRICHARD\nPLANTAGENET And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!\nAnd as my duty springs, so perish they\nThat grudge one thought against your majesty!\nALL Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!\nSOMERSET [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!\nGLOUCESTER Now will it best avail your majesty\nTo cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:\nThe presence of a king engenders love\nAmongst his subjects and his loyal friends,\nAs it disanimates his enemies.\nKING HENRY VI When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;\nFor friendly counsel cuts off many foes.\nGLOUCESTER Your ships already are in readiness.\n[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER]\nEXETER Ay, we may march in England or in France,\nNot seeing what is likely to ensue.\nThis late dissension grown betwixt the peers\nBurns under feigned ashes of forged love\nAnd will at last break out into a flame:\nAs fester'd members rot but by degree,\nTill bones and flesh and sinews fall away,\nSo will this base and envious discord breed.\nAnd now I fear that fatal prophecy\nWhich in the time of Henry named the Fifth\nWas in the mouth of every sucking babe;\nThat Henry born at Monmouth should win all\nAnd Henry born at Windsor lose all:\nWhich is so plain that Exeter doth wish\nHis days may finish ere that hapless time.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT III\nSCENE II France. Before Rouen.\n[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers\nwith sacks upon their backs]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,\nThrough which our policy must make a breach:\nTake heed, be wary how you place your words;\nTalk like the vulgar sort of market men\nThat come to gather money for their corn.\nIf we have entrance, as I hope we shall,\nAnd that we find the slothful watch but weak,\nI'll by a sign give notice to our friends,\nThat Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.\nFirst Soldier Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,\nAnd we be lords and rulers over Rouen;\nTherefore we'll knock.\n[Knocks]\nWatch [Within] Qui est la?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Paysans, pauvres gens de France;\nPoor market folks that come to sell their corn.\nWatch Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.\n[Exeunt]\n[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON,\nREIGNIER, and forces]\nCHARLES Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!\nAnd once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;\nNow she is there, how will she specify\nWhere is the best and safest passage in?\nREIGNIER By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;\nWhich, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,\nNo way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.\n[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a\ntorch burning]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Behold, this is the happy wedding torch\nThat joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,\nBut burning fatal to the Talbotites!\n[Exit]\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;\nThe burning torch in yonder turret stands.\nCHARLES Now shine it like a comet of revenge,\nA prophet to the fall of all our foes!\nREIGNIER Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;\nEnter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,\nAnd then do execution on the watch.\n[Alarum. Exeunt]\n[An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion]\nTALBOT France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,\nIf Talbot but survive thy treachery.\nPucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,\nHath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,\nThat hardly we escaped the pride of France.\n[Exit]\n[An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick\nin a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without:\nwithin JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,\nALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?\nI think the Duke of Burgundy will fast\nBefore he'll buy again at such a rate:\n'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?\nBURGUNDY Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!\nI trust ere long to choke thee with thine own\nAnd make thee curse the harvest of that corn.\nCHARLES Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.\nBEDFORD O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!\nJOAN LA PUCELLE What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,\nAnd run a tilt at death within a chair?\nTALBOT Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,\nEncompass'd with thy lustful paramours!\nBecomes it thee to taunt his valiant age\nAnd twit with cowardice a man half dead?\nDamsel, I'll have a bout with you again,\nOr else let Talbot perish with this shame.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;\nIf Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.\n[The English whisper together in council]\nGod speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?\nTALBOT Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,\nTo try if that our own be ours or no.\nTALBOT I speak not to that railing Hecate,\nBut unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;\nWill ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?\nALENCON Signior, no.\nTALBOT Signior, hang! base muleters of France!\nLike peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls\nAnd dare not take up arms like gentlemen.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;\nFor Talbot means no goodness by his looks.\nGod be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you\nThat we are here.\n[Exeunt from the walls]\nTALBOT And there will we be too, ere it be long,\nOr else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!\nVow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,\nPrick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,\nEither to get the town again or die:\nAnd I, as sure as English Henry lives\nAnd as his father here was conqueror,\nAs sure as in this late-betrayed town\nGreat Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,\nSo sure I swear to get the town or die.\nBURGUNDY My vows are equal partners with thy vows.\nTALBOT But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,\nThe valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,\nWe will bestow you in some better place,\nFitter for sickness and for crazy age.\nBEDFORD Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:\nHere will I sit before the walls of Rouen\nAnd will be partner of your weal or woe.\nBURGUNDY Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.\nBEDFORD Not to be gone from hence; for once I read\nThat stout Pendragon in his litter sick\nCame to the field and vanquished his foes:\nMethinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,\nBecause I ever found them as myself.\nTALBOT Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!\nThen be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!\nAnd now no more ado, brave Burgundy,\nBut gather we our forces out of hand\nAnd set upon our boasting enemy.\n[Exeunt all but BEDFORD and Attendants]\n[An alarum: excursions. Enter FASTOLFE and\na Captain]\nCaptain Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?\nFASTOLFE Whither away! to save myself by flight:\nWe are like to have the overthrow again.\nCaptain What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?\nFASTOLFE Ay,\nAll the Talbots in the world, to save my life!\n[Exit]\nCaptain Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!\n[Exit]\n[Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,\nand CHARLES fly]\nBEDFORD Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,\nFor I have seen our enemies' overthrow.\nWhat is the trust or strength of foolish man?\nThey that of late were daring with their scoffs\nAre glad and fain by flight to save themselves.\n[BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair]\n[An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest]\nTALBOT Lost, and recover'd in a day again!\nThis is a double honour, Burgundy:\nYet heavens have glory for this victory!\nBURGUNDY Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy\nEnshrines thee in his heart and there erects\nThy noble deeds as valour's monuments.\nTALBOT Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?\nI think her old familiar is asleep:\nNow where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?\nWhat, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief\nThat such a valiant company are fled.\nNow will we take some order in the town,\nPlacing therein some expert officers,\nAnd then depart to Paris to the king,\nFor there young Henry with his nobles lie.\nBURGUNDY What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.\nTALBOT But yet, before we go, let's not forget\nThe noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,\nBut see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen:\nA braver soldier never couched lance,\nA gentler heart did never sway in court;\nBut kings and mightiest potentates must die,\nFor that's the end of human misery.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT III\nSCENE III The plains near Rouen.\n[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN\nLA PUCELLE, and forces]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Dismay not, princes, at this accident,\nNor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:\nCare is no cure, but rather corrosive,\nFor things that are not to be remedied.\nLet frantic Talbot triumph for a while\nAnd like a peacock sweep along his tail;\nWe'll pull his plumes and take away his train,\nIf Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.\nCHARLES We have been guided by thee hitherto,\nAnd of thy cunning had no diffidence:\nOne sudden foil shall never breed distrust.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Search out thy wit for secret policies,\nAnd we will make thee famous through the world.\nALENCON We'll set thy statue in some holy place,\nAnd have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:\nEmploy thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:\nBy fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words\nWe will entice the Duke of Burgundy\nTo leave the Talbot and to follow us.\nCHARLES Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,\nFrance were no place for Henry's warriors;\nNor should that nation boast it so with us,\nBut be extirped from our provinces.\nALENCON For ever should they be expulsed from France\nAnd not have title of an earldom here.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Your honours shall perceive how I will work\nTo bring this matter to the wished end.\n[Drum sounds afar off]\nHark! by the sound of drum you may perceive\nTheir powers are marching unto Paris-ward.\n[Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over\nat a distance, TALBOT and his forces]\nThere goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,\nAnd all the troops of English after him.\n[French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces]\nNow in the rearward comes the duke and his:\nFortune in favour makes him lag behind.\nSummon a parley; we will talk with him.\n[Trumpets sound a parley]\nCHARLES A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!\nBURGUNDY Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.\nBURGUNDY What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.\nCHARLES Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!\nStay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.\nBURGUNDY Speak on; but be not over-tedious.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Look on thy country, look on fertile France,\nAnd see the cities and the towns defaced\nBy wasting ruin of the cruel foe.\nAs looks the mother on her lowly babe\nWhen death doth close his tender dying eyes,\nSee, see the pining malady of France;\nBehold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,\nWhich thou thyself hast given her woful breast.\nO, turn thy edged sword another way;\nStrike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.\nOne drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom\nShould grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:\nReturn thee therefore with a flood of tears,\nAnd wash away thy country's stained spots.\nBURGUNDY Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,\nOr nature makes me suddenly relent.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,\nDoubting thy birth and lawful progeny.\nWho joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation\nThat will not trust thee but for profit's sake?\nWhen Talbot hath set footing once in France\nAnd fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,\nWho then but English Henry will be lord\nAnd thou be thrust out like a fugitive?\nCall we to mind, and mark but this for proof,\nWas not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?\nAnd was he not in England prisoner?\nBut when they heard he was thine enemy,\nThey set him free without his ransom paid,\nIn spite of Burgundy and all his friends.\nSee, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen\nAnd joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.\nCome, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:\nCharles and the rest will take thee in their arms.\nBURGUNDY I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers\nHave batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,\nAnd made me almost yield upon my knees.\nForgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,\nAnd, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:\nMy forces and my power of men are yours:\nSo farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE [Aside] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!\nCHARLES Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS And doth beget new courage in our breasts.\nALENCON Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,\nAnd doth deserve a coronet of gold.\nCHARLES Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,\nAnd seek how we may prejudice the foe.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT III\nSCENE IV Paris. The palace.\n[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,\nEXETER, VERNON BASSET, and others. To them\nwith his Soldiers, TALBOT]\nTALBOT My gracious prince, and honourable peers,\nHearing of your arrival in this realm,\nI have awhile given truce unto my wars,\nTo do my duty to my sovereign:\nIn sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd\nTo your obedience fifty fortresses,\nTwelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,\nBeside five hundred prisoners of esteem,\nLets fall his sword before your highness' feet,\nAnd with submissive loyalty of heart\nAscribes the glory of his conquest got\nFirst to my God and next unto your grace.\n[Kneels]\nKING HENRY VI Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,\nThat hath so long been resident in France?\nGLOUCESTER Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.\nKING HENRY VI Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!\nWhen I was young, as yet I am not old,\nI do remember how my father said\nA stouter champion never handled sword.\nLong since we were resolved of your truth,\nYour faithful service and your toil in war;\nYet never have you tasted our reward,\nOr been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,\nBecause till now we never saw your face:\nTherefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,\nWe here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;\nAnd in our coronation take your place.\n[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET]\nVERNON Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,\nDisgracing of these colours that I wear\nIn honour of my noble Lord of York:\nDarest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?\nBASSET Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage\nThe envious barking of your saucy tongue\nAgainst my lord the Duke of Somerset.\nVERNON Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.\nBASSET Why, what is he? as good a man as York.\nVERNON Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.\n[Strikes him]\nBASSET Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such\nThat whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death,\nOr else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.\nBut I'll unto his majesty, and crave\nI may have liberty to venge this wrong;\nWhen thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.\nVERNON Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;\nAnd, after, meet you sooner than you would.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE I Paris. A hall of state.\n[Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF\nWINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,\nTALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others]\nGLOUCESTER Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.\nBISHOP\nOF WINCHESTER God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!\nGLOUCESTER Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,\nThat you elect no other king but him;\nEsteem none friends but such as are his friends,\nAnd none your foes but such as shall pretend\nMalicious practises against his state:\nThis shall ye do, so help you righteous God!\n[Enter FASTOLFE]\nFASTOLFE My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,\nTo haste unto your coronation,\nA letter was deliver'd to my hands,\nWrit to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.\nTALBOT Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!\nI vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,\nTo tear the garter from thy craven's leg,\n[Plucking it off]\nWhich I have done, because unworthily\nThou wast installed in that high degree.\nPardon me, princely Henry, and the rest\nThis dastard, at the battle of Patay,\nWhen but in all I was six thousand strong\nAnd that the French were almost ten to one,\nBefore we met or that a stroke was given,\nLike to a trusty squire did run away:\nIn which assault we lost twelve hundred men;\nMyself and divers gentlemen beside\nWere there surprised and taken prisoners.\nThen judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;\nOr whether that such cowards ought to wear\nThis ornament of knighthood, yea or no.\nGLOUCESTER To say the truth, this fact was infamous\nAnd ill beseeming any common man,\nMuch more a knight, a captain and a leader.\nTALBOT When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,\nKnights of the garter were of noble birth,\nValiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,\nSuch as were grown to credit by the wars;\nNot fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,\nBut always resolute in most extremes.\nHe then that is not furnish'd in this sort\nDoth but usurp the sacred name of knight,\nProfaning this most honourable order,\nAnd should, if I were worthy to be judge,\nBe quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain\nThat doth presume to boast of gentle blood.\nKING HENRY VI Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!\nBe packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:\nHenceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.\n[Exit FASTOLFE]\nAnd now, my lord protector, view the letter\nSent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.\nGLOUCESTER What means his grace, that he hath changed his style?\nNo more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!'\nHath he forgot he is his sovereign?\nOr doth this churlish superscription\nPretend some alteration in good will?\nWhat's here?\n[Reads]\n'I have, upon especial cause,\nMoved with compassion of my country's wreck,\nTogether with the pitiful complaints\nOf such as your oppression feeds upon,\nForsaken your pernicious faction\nAnd join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'\nO monstrous treachery! can this be so,\nThat in alliance, amity and oaths,\nThere should be found such false dissembling guile?\nKING HENRY VI What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?\nGLOUCESTER He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.\nKING HENRY VI Is that the worst this letter doth contain?\nGLOUCESTER It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.\nKING HENRY VI Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him\nAnd give him chastisement for this abuse.\nHow say you, my lord? are you not content?\nTALBOT Content, my liege! yes, but that I am prevented,\nI should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.\nKING HENRY VI Then gather strength and march unto him straight:\nLet him perceive how ill we brook his treason\nAnd what offence it is to flout his friends.\nTALBOT I go, my lord, in heart desiring still\nYou may behold confusion of your foes.\n[Exit]\n[Enter VERNON and BASSET]\nVERNON Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.\nBASSET And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.\nYORK This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.\nSOMERSET And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.\nKING HENRY VI Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.\nSay, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?\nAnd wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?\nVERNON With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.\nBASSET And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.\nKING HENRY VI What is that wrong whereof you both complain?\nFirst let me know, and then I'll answer you.\nBASSET Crossing the sea from England into France,\nThis fellow here, with envious carping tongue,\nUpbraided me about the rose I wear;\nSaying, the sanguine colour of the leaves\nDid represent my master's blushing cheeks,\nWhen stubbornly he did repugn the truth\nAbout a certain question in the law\nArgued betwixt the Duke of York and him;\nWith other vile and ignominious terms:\nIn confutation of which rude reproach\nAnd in defence of my lord's worthiness,\nI crave the benefit of law of arms.\nVERNON And that is my petition, noble lord:\nFor though he seem with forged quaint conceit\nTo set a gloss upon his bold intent,\nYet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;\nAnd he first took exceptions at this badge,\nPronouncing that the paleness of this flower\nBewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.\nYORK Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?\nSOMERSET Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,\nThough ne'er so cunningly you smother it.\nKING HENRY VI Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,\nWhen for so slight and frivolous a cause\nSuch factious emulations shall arise!\nGood cousins both, of York and Somerset,\nQuiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.\nYORK Let this dissension first be tried by fight,\nAnd then your highness shall command a peace.\nSOMERSET The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;\nBetwixt ourselves let us decide it then.\nYORK There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.\nVERNON Nay, let it rest where it began at first.\nBASSET Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.\nGLOUCESTER Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!\nAnd perish ye, with your audacious prate!\nPresumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed\nWith this immodest clamorous outrage\nTo trouble and disturb the king and us?\nAnd you, my lords, methinks you do not well\nTo bear with their perverse objections;\nMuch less to take occasion from their mouths\nTo raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves:\nLet me persuade you take a better course.\nEXETER It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.\nKING HENRY VI Come hither, you that would be combatants:\nHenceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,\nQuite to forget this quarrel and the cause.\nAnd you, my lords, remember where we are,\nIn France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:\nIf they perceive dissension in our looks\nAnd that within ourselves we disagree,\nHow will their grudging stomachs be provoked\nTo wilful disobedience, and rebel!\nBeside, what infamy will there arise,\nWhen foreign princes shall be certified\nThat for a toy, a thing of no regard,\nKing Henry's peers and chief nobility\nDestroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!\nO, think upon the conquest of my father,\nMy tender years, and let us not forego\nThat for a trifle that was bought with blood\nLet me be umpire in this doubtful strife.\nI see no reason, if I wear this rose,\n[Putting on a red rose]\nThat any one should therefore be suspicious\nI more incline to Somerset than York:\nBoth are my kinsmen, and I love them both:\nAs well they may upbraid me with my crown,\nBecause, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.\nBut your discretions better can persuade\nThan I am able to instruct or teach:\nAnd therefore, as we hither came in peace,\nSo let us still continue peace and love.\nCousin of York, we institute your grace\nTo be our regent in these parts of France:\nAnd, good my Lord of Somerset, unite\nYour troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;\nAnd, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,\nGo cheerfully together and digest.\nYour angry choler on your enemies.\nOurself, my lord protector and the rest\nAfter some respite will return to Calais;\nFrom thence to England; where I hope ere long\nTo be presented, by your victories,\nWith Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.\n[Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER\nand VERNON]\nWARWICK My Lord of York, I promise you, the king\nPrettily, methought, did play the orator.\nYORK And so he did; but yet I like it not,\nIn that he wears the badge of Somerset.\nWARWICK Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;\nI dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.\nYORK An if I wist he did,--but let it rest;\nOther affairs must now be managed.\n[Exeunt all but EXETER]\nEXETER Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;\nFor, had the passions of thy heart burst out,\nI fear we should have seen decipher'd there\nMore rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,\nThan yet can be imagined or supposed.\nBut howsoe'er, no simple man that sees\nThis jarring discord of nobility,\nThis shouldering of each other in the court,\nThis factious bandying of their favourites,\nBut that it doth presage some ill event.\n'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;\nBut more when envy breeds unkind division;\nThere comes the rain, there begins confusion.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE II Before Bourdeaux.\n[Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum]\nTALBOT Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:\nSummon their general unto the wall.\n[Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft]\nEnglish John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,\nServant in arms to Harry King of England;\nAnd thus he would: Open your city gates;\nBe humble to us; call my sovereign yours,\nAnd do him homage as obedient subjects;\nAnd I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:\nBut, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,\nYou tempt the fury of my three attendants,\nLean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;\nWho in a moment even with the earth\nShall lay your stately and air-braving towers,\nIf you forsake the offer of their love.\nGeneral Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,\nOur nation's terror and their bloody scourge!\nThe period of thy tyranny approacheth.\nOn us thou canst not enter but by death;\nFor, I protest, we are well fortified\nAnd strong enough to issue out and fight:\nIf thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,\nStands with the snares of war to tangle thee:\nOn either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,\nTo wall thee from the liberty of flight;\nAnd no way canst thou turn thee for redress,\nBut death doth front thee with apparent spoil\nAnd pale destruction meets thee in the face.\nTen thousand French have ta'en the sacrament\nTo rive their dangerous artillery\nUpon no Christian soul but English Talbot.\nLo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,\nOf an invincible unconquer'd spirit!\nThis is the latest glory of thy praise\nThat I, thy enemy, due thee withal;\nFor ere the glass, that now begins to run,\nFinish the process of his sandy hour,\nThese eyes, that see thee now well coloured,\nShall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.\n[Drum afar off]\nHark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,\nSings heavy music to thy timorous soul;\nAnd mine shall ring thy dire departure out.\n[Exeunt General, &c]\nTALBOT He fables not; I hear the enemy:\nOut, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.\nO, negligent and heedless discipline!\nHow are we park'd and bounded in a pale,\nA little herd of England's timorous deer,\nMazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!\nIf we be English deer, be then in blood;\nNot rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,\nBut rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,\nTurn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel\nAnd make the cowards stand aloof at bay:\nSell every man his life as dear as mine,\nAnd they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.\nGod and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,\nProsper our colours in this dangerous fight!\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE III Plains in Gascony.\n[Enter a Messenger that meets YORK. Enter YORK\nwith trumpet and many Soldiers]\nYORK Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,\nThat dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?\nMessenger They are return'd, my lord, and give it out\nThat he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,\nTo fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,\nBy your espials were discovered\nTwo mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,\nWhich join'd with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.\nYORK A plague upon that villain Somerset,\nThat thus delays my promised supply\nOf horsemen, that were levied for this siege!\nRenowned Talbot doth expect my aid,\nAnd I am lowted by a traitor villain\nAnd cannot help the noble chevalier:\nGod comfort him in this necessity!\nIf he miscarry, farewell wars in France.\n[Enter Sir William LUCY]\nLUCY Thou princely leader of our English strength,\nNever so needful on the earth of France,\nSpur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,\nWho now is girdled with a waist of iron\nAnd hemm'd about with grim destruction:\nTo Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!\nElse, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.\nYORK O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart\nDoth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!\nSo should we save a valiant gentleman\nBy forfeiting a traitor and a coward.\nMad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,\nThat thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.\nLUCY O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!\nYORK He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;\nWe mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;\nAll 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.\nLUCY Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul;\nAnd on his son young John, who two hours since\nI met in travel toward his warlike father!\nThis seven years did not Talbot see his son;\nAnd now they meet where both their lives are done.\nYORK Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have\nTo bid his young son welcome to his grave?\nAway! vexation almost stops my breath,\nThat sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.\nLucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,\nBut curse the cause I cannot aid the man.\nMaine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,\n'Long all of Somerset and his delay.\n[Exit, with his soldiers]\nLUCY Thus, while the vulture of sedition\nFeeds in the bosom of such great commanders,\nSleeping neglection doth betray to loss\nThe conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,\nThat ever living man of memory,\nHenry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,\nLives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE IV Other plains in Gascony.\n[Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of\nTALBOT's with him]\nSOMERSET It is too late; I cannot send them now:\nThis expedition was by York and Talbot\nToo rashly plotted: all our general force\nMight with a sally of the very town\nBe buckled with: the over-daring Talbot\nHath sullied all his gloss of former honour\nBy this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:\nYork set him on to fight and die in shame,\nThat, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.\nCaptain Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me\nSet from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.\n[Enter Sir William LUCY]\nSOMERSET How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?\nLUCY Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;\nWho, ring'd about with bold adversity,\nCries out for noble York and Somerset,\nTo beat assailing death from his weak legions:\nAnd whiles the honourable captain there\nDrops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,\nAnd, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,\nYou, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,\nKeep off aloof with worthless emulation.\nLet not your private discord keep away\nThe levied succors that should lend him aid,\nWhile he, renowned noble gentleman,\nYields up his life unto a world of odds:\nOrleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,\nAlencon, Reignier, compass him about,\nAnd Talbot perisheth by your default.\nSOMERSET York set him on; York should have sent him aid.\nLUCY And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;\nSwearing that you withhold his levied host,\nCollected for this expedition.\nSOMERSET York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;\nI owe him little duty, and less love;\nAnd take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.\nLUCY The fraud of England, not the force of France,\nHath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:\nNever to England shall he bear his life;\nBut dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.\nSOMERSET Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:\nWithin six hours they will be at his aid.\nLUCY Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;\nFor fly he could not, if he would have fled;\nAnd fly would Talbot never, though he might.\nSOMERSET If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!\nLUCY His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE V The English camp near Bourdeaux.\n[Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son]\nTALBOT O young John Talbot! I did send for thee\nTo tutor thee in stratagems of war,\nThat Talbot's name might be in thee revived\nWhen sapless age and weak unable limbs\nShould bring thy father to his drooping chair.\nBut, O malignant and ill-boding stars!\nNow thou art come unto a feast of death,\nA terrible and unavoided danger:\nTherefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;\nAnd I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape\nBy sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.\nJOHN TALBOT Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?\nAnd shall I fly? O if you love my mother,\nDishonour not her honourable name,\nTo make a bastard and a slave of me!\nThe world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,\nThat basely fled when noble Talbot stood.\nTALBOT Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.\nJOHN TALBOT He that flies so will ne'er return again.\nTALBOT If we both stay, we both are sure to die.\nJOHN TALBOT Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:\nYour loss is great, so your regard should be;\nMy worth unknown, no loss is known in me.\nUpon my death the French can little boast;\nIn yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.\nFlight cannot stain the honour you have won;\nBut mine it will, that no exploit have done:\nYou fled for vantage, everyone will swear;\nBut, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.\nThere is no hope that ever I will stay,\nIf the first hour I shrink and run away.\nHere on my knee I beg mortality,\nRather than life preserved with infamy.\nTALBOT Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?\nJOHN TALBOT Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.\nTALBOT Upon my blessing, I command thee go.\nJOHN TALBOT To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.\nTALBOT Part of thy father may be saved in thee.\nJOHN TALBOT No part of him but will be shame in me.\nTALBOT Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.\nJOHN TALBOT Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?\nTALBOT Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.\nJOHN TALBOT You cannot witness for me, being slain.\nIf death be so apparent, then both fly.\nTALBOT And leave my followers here to fight and die?\nMy age was never tainted with such shame.\nJOHN TALBOT And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?\nNo more can I be sever'd from your side,\nThan can yourself yourself in twain divide:\nStay, go, do what you will, the like do I;\nFor live I will not, if my father die.\nTALBOT Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,\nBorn to eclipse thy life this afternoon.\nCome, side by side together live and die.\nAnd soul with soul from France to heaven fly.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE VI A field of battle.\n[Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT is\nhemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him]\nTALBOT Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.\nThe regent hath with Talbot broke his word\nAnd left us to the rage of France his sword.\nWhere is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath;\nI gave thee life and rescued thee from death.\nJOHN TALBOT O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!\nThe life thou gavest me first was lost and done,\nTill with thy warlike sword, despite of late,\nTo my determined time thou gavest new date.\nTALBOT When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,\nIt warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire\nOf bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,\nQuicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,\nBeat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,\nAnd from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.\nThe ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood\nFrom thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood\nOf thy first fight, I soon encountered,\nAnd interchanging blows I quickly shed\nSome of his bastard blood; and in disgrace\nBespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base\nAnd misbegotten blood I spill of thine,\nMean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine\nWhich thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'\nHere, purposing the Bastard to destroy,\nCame in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,\nArt thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?\nWilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,\nNow thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?\nFly, to revenge my death when I am dead:\nThe help of one stands me in little stead.\nO, too much folly is it, well I wot,\nTo hazard all our lives in one small boat!\nIf I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,\nTo-morrow I shall die with mickle age:\nBy me they nothing gain an if I stay;\n'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:\nIn thee thy mother dies, our household's name,\nMy death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:\nAll these and more we hazard by thy stay;\nAll these are saved if thou wilt fly away.\nJOHN TALBOT The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;\nThese words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:\nOn that advantage, bought with such a shame,\nTo save a paltry life and slay bright fame,\nBefore young Talbot from old Talbot fly,\nThe coward horse that bears me fail and die!\nAnd like me to the peasant boys of France,\nTo be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!\nSurely, by all the glory you have won,\nAn if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:\nThen talk no more of flight, it is no boot;\nIf son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.\nTALBOT Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,\nThou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:\nIf thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;\nAnd, commendable proved, let's die in pride.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT IV\nSCENE VII Another part of the field.\n[Alarum: excursions. Enter TALBOT led by a Servant]\nTALBOT Where is my other life? mine own is gone;\nO, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?\nTriumphant death, smear'd with captivity,\nYoung Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:\nWhen he perceived me shrink and on my knee,\nHis bloody sword he brandish'd over me,\nAnd, like a hungry lion, did commence\nRough deeds of rage and stern impatience;\nBut when my angry guardant stood alone,\nTendering my ruin and assail'd of none,\nDizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart\nSuddenly made him from my side to start\nInto the clustering battle of the French;\nAnd in that sea of blood my boy did drench\nHis over-mounting spirit, and there died,\nMy Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.\nServant O, my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!\n[Enter Soldiers, with the body of JOHN TALBOT]\nTALBOT Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,\nAnon, from thy insulting tyranny,\nCoupled in bonds of perpetuity,\nTwo Talbots, winged through the lither sky,\nIn thy despite shall 'scape mortality.\nO, thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,\nSpeak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!\nBrave death by speaking, whether he will or no;\nImagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.\nPoor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,\nHad death been French, then death had died to-day.\nCome, come and lay him in his father's arms:\nMy spirit can no longer bear these harms.\nSoldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,\nNow my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.\n[Dies]\n[Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF\nORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]\nCHARLES Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,\nWe should have found a bloody day of this.\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,\nDid flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:\n'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:'\nBut, with a proud majestical high scorn,\nHe answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born\nTo be the pillage of a giglot wench:'\nSo, rushing in the bowels of the French,\nHe left me proudly, as unworthy fight.\nBURGUNDY Doubtless he would have made a noble knight;\nSee, where he lies inhearsed in the arms\nOf the most bloody nurser of his harms!\nBASTARD OF ORLEANS Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder\nWhose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.\nCHARLES O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled\nDuring the life, let us not wrong it dead.\n[Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the\nFrench preceding]\nLUCY Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,\nTo know who hath obtained the glory of the day.\nCHARLES On what submissive message art thou sent?\nLUCY Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French word;\nWe English warriors wot not what it means.\nI come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en\nAnd to survey the bodies of the dead.\nCHARLES For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.\nBut tell me whom thou seek'st.\nLUCY But where's the great Alcides of the field,\nValiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,\nCreated, for his rare success in arms,\nGreat Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;\nLord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,\nLord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,\nLord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,\nThe thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;\nKnight of the noble order of Saint George,\nWorthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;\nGreat marshal to Henry the Sixth\nOf all his wars within the realm of France?\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Here is a silly stately style indeed!\nThe Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,\nWrites not so tedious a style as this.\nHim that thou magnifiest with all these titles\nStinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.\nLUCY Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,\nYour kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?\nO, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,\nThat I in rage might shoot them at your faces!\nO, that I could but call these dead to life!\nIt were enough to fright the realm of France:\nWere but his picture left amongst you here,\nIt would amaze the proudest of you all.\nGive me their bodies, that I may bear them hence\nAnd give them burial as beseems their worth.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,\nHe speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.\nFor God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them here,\nThey would but stink, and putrefy the air.\nCHARLES Go, take their bodies hence.\nLUCY I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd\nA phoenix that shall make all France afeard.\nCHARLES So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt.\nAnd now to Paris, in this conquering vein:\nAll will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT V\nSCENE I London. The palace.\n[Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER]\nKING HENRY VI Have you perused the letters from the pope,\nThe emperor and the Earl of Armagnac?\nGLOUCESTER I have, my lord: and their intent is this:\nThey humbly sue unto your excellence\nTo have a godly peace concluded of\nBetween the realms of England and of France.\nKING HENRY VI How doth your grace affect their motion?\nGLOUCESTER Well, my good lord; and as the only means\nTo stop effusion of our Christian blood\nAnd 'stablish quietness on every side.\nKING HENRY VI Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought\nIt was both impious and unnatural\nThat such immanity and bloody strife\nShould reign among professors of one faith.\nGLOUCESTER Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect\nAnd surer bind this knot of amity,\nThe Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,\nA man of great authority in France,\nProffers his only daughter to your grace\nIn marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.\nKING HENRY VI Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!\nAnd fitter is my study and my books\nThan wanton dalliance with a paramour.\nYet call the ambassador; and, as you please,\nSo let them have their answers every one:\nI shall be well content with any choice\nTends to God's glory and my country's weal.\n[Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER in Cardinal's habit,\na Legate and two Ambassadors]\nEXETER What! is my Lord of Winchester install'd,\nAnd call'd unto a cardinal's degree?\nThen I perceive that will be verified\nHenry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,\n'If once he come to be a cardinal,\nHe'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'\nKING HENRY VI My lords ambassadors, your several suits\nHave been consider'd and debated on.\nAnd therefore are we certainly resolved\nTo draw conditions of a friendly peace;\nWhich by my Lord of Winchester we mean\nShall be transported presently to France.\nGLOUCESTER And for the proffer of my lord your master,\nI have inform'd his highness so at large\nAs liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,\nHer beauty and the value of her dower,\nHe doth intend she shall be England's queen.\nKING HENRY VI In argument and proof of which contract,\nBear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.\nAnd so, my lord protector, see them guarded\nAnd safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd\nCommit them to the fortune of the sea.\n[Exeunt all but CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate]\nCARDINAL\nOF WINCHESTER Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive\nThe sum of money which I promised\nShould be deliver'd to his holiness\nFor clothing me in these grave ornaments.\nLegate I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.\nCARDINAL\nOF WINCHESTER [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,\nOr be inferior to the proudest peer.\nHumphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive\nThat, neither in birth or for authority,\nThe bishop will be overborne by thee:\nI'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,\nOr sack this country with a mutiny.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT V\nSCENE II France. Plains in Anjou.\n[Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF\nORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces]\nCHARLES These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:\n'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt\nAnd turn again unto the warlike French.\nALENCON Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,\nAnd keep not back your powers in dalliance.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;\nElse, ruin combat with their palaces!\n[Enter Scout]\nScout Success unto our valiant general,\nAnd happiness to his accomplices!\nCHARLES What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.\nScout The English army, that divided was\nInto two parties, is now conjoined in one,\nAnd means to give you battle presently.\nCHARLES Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;\nBut we will presently provide for them.\nBURGUNDY I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:\nNow he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.\nCommand the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,\nLet Henry fret and all the world repine.\nCHARLES Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT V\nSCENE III Before Angiers.\n[Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]\nJOAN LA PUCELLE The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.\nNow help, ye charming spells and periapts;\nAnd ye choice spirits that admonish me\nAnd give me signs of future accidents.\n[Thunder]\nYou speedy helpers, that are substitutes\nUnder the lordly monarch of the north,\nAppear and aid me in this enterprise.\n[Enter Fiends]\nThis speedy and quick appearance argues proof\nOf your accustom'd diligence to me.\nNow, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd\nOut of the powerful regions under earth,\nHelp me this once, that France may get the field.\n[They walk, and speak not]\nO, hold me not with silence over-long!\nWhere I was wont to feed you with my blood,\nI'll lop a member off and give it you\nIn earnest of further benefit,\nSo you do condescend to help me now.\n[They hang their heads]\nNo hope to have redress? My body shall\nPay recompense, if you will grant my suit.\n[They shake their heads]\nCannot my body nor blood-sacrifice\nEntreat you to your wonted furtherance?\nThen take my soul, my body, soul and all,\nBefore that England give the French the foil.\n[They depart]\nSee, they forsake me! Now the time is come\nThat France must vail her lofty-plumed crest\nAnd let her head fall into England's lap.\nMy ancient incantations are too weak,\nAnd hell too strong for me to buckle with:\nNow, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.\n[Exit]\n[Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand\nto hand with YORK JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The\nFrench fly]\nYORK Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:\nUnchain your spirits now with spelling charms\nAnd try if they can gain your liberty.\nA goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!\nSee, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,\nAs if with Circe she would change my shape!\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.\nYORK O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;\nNo shape but his can please your dainty eye.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!\nAnd may ye both be suddenly surprised\nBy bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!\nYORK Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!\nJOAN LA PUCELLE I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.\nYORK Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.\n[Exeunt]\n[Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand]\nSUFFOLK Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.\n[Gazes on her]\nO fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!\nFor I will touch thee but with reverent hands;\nI kiss these fingers for eternal peace,\nAnd lay them gently on thy tender side.\nWho art thou? say, that I may honour thee.\nMARGARET Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,\nThe King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.\nSUFFOLK An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.\nBe not offended, nature's miracle,\nThou art allotted to be ta'en by me:\nSo doth the swan her downy cygnets save,\nKeeping them prisoner underneath her wings.\nYet, if this servile usage once offend.\nGo, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.\n[She is going]\nO, stay! I have no power to let her pass;\nMy hand would free her, but my heart says no\nAs plays the sun upon the glassy streams,\nTwinkling another counterfeited beam,\nSo seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.\nFain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:\nI'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.\nFie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;\nHast not a tongue? is she not here?\nWilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?\nAy, beauty's princely majesty is such,\nConfounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.\nMARGARET Say, Earl of Suffolk--if thy name be so--\nWhat ransom must I pay before I pass?\nFor I perceive I am thy prisoner.\nSUFFOLK How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit,\nBefore thou make a trial of her love?\nMARGARET Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?\nSUFFOLK She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;\nShe is a woman, therefore to be won.\nMARGARET Wilt thou accept of ransom? yea, or no.\nSUFFOLK Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife;\nThen how can Margaret be thy paramour?\nMARGARET I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.\nSUFFOLK There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.\nMARGARET He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.\nSUFFOLK And yet a dispensation may be had.\nMARGARET And yet I would that you would answer me.\nSUFFOLK I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?\nWhy, for my king: tush, that's a wooden thing!\nMARGARET He talks of wood: it is some carpenter.\nSUFFOLK Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,\nAnd peace established between these realms\nBut there remains a scruple in that too;\nFor though her father be the King of Naples,\nDuke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,\nAnd our nobility will scorn the match.\nMARGARET Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?\nSUFFOLK It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.\nHenry is youthful and will quickly yield.\nMadam, I have a secret to reveal.\nMARGARET What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,\nAnd will not any way dishonour me.\nSUFFOLK Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.\nMARGARET Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;\nAnd then I need not crave his courtesy.\nSUFFOLK Sweet madam, give me a hearing in a cause--\nMARGARET Tush, women have been captivate ere now.\nSUFFOLK Lady, wherefore talk you so?\nMARGARET I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Quo.\nSUFFOLK Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose\nYour bondage happy, to be made a queen?\nMARGARET To be a queen in bondage is more vile\nThan is a slave in base servility;\nFor princes should be free.\nSUFFOLK And so shall you,\nIf happy England's royal king be free.\nMARGARET Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?\nSUFFOLK I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,\nTo put a golden sceptre in thy hand\nAnd set a precious crown upon thy head,\nIf thou wilt condescend to be my--\nMARGARET What?\nSUFFOLK His love.\nMARGARET I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.\nSUFFOLK No, gentle madam; I unworthy am\nTo woo so fair a dame to be his wife,\nAnd have no portion in the choice myself.\nHow say you, madam, are ye so content?\nMARGARET An if my father please, I am content.\nSUFFOLK Then call our captains and our colours forth.\nAnd, madam, at your father's castle walls\nWe'll crave a parley, to confer with him.\n[A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the walls]\nSee, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!\nREIGNIER To whom?\nSUFFOLK To me.\nREIGNIER Suffolk, what remedy?\nI am a soldier, and unapt to weep,\nOr to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.\nSUFFOLK Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:\nConsent, and for thy honour give consent,\nThy daughter shall be wedded to my king;\nWhom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;\nAnd this her easy-held imprisonment\nHath gained thy daughter princely liberty.\nREIGNIER Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?\nSUFFOLK Fair Margaret knows\nThat Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.\nREIGNIER Upon thy princely warrant, I descend\nTo give thee answer of thy just demand.\n[Exit from the walls]\nSUFFOLK And here I will expect thy coming.\n[Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER, below]\nREIGNIER Welcome, brave earl, into our territories:\nCommand in Anjou what your honour pleases.\nSUFFOLK Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,\nFit to be made companion with a king:\nWhat answer makes your grace unto my suit?\nREIGNIER Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth\nTo be the princely bride of such a lord;\nUpon condition I may quietly\nEnjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,\nFree from oppression or the stroke of war,\nMy daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.\nSUFFOLK That is her ransom; I deliver her;\nAnd those two counties I will undertake\nYour grace shall well and quietly enjoy.\nREIGNIER And I again, in Henry's royal name,\nAs deputy unto that gracious king,\nGive thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.\nSUFFOLK Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,\nBecause this is in traffic of a king.\n[Aside]\nAnd yet, methinks, I could be well content\nTo be mine own attorney in this case.\nI'll over then to England with this news,\nAnd make this marriage to be solemnized.\nSo farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe\nIn golden palaces, as it becomes.\nREIGNIER I do embrace thee, as I would embrace\nThe Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.\nMARGARET Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and prayers\nShall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.\n[Going]\nSUFFOLK Farewell, sweet madam: but hark you, Margaret;\nNo princely commendations to my king?\nMARGARET Such commendations as becomes a maid,\nA virgin and his servant, say to him.\nSUFFOLK Words sweetly placed and modestly directed.\nBut madam, I must trouble you again;\nNo loving token to his majesty?\nMARGARET Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart,\nNever yet taint with love, I send the king.\nSUFFOLK And this withal.\n[Kisses her]\nMARGARET That for thyself: I will not so presume\nTo send such peevish tokens to a king.\n[Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET]\nSUFFOLK O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;\nThou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;\nThere Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.\nSolicit Henry with her wondrous praise:\nBethink thee on her virtues that surmount,\nAnd natural graces that extinguish art;\nRepeat their semblance often on the seas,\nThat, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's feet,\nThou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.\n[Exit]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT V\nSCENE IV Camp of the YORK in Anjou.\n[Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others]\nYORK Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to burn.\n[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd]\nShepherd Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!\nHave I sought every country far and near,\nAnd, now it is my chance to find thee out,\nMust I behold thy timeless cruel death?\nAh, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!\nI am descended of a gentler blood:\nThou art no father nor no friend of mine.\nShepherd Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;\nI did beget her, all the parish knows:\nHer mother liveth yet, can testify\nShe was the first fruit of my bachelorship.\nWARWICK Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?\nYORK This argues what her kind of life hath been,\nWicked and vile; and so her death concludes.\nShepherd Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!\nGod knows thou art a collop of my flesh;\nAnd for thy sake have I shed many a tear:\nDeny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man,\nOf purpose to obscure my noble birth.\nShepherd 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest\nThe morn that I was wedded to her mother.\nKneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.\nWilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time\nOf thy nativity! I would the milk\nThy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast,\nHad been a little ratsbane for thy sake!\nOr else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,\nI wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!\nDost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?\nO, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.\n[Exit]\nYORK Take her away; for she hath lived too long,\nTo fill the world with vicious qualities.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:\nNot me begotten of a shepherd swain,\nBut issued from the progeny of kings;\nVirtuous and holy; chosen from above,\nBy inspiration of celestial grace,\nTo work exceeding miracles on earth.\nI never had to do with wicked spirits:\nBut you, that are polluted with your lusts,\nStain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,\nCorrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,\nBecause you want the grace that others have,\nYou judge it straight a thing impossible\nTo compass wonders but by help of devils.\nNo, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been\nA virgin from her tender infancy,\nChaste and immaculate in very thought;\nWhose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,\nWill cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.\nYORK Ay, ay: away with her to execution!\nWARWICK And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,\nSpare for no faggots, let there be enow:\nPlace barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,\nThat so her torture may be shortened.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?\nThen, Joan, discover thine infirmity,\nThat warranteth by law to be thy privilege.\nI am with child, ye bloody homicides:\nMurder not then the fruit within my womb,\nAlthough ye hale me to a violent death.\nYORK Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!\nWARWICK The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:\nIs all your strict preciseness come to this?\nYORK She and the Dauphin have been juggling:\nI did imagine what would be her refuge.\nWARWICK Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;\nEspecially since Charles must father it.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE You are deceived; my child is none of his:\nIt was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.\nYORK Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!\nIt dies, an if it had a thousand lives.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE O, give me leave, I have deluded you:\n'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,\nBut Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.\nWARWICK A married man! that's most intolerable.\nYORK Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well,\nThere were so many, whom she may accuse.\nWARWICK It's sign she hath been liberal and free.\nYORK And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.\nStrumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:\nUse no entreaty, for it is in vain.\nJOAN LA PUCELLE Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:\nMay never glorious sun reflex his beams\nUpon the country where you make abode;\nBut darkness and the gloomy shade of death\nEnviron you, till mischief and despair\nDrive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!\n[Exit, guarded]\nYORK Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,\nThou foul accursed minister of hell!\n[Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER, attended]\nCARDINAL\nOF WINCHESTER Lord regent, I do greet your excellence\nWith letters of commission from the king.\nFor know, my lords, the states of Christendom,\nMoved with remorse of these outrageous broils,\nHave earnestly implored a general peace\nBetwixt our nation and the aspiring French;\nAnd here at hand the Dauphin and his train\nApproacheth, to confer about some matter.\nYORK Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?\nAfter the slaughter of so many peers,\nSo many captains, gentlemen and soldiers,\nThat in this quarrel have been overthrown\nAnd sold their bodies for their country's benefit,\nShall we at last conclude effeminate peace?\nHave we not lost most part of all the towns,\nBy treason, falsehood and by treachery,\nOur great progenitors had conquered?\nO Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief\nThe utter loss of all the realm of France.\nWARWICK Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,\nIt shall be with such strict and severe covenants\nAs little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.\n[Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,\nREIGNIER, and others]\nCHARLES Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed\nThat peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,\nWe come to be informed by yourselves\nWhat the conditions of that league must be.\nYORK Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes\nThe hollow passage of my poison'd voice,\nBy sight of these our baleful enemies.\nCARDINAL\nOF WINCHESTER Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:\nThat, in regard King Henry gives consent,\nOf mere compassion and of lenity,\nTo ease your country of distressful war,\nAnd suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,\nYou shall become true liegemen to his crown:\nAnd Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear\nTo pay him tribute, submit thyself,\nThou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,\nAnd still enjoy thy regal dignity.\nALENCON Must he be then as shadow of himself?\nAdorn his temples with a coronet,\nAnd yet, in substance and authority,\nRetain but privilege of a private man?\nThis proffer is absurd and reasonless.\nCHARLES 'Tis known already that I am possess'd\nWith more than half the Gallian territories,\nAnd therein reverenced for their lawful king:\nShall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,\nDetract so much from that prerogative,\nAs to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?\nNo, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep\nThat which I have than, coveting for more,\nBe cast from possibility of all.\nYORK Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means\nUsed intercession to obtain a league,\nAnd, now the matter grows to compromise,\nStand'st thou aloof upon comparison?\nEither accept the title thou usurp'st,\nOf benefit proceeding from our king\nAnd not of any challenge of desert,\nOr we will plague thee with incessant wars.\nREIGNIER My lord, you do not well in obstinacy\nTo cavil in the course of this contract:\nIf once it be neglected, ten to one\nWe shall not find like opportunity.\nALENCON To say the truth, it is your policy\nTo save your subjects from such massacre\nAnd ruthless slaughters as are daily seen\nBy our proceeding in hostility;\nAnd therefore take this compact of a truce,\nAlthough you break it when your pleasure serves.\nWARWICK How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?\nCHARLES It shall;\nOnly reserved, you claim no interest\nIn any of our towns of garrison.\nYORK Then swear allegiance to his majesty,\nAs thou art knight, never to disobey\nNor be rebellious to the crown of England,\nThou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.\nSo, now dismiss your army when ye please:\nHang up your ensign, let your drums be still,\nFor here we entertain a solemn peace.\n[Exeunt]\n1 KING HENRY VI\nACT V\nSCENE V London. The palace.\n[Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI,\nGLOUCESTER and EXETER]\nKING HENRY VI Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,\nOf beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:\nHer virtues graced with external gifts\nDo breed love's settled passions in my heart:\nAnd like as rigor of tempestuous gusts\nProvokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,\nSo am I driven by breath of her renown\nEither to suffer shipwreck or arrive\nWhere I may have fruition of her love.\nSUFFOLK Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale\nIs but a preface of her worthy praise;\nThe chief perfections of that lovely dame\nHad I sufficient skill to utter them,\nWould make a volume of enticing lines,\nAble to ravish any dull conceit:\nAnd, which is more, she is not so divine,\nSo full-replete with choice of all delights,\nBut with as humble lowliness of mind\nShe is content to be at your command;\nCommand, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,\nTo love and honour Henry as her lord.\nKING HENRY VI And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.\nTherefore, my lord protector, give consent\nThat Margaret may be England's royal queen.\nGLOUCESTER So should I give consent to flatter sin.\nYou know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd\nUnto another lady of esteem:\nHow shall we then dispense with that contract,\nAnd not deface your honour with reproach?\nSUFFOLK As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;\nOr one that, at a triumph having vow'd\nTo try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists\nBy reason of his adversary's odds:\nA poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,\nAnd therefore may be broke without offence.\nGLOUCESTER Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?\nHer father is no better than an earl,\nAlthough in glorious titles he excel.\nSUFFOLK Yes, lord, her father is a king,\nThe King of Naples and Jerusalem;\nAnd of such great authority in France\nAs his alliance will confirm our peace\nAnd keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.\nGLOUCESTER And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,\nBecause he is near kinsman unto Charles.\nEXETER Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower,\nWhere Reignier sooner will receive than give.\nSUFFOLK A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,\nThat he should be so abject, base and poor,\nTo choose for wealth and not for perfect love.\nHenry is able to enrich his queen\nAnd not seek a queen to make him rich:\nSo worthless peasants bargain for their wives,\nAs market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.\nMarriage is a matter of more worth\nThan to be dealt in by attorneyship;\nNot whom we will, but whom his grace affects,\nMust be companion of his nuptial bed:\nAnd therefore, lords, since he affects her most,\nIt most of all these reasons bindeth us,\nIn our opinions she should be preferr'd.\nFor what is wedlock forced but a hell,\nAn age of discord and continual strife?\nWhereas the contrary bringeth bliss,\nAnd is a pattern of celestial peace.\nWhom should we match with Henry, being a king,\nBut Margaret, that is daughter to a king?\nHer peerless feature, joined with her birth,\nApproves her fit for none but for a king:\nHer valiant courage and undaunted spirit,\nMore than in women commonly is seen,\nWill answer our hope in issue of a king;\nFor Henry, son unto a conqueror,\nIs likely to beget more conquerors,\nIf with a lady of so high resolve\nAs is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.\nThen yield, my lords; and here conclude with me\nThat Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.\nKING HENRY VI Whether it be through force of your report,\nMy noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that\nMy tender youth was never yet attaint\nWith any passion of inflaming love,\nI cannot tell; but this I am assured,\nI feel such sharp dissension in my breast,\nSuch fierce alarums both of hope and fear,\nAs I am sick with working of my thoughts.\nTake, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;\nAgree to any covenants, and procure\nThat Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come\nTo cross the seas to England and be crown'd\nKing Henry's faithful and anointed queen:\nFor your expenses and sufficient charge,\nAmong the people gather up a tenth.\nBe gone, I say; for, till you do return,\nI rest perplexed with a thousand cares.\nAnd you, good uncle, banish all offence:\nIf you do censure me by what you were,\nNot what you are, I know it will excuse\nThis sudden execution of my will.\nAnd so, conduct me where, from company,\nI may revolve and ruminate my grief.\n[Exit]\nGLOUCESTER Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.\n[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER]\nSUFFOLK Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,\nAs did the youthful Paris once to Greece,\nWith hope to find the like event in love,\nBut prosper better than the Trojan did.\nMargaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;\nBut I will rule both her, the king and realm.\n[Exit]","title":"King Henry the Sixth, Part I","type":"page"}