The First part of King Henry the Sixth

1Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

2Comets, importing change of times and states,

3Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,

4And with them scourge the bad revolting stars

5That have consented unto Henry's death!

6King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!

7England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

8England ne'er had a king until his time.

9Virtue he had, deserving to command:

10His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:

11His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;

12His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,

13More dazzled and drove back his enemies

14Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.

15What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:

16He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.

17We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?

18Henry is dead and never shall revive:

19Upon a wooden coffin we attend,

20And death's dishonourable victory

21We with our stately presence glorify,

22Like captives bound to a triumphant car.

23What! shall we curse the planets of mishap

24That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?

25Or shall we think the subtle-witted French

26Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him

27By magic verses have contrived his end?

28He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.

29Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day

30So dreadful will not be as was his sight.

31The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:

32The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

33The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,

34His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:

35None do you like but an effeminate prince,

36Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

37Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector

38And lookest to command the prince and realm.

39Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,

40More than God or religious churchmen may.

41Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,

42And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st

43Except it be to pray against thy foes.

44Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:

45Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:

46Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:

47Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.

48Posterity, await for wretched years,

49When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,

50Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,

51And none but women left to wail the dead.

52Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:

53Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,

54Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!

55A far more glorious star thy soul will make

56Than Julius Caesar or bright--

57My honourable lords, health to you all!

58Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,

59Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:

60Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,

61Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

62What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?

63Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns

64Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

65Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?

66If Henry were recall'd to life again,

67These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

68How were they lost? what treachery was used?

69No treachery; but want of men and money.

70Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,

71That here you maintain several factions,

72And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,

73You are disputing of your generals:

74One would have lingering wars with little cost;

75Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;

76A third thinks, without expense at all,

77By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.

78Awake, awake, English nobility!

79Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:

80Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;

81Of England's coat one half is cut away.

82Were our tears wanting to this funeral,

83These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

84Me they concern; Regent I am of France.

85Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.

86Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!

87Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,

88To weep their intermissive miseries.

89Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.

90France is revolted from the English quite,

91Except some petty towns of no import:

92The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;

93The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;

94Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;

95The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

96The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!

97O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

98We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.

99Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

100Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?

101An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,

102Wherewith already France is overrun.

103My gracious lords, to add to your laments,

104Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,

105I must inform you of a dismal fight

106Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

107What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

108O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:

109The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.

110The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,

111Retiring from the siege of Orleans,

112Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.

113By three and twenty thousand of the French

114Was round encompassed and set upon.

115No leisure had he to enrank his men;

116He wanted pikes to set before his archers;

117Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges

118They pitched in the ground confusedly,

119To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.

120More than three hours the fight continued;

121Where valiant Talbot above human thought

122Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:

123Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;

124Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:

125The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;

126All the whole army stood agazed on him:

127His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit

128A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain

129And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.

130Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,

131If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:

132He, being in the vaward, placed behind

133With purpose to relieve and follow them,

134Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.

135Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;

136Enclosed were they with their enemies:

137A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,

138Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,

139Whom all France with their chief assembled strength

140Durst not presume to look once in the face.

141Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,

142For living idly here in pomp and ease,

143Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,

144Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

145O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,

146And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:

147Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.

148His ransom there is none but I shall pay:

149I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:

150His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;

151Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.

152Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;

153Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,

154To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:

155Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,

156Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

157So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;

158The English army is grown weak and faint:

159The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,

160And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,

161Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

162Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,

163Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,

164Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

165I do remember it; and here take my leave,

166To go about my preparation.

167I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,

168To view the artillery and munition;

169And then I will proclaim young Henry king.

170To Eltham will I, where the young king is,

171Being ordain'd his special governor,

172And for his safety there I'll best devise.

173Each hath his place and function to attend:

174I am left out; for me nothing remains.

175But long I will not be Jack out of office:

176The king from Eltham I intend to steal

177And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.

1Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens

2So in the earth, to this day is not known:

3Late did he shine upon the English side;

4Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.

5What towns of any moment but we have?

6At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;

7Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,

8Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

9They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:

10Either they must be dieted like mules

11And have their provender tied to their mouths

12Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

13Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?

14Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:

15Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;

16And he may well in fretting spend his gall,

17Nor men nor money hath he to make war.

18Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.

19Now for the honour of the forlorn French!

20Him I forgive my death that killeth me

21When he sees me go back one foot or fly.

22Who ever saw the like? what men have I!

23Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,

24But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

25Salisbury is a desperate homicide;

26He fighteth as one weary of his life.

27The other lords, like lions wanting food,

28Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

29Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,

30England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,

31During the time Edward the Third did reign.

32More truly now may this be verified;

33For none but Samsons and Goliases

34It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!

35Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose

36They had such courage and audacity?

37Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,

38And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:

39Of old I know them; rather with their teeth

40The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.

41I think, by some odd gimmors or device

42Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;

43Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.

44By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

45Be it so.

46Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

47Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

48Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:

49Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?

50Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:

51A holy maid hither with me I bring,

52Which by a vision sent to her from heaven

53Ordained is to raise this tedious siege

54And drive the English forth the bounds of France.

55The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,

56Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:

57What's past and what's to come she can descry.

58Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,

59For they are certain and unfallible.

60Go, call her in.

61But first, to try her skill,

62Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:

63Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:

64By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

65Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

66Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?

67Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;

68I know thee well, though never seen before.

69Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:

70In private will I talk with thee apart.

71Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

72She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

73Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,

74My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.

75Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased

76To shine on my contemptible estate:

77Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,

78And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,

79God's mother deigned to appear to me

80And in a vision full of majesty

81Will'd me to leave my base vocation

82And free my country from calamity:

83Her aid she promised and assured success:

84In complete glory she reveal'd herself;

85And, whereas I was black and swart before,

86With those clear rays which she infused on me

87That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.

88Ask me what question thou canst possible,

89And I will answer unpremeditated:

90My courage try by combat, if thou darest,

91And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.

92Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,

93If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

94Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:

95Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,

96In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,

97And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;

98Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

99I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,

100Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;

101The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's

102churchyard,

103Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

104Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

105And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

106Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon

107And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

108Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

109Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:

110Impatiently I burn with thy desire;

111My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.

112Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,

113Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:

114'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

115I must not yield to any rites of love,

116For my profession's sacred from above:

117When I have chased all thy foes from hence,

118Then will I think upon a recompense.

119Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

120My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

121Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;

122Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

123Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

124He may mean more than we poor men do know:

125These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

126My lord, where are you? what devise you on?

127Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

128Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!

129Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

130What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.

131Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.

132This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:

133Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,

134Since I have entered into these wars.

135Glory is like a circle in the water,

136Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself

137Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.

138With Henry's death the English circle ends;

139Dispersed are the glories it included.

140Now am I like that proud insulting ship

141Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

142Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?

143Thou with an eagle art inspired then.

144Helen, the mother of great Constantine,

145Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.

146Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,

147How may I reverently worship thee enough?

148Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

149Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;

150Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

151Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:

152No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.

1I am come to survey the Tower this day:

2Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.

3Where be these warders, that they wait not here?

4Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

5[Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously?

6First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

7[Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

8First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

9[Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him:

10We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

11Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?

12There's none protector of the realm but I.

13Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.

14Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

15What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

16Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?

17Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.

18Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;

19The Cardinal of Winchester forbids:

20From him I have express commandment

21That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

22Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?

23Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,

24Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?

25Thou art no friend to God or to the king:

26Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

27Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector,

28Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

29How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?

30Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?

31I do, thou most usurping proditor,

32And not protector, of the king or realm.

33Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,

34Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;

35Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:

36I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,

37If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

38Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:

39This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,

40To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

41I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:

42Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth

43I'll use to carry thee out of this place.

44Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.

45What! am I dared and bearded to my face?

46Draw, men, for all this privileged place;

47Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard,

48I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:

49Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat:

50In spite of pope or dignities of church,

51Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

52Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.

53Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!

54Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?

55Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.

56Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!

57Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,

58Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

59Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:

60Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,

61Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

62Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,

63One that still motions war and never peace,

64O'ercharging your free purses with large fines,

65That seeks to overthrow religion,

66Because he is protector of the realm,

67And would have armour here out of the Tower,

68To crown himself king and suppress the prince.

69I will not answer thee with words, but blows.

70Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife

71But to make open proclamation:

72Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst,

73Cry.

74All manner of men assembled here in arms this day

75against God's peace and the king's, we charge and

76command you, in his highness' name, to repair to

77your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,

78handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger,

79henceforward, upon pain of death.

80Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:

81But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

82Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure:

83Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

84I'll call for clubs, if you will not away.

85This cardinal's more haughty than the devil.

86Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.

87Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;

88For I intend to have it ere long.

89See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.

90Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!

91I myself fight not once in forty year.

1Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,

2Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.

3Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:

4Chief master-gunner am I of this town;

5Something I must do to procure me grace.

6The prince's espials have informed me

7How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,

8Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars

9In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,

10And thence discover how with most advantage

11They may vex us with shot, or with assault.

12To intercept this inconvenience,

13A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;

14And even these three days have I watch'd,

15If I could see them.

16Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer.

17If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;

18And thou shalt find me at the governor's.

19Father, I warrant you; take you no care;

20I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.

21Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!

22How wert thou handled being prisoner?

23Or by what means got'st thou to be released?

24Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.

25The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner

26Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;

27For him was I exchanged and ransomed.

28But with a baser man of arms by far

29Once in contempt they would have barter'd me:

30Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,

31Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.

32In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.

33But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,

34Whom with my bare fists I would execute,

35If I now had him brought into my power.

36Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.

37With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.

38In open market-place produced they me,

39To be a public spectacle to all:

40Here, said they, is the terror of the French,

41The scarecrow that affrights our children so.

42Then broke I from the officers that led me,

43And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,

44To hurl at the beholders of my shame:

45My grisly countenance made others fly;

46None durst come near for fear of sudden death.

47In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;

48So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,

49That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,

50And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:

51Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,

52That walked about me every minute-while;

53And if I did but stir out of my bed,

54Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

55I grieve to hear what torments you endured,

56But we will be revenged sufficiently

57Now it is supper-time in Orleans:

58Here, through this grate, I count each one

59and view the Frenchmen how they fortify:

60Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.

61Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,

62Let me have your express opinions

63Where is best place to make our battery next.

64I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

65And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

66For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,

67Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

68O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

69O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

70What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?

71Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:

72How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?

73One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!

74Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand

75That hath contrived this woful tragedy!

76In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;

77Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;

78Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,

79His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.

80Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,

81One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:

82The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.

83Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,

84If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!

85Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.

86Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?

87Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.

88Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;

89Thou shalt not die whiles--

90He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.

91As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,

92Remember to avenge me on the French.'

93Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,

94Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:

95Wretched shall France be only in my name.

96What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?

97Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

98My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head:

99The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,

100A holy prophetess new risen up,

101Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

102Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!

103It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.

104Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:

105Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,

106Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,

107And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.

108Convey me Salisbury into his tent,

109And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

1Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?

2Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:

3A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

4Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;

5Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:

6Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,

7And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

8Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

9Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?

10My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage

11And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.

12But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

13Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:

14I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

15O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.

16Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;

17Help Salisbury to make his testament:

18This day is ours, as many more shall be.

19My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;

20I know not where I am, nor what I do;

21A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,

22Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists:

23So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench

24Are from their hives and houses driven away.

25They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;

26Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

27Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,

28Or tear the lions out of England's coat;

29Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:

30Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,

31Or horse or oxen from the leopard,

32As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

33It will not be: retire into your trenches:

34You all consented unto Salisbury's death,

35For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.

36Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,

37In spite of us or aught that we could do.

38O, would I were to die with Salisbury!

39The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

1Advance our waving colours on the walls;

2Rescued is Orleans from the English

3Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

4Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,

5How shall I honour thee for this success?

6Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens

7That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.

8France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!

9Recover'd is the town of Orleans:

10More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.

11Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?

12Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires

13And feast and banquet in the open streets,

14To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

15All France will be replete with mirth and joy,

16When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

17'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;

18For which I will divide my crown with her,

19And all the priests and friars in my realm

20Shall in procession sing her endless praise.

21A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear

22Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:

23In memory of her when she is dead,

24Her ashes, in an urn more precious

25Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius,

26Transported shall be at high festivals

27Before the kings and queens of France.

28No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,

29But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.

30Come in, and let us banquet royally,

31After this golden day of victory.

1Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:

2If any noise or soldier you perceive

3Near to the walls, by some apparent sign

4Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.

5Sergeant, you shall.

6Thus are poor servitors,

7When others sleep upon their quiet beds,

8Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.

9Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,

10By whose approach the regions of Artois,

11Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,

12This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,

13Having all day caroused and banqueted:

14Embrace we then this opportunity

15As fitting best to quittance their deceit

16Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.

17Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,

18Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,

19To join with witches and the help of hell!

20Traitors have never other company.

21But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

22A maid, they say.

23A maid! and be so martial!

24Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,

25If underneath the standard of the French

26She carry armour as she hath begun.

27Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:

28God is our fortress, in whose conquering name

29Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

30Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

31Not all together: better far, I guess,

32That we do make our entrance several ways;

33That, if it chance the one of us do fail,

34The other yet may rise against their force.

35Agreed: I'll to yond corner.

36And I to this.

37And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.

38Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right

39Of English Henry, shall this night appear

40How much in duty I am bound to both.

41Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!

42How now, my lords! what, all unready so?

43Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.

44'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,

45Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

46Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,

47Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise

48More venturous or desperate than this.

49I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

50If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

51Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

52Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

53Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?

54Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,

55Make us partakers of a little gain,

56That now our loss might be ten times so much?

57Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!

58At all times will you have my power alike?

59Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,

60Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?

61Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,

62This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

63Duke of Alencon, this was your default,

64That, being captain of the watch to-night,

65Did look no better to that weighty charge.

66Had all your quarters been as safely kept

67As that whereof I had the government,

68We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

69Mine was secure.

70And so was mine, my lord.

71And, for myself, most part of all this night,

72Within her quarter and mine own precinct

73I was employ'd in passing to and fro,

74About relieving of the sentinels:

75Then how or which way should they first break in?

76Question, my lords, no further of the case,

77How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place

78But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.

79And now there rests no other shift but this;

80To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,

81And lay new platforms to endamage them.

82I'll be so bold to take what they have left.

83The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;

84For I have loaden me with many spoils,

85Using no other weapon but his name.

1The day begins to break, and night is fled,

2Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.

3Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.

4Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,

5And here advance it in the market-place,

6The middle centre of this cursed town.

7Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;

8For every drop of blood was drawn from him,

9There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.

10And that hereafter ages may behold

11What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,

12Within their chiefest temple I'll erect

13A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:

14Upon the which, that every one may read,

15Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,

16The treacherous manner of his mournful death

17And what a terror he had been to France.

18But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,

19I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,

20His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,

21Nor any of his false confederates.

22'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,

23Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,

24They did amongst the troops of armed men

25Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

26Myself, as far as I could well discern

27For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,

28Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,

29When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,

30Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves

31That could not live asunder day or night.

32After that things are set in order here,

33We'll follow them with all the power we have.

34All hail, my lords! which of this princely train

35Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

36So much applauded through the realm of France?

37Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?

38The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,

39With modesty admiring thy renown,

40By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe

41To visit her poor castle where she lies,

42That she may boast she hath beheld the man

43Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

44Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars

45Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,

46When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.

47You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

48Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men

49Could not prevail with all their oratory,

50Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:

51And therefore tell her I return great thanks,

52And in submission will attend on her.

53Will not your honours bear me company?

54No, truly; it is more than manners will:

55And I have heard it said, unbidden guests

56Are often welcomest when they are gone.

57Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,

58I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.

59Come hither, captain.

60You perceive my mind?

61I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

1Porter, remember what I gave in charge;

2And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

3Madam, I will.

4The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,

5I shall as famous be by this exploit

6As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.

7Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,

8And his achievements of no less account:

9Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,

10To give their censure of these rare reports.

11Madam,

12According as your ladyship desired,

13By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.

14And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

15Madam, it is.

16Is this the scourge of France?

17Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad

18That with his name the mothers still their babes?

19I see report is fabulous and false:

20I thought I should have seen some Hercules,

21A second Hector, for his grim aspect,

22And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.

23Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!

24It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp

25Should strike such terror to his enemies.

26Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;

27But since your ladyship is not at leisure,

28I'll sort some other time to visit you.

29What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.

30Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves

31To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

32Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,

33I go to certify her Talbot's here.

34If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

35Prisoner! to whom?

36To me, blood-thirsty lord;

37And for that cause I trained thee to my house.

38Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,

39For in my gallery thy picture hangs:

40But now the substance shall endure the like,

41And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,

42That hast by tyranny these many years

43Wasted our country, slain our citizens

44And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

45Ha, ha, ha!

46Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

47I laugh to see your ladyship so fond

48To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow

49Whereon to practise your severity.

50Why, art not thou the man?

51I am indeed.

52Then have I substance too.

53No, no, I am but shadow of myself:

54You are deceived, my substance is not here;

55For what you see is but the smallest part

56And least proportion of humanity:

57I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,

58It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,

59Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.

60This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;

61He will be here, and yet he is not here:

62How can these contrarieties agree?

63That will I show you presently.

64How say you, madam? are you now persuaded

65That Talbot is but shadow of himself?

66These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,

67With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,

68Razeth your cities and subverts your towns

69And in a moment makes them desolate.

70Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:

71I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited

72And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.

73Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;

74For I am sorry that with reverence

75I did not entertain thee as thou art.

76Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue

77The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake

78The outward composition of his body.

79What you have done hath not offended me;

80Nor other satisfaction do I crave,

81But only, with your patience, that we may

82Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;

83For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

84With all my heart, and think me honoured

85To feast so great a warrior in my house.

1Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?

2Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

3Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;

4The garden here is more convenient.

5Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;

6Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?

7Faith, I have been a truant in the law,

8And never yet could frame my will to it;

9And therefore frame the law unto my will.

10Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.

11Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;

12Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;

13Between two blades, which bears the better temper:

14Between two horses, which doth bear him best;

15Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;

16I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;

17But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,

18Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

19Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:

20The truth appears so naked on my side

21That any purblind eye may find it out.

22And on my side it is so well apparell'd,

23So clear, so shining and so evident

24That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

25Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,

26In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:

27Let him that is a true-born gentleman

28And stands upon the honour of his birth,

29If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,

30From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

31Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,

32But dare maintain the party of the truth,

33Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

34I love no colours, and without all colour

35Of base insinuating flattery

36I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

37I pluck this red rose with young Somerset

38And say withal I think he held the right.

39Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,

40Till you conclude that he upon whose side

41The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree

42Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

43Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:

44If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

45And I.

46Then for the truth and plainness of the case.

47I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,

48Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

49Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,

50Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red

51And fall on my side so, against your will.

52If I my lord, for my opinion bleed,

53Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt

54And keep me on the side where still I am.

55Well, well, come on: who else?

56Unless my study and my books be false,

57The argument you held was wrong in you:

58In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

59Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

60Here in my scabbard, meditating that

61Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

62Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;

63For pale they look with fear, as witnessing

64The truth on our side.

65No, Plantagenet,

66'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks

67Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,

68And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

69Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

70Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

71Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;

72Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

73Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,

74That shall maintain what I have said is true,

75Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

76Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,

77I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

78Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

79Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.

80I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

81Away, away, good William de la Pole!

82We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.

83Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;

84His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,

85Third son to the third Edward King of England:

86Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

87He bears him on the place's privilege,

88Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

89By him that made me, I'll maintain my words

90On any plot of ground in Christendom.

91Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,

92For treason executed in our late king's days?

93And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,

94Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?

95His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;

96And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.

97My father was attached, not attainted,

98Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;

99And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,

100Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.

101For your partaker Pole and you yourself,

102I'll note you in my book of memory,

103To scourge you for this apprehension:

104Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.

105Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;

106And know us by these colours for thy foes,

107For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.

108And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,

109As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,

110Will I for ever and my faction wear,

111Until it wither with me to my grave

112Or flourish to the height of my degree.

113Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!

114And so farewell until I meet thee next.

115Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

116How I am braved and must perforce endure it!

117This blot that they object against your house

118Shall be wiped out in the next parliament

119Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;

120And if thou be not then created York,

121I will not live to be accounted Warwick.

122Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,

123Against proud Somerset and William Pole,

124Will I upon thy party wear this rose:

125And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,

126Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,

127Shall send between the red rose and the white

128A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

129Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,

130That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

131In your behalf still will I wear the same.

132And so will I.

133Thanks, gentle sir.

134Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say

135This quarrel will drink blood another day.

1Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,

2Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.

3Even like a man new haled from the rack,

4So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.

5And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,

6Nestor-like aged in an age of care,

7Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.

8These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,

9Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;

10Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,

11And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine

12That droops his sapless branches to the ground;

13Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,

14Unable to support this lump of clay,

15Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,

16As witting I no other comfort have.

17But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

18Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:

19We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;

20And answer was return'd that he will come.

21Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.

22Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.

23Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,

24Before whose glory I was great in arms,

25This loathsome sequestration have I had:

26And even since then hath Richard been obscured,

27Deprived of honour and inheritance.

28But now the arbitrator of despairs,

29Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,

30With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:

31I would his troubles likewise were expired,

32That so he might recover what was lost.

33My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

34Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

35Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,

36Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

37Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,

38And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:

39O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,

40That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.

41And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,

42Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?

43First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;

44And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.

45This day, in argument upon a case,

46Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;

47Among which terms he used his lavish tongue

48And did upbraid me with my father's death:

49Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,

50Else with the like I had requited him.

51Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,

52In honour of a true Plantagenet

53And for alliance sake, declare the cause

54My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

55That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me

56And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth

57Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,

58Was cursed instrument of his decease.

59Discover more at large what cause that was,

60For I am ignorant and cannot guess.

61I will, if that my fading breath permit

62And death approach not ere my tale be done.

63Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,

64Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,

65The first-begotten and the lawful heir,

66Of Edward king, the third of that descent:

67During whose reign the Percies of the north,

68Finding his usurpation most unjust,

69Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne:

70The reason moved these warlike lords to this

71Was, for that--young King Richard thus removed,

72Leaving no heir begotten of his body--

73I was the next by birth and parentage;

74For by my mother I derived am

75From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son

76To King Edward the Third; whereas he

77From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,

78Being but fourth of that heroic line.

79But mark: as in this haughty attempt

80They laboured to plant the rightful heir,

81I lost my liberty and they their lives.

82Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,

83Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,

84Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived

85From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,

86Marrying my sister that thy mother was,

87Again in pity of my hard distress

88Levied an army, weening to redeem

89And have install'd me in the diadem:

90But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl

91And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,

92In whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.

93Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.

94True; and thou seest that I no issue have

95And that my fainting words do warrant death;

96Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:

97But yet be wary in thy studious care.

98Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:

99But yet, methinks, my father's execution

100Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

101With silence, nephew, be thou politic:

102Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,

103And like a mountain, not to be removed.

104But now thy uncle is removing hence:

105As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd

106With long continuance in a settled place.

107O, uncle, would some part of my young years

108Might but redeem the passage of your age!

109Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth

110Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.

111Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;

112Only give order for my funeral:

113And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes

114And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

115And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!

116In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage

117And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.

118Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;

119And what I do imagine let that rest.

120Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself

121Will see his burial better than his life.

122Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,

123Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:

124And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,

125Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house:

126I doubt not but with honour to redress;

127And therefore haste I to the parliament,

128Either to be restored to my blood,

129Or make my ill the advantage of my good.

1Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,

2With written pamphlets studiously devised,

3Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,

4Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,

5Do it without invention, suddenly;

6As I with sudden and extemporal speech

7Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

8Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,

9Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.

10Think not, although in writing I preferr'd

11The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,

12That therefore I have forged, or am not able

13Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:

14No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,

15Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,

16As very infants prattle of thy pride.

17Thou art a most pernicious usurer,

18Forward by nature, enemy to peace;

19Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems

20A man of thy profession and degree;

21And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?

22In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,

23As well at London bridge as at the Tower.

24Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,

25The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt

26From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

27Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe

28To give me hearing what I shall reply.

29If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,

30As he will have me, how am I so poor?

31Or how haps it I seek not to advance

32Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?

33And for dissension, who preferreth peace

34More than I do?--except I be provoked.

35No, my good lords, it is not that offends;

36It is not that that hath incensed the duke:

37It is, because no one should sway but he;

38No one but he should be about the king;

39And that engenders thunder in his breast

40And makes him roar these accusations forth.

41But he shall know I am as good--

42As good!

43Thou bastard of my grandfather!

44Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,

45But one imperious in another's throne?

46Am I not protector, saucy priest?

47And am not I a prelate of the church?

48Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps

49And useth it to patronage his theft.

50Unreverent Gloster!

51Thou art reverent

52Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

53Rome shall remedy this.

54Roam thither, then.

55My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

56Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

57Methinks my lord should be religious

58And know the office that belongs to such.

59Methinks his lordship should be humbler;

60it fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

61Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

62State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?

63Is not his grace protector to the king?

64[Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,

65Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;

66Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'

67Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

68Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,

69The special watchmen of our English weal,

70I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,

71To join your hearts in love and amity.

72O, what a scandal is it to our crown,

73That two such noble peers as ye should jar!

74Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell

75Civil dissension is a viperous worm

76That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

77What tumult's this?

78An uproar, I dare warrant,

79Begun through malice of the bishop's men.

80O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,

81Pity the city of London, pity us!

82The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,

83Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

84Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones

85And banding themselves in contrary parts

86Do pelt so fast at one another's pate

87That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:

88Our windows are broke down in every street

89And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.

90We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,

91To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.

92Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

93First Serving-man Nay, if we be forbidden stones,

94We'll fall to it with our teeth.

95Second Serving-man Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

96You of my household, leave this peevish broil

97And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

98Third Serving-man My lord, we know your grace to be a man

99Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,

100Inferior to none but to his majesty:

101And ere that we will suffer such a prince,

102So kind a father of the commonweal,

103To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,

104We and our wives and children all will fight

105And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.

106First Serving-man Ay, and the very parings of our nails

107Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

108Stay, stay, I say!

109And if you love me, as you say you do,

110Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

111O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!

112Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold

113My sighs and tears and will not once relent?

114Who should be pitiful, if you be not?

115Or who should study to prefer a peace.

116If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

117Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;

118Except you mean with obstinate repulse

119To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.

120You see what mischief and what murder too

121Hath been enacted through your enmity;

122Then be at peace except ye thirst for blood.

123He shall submit, or I will never yield.

124Compassion on the king commands me stoop;

125Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest

126Should ever get that privilege of me.

127Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke

128Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,

129As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:

130Why look you still so stern and tragical?

131Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

132Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach

133That malice was a great and grievous sin;

134And will not you maintain the thing you teach,

135But prove a chief offender in the same?

136Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.

137For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!

138What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

139Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;

140Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.

141[Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.--

142See here, my friends and loving countrymen,

143This token serveth for a flag of truce

144Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:

145So help me God, as I dissemble not!

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

147O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,

148How joyful am I made by this contract!

149Away, my masters! trouble us no more;

150But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

151First Serving-man Content: I'll to the surgeon's.

152Second Serving-man And so will I.

153Third Serving-man And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

154Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,

155Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet

156We do exhibit to your majesty.

157Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: or sweet prince,

158And if your grace mark every circumstance,

159You have great reason to do Richard right;

160Especially for those occasions

161At Eltham Place I told your majesty.

162And those occasions, uncle, were of force:

163Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is

164That Richard be restored to his blood.

165Let Richard be restored to his blood;

166So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.

167As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

168If Richard will be true, not that alone

169But all the whole inheritance I give

170That doth belong unto the house of York,

171From whence you spring by lineal descent.

172Thy humble servant vows obedience

173And humble service till the point of death.

174Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;

175And, in reguerdon of that duty done,

176I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:

177Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,

178And rise created princely Duke of York.

179And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!

180And as my duty springs, so perish they

181That grudge one thought against your majesty!

182Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!

183[Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!

184Now will it best avail your majesty

185To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:

186The presence of a king engenders love

187Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,

188As it disanimates his enemies.

189When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;

190For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

191Your ships already are in readiness.

192Ay, we may march in England or in France,

193Not seeing what is likely to ensue.

194This late dissension grown betwixt the peers

195Burns under feigned ashes of forged love

196And will at last break out into a flame:

197As fester'd members rot but by degree,

198Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,

199So will this base and envious discord breed.

200And now I fear that fatal prophecy

201Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth

202Was in the mouth of every sucking babe;

203That Henry born at Monmouth should win all

204And Henry born at Windsor lose all:

205Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish

206His days may finish ere that hapless time.

1These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,

2Through which our policy must make a breach:

3Take heed, be wary how you place your words;

4Talk like the vulgar sort of market men

5That come to gather money for their corn.

6If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,

7And that we find the slothful watch but weak,

8I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,

9That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

10Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,

11And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;

12Therefore we'll knock.

13[Within] Qui est la?

14Paysans, pauvres gens de France;

15Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

16Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.

17Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.

18Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!

19And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.

20Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;

21Now she is there, how will she specify

22Where is the best and safest passage in?

23By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;

24Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,

25No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.

26Behold, this is the happy wedding torch

27That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,

28But burning fatal to the Talbotites!

29See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;

30The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

31Now shine it like a comet of revenge,

32A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

33Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;

34Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,

35And then do execution on the watch.

36France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,

37If Talbot but survive thy treachery.

38Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,

39Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,

40That hardly we escaped the pride of France.

41Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?

42I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast

43Before he'll buy again at such a rate:

44'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?

45Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!

46I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own

47And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.

48Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.

49O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!

50What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,

51And run a tilt at death within a chair?

52Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,

53Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!

54Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age

55And twit with cowardice a man half dead?

56Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,

57Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

58Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;

59If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.

60God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

61Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

62Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,

63To try if that our own be ours or no.

64I speak not to that railing Hecate,

65But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;

66Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

67Signior, no.

68Signior, hang! base muleters of France!

69Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls

70And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

71Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;

72For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.

73God be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you

74That we are here.

75And there will we be too, ere it be long,

76Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!

77Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,

78Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,

79Either to get the town again or die:

80And I, as sure as English Henry lives

81And as his father here was conqueror,

82As sure as in this late-betrayed town

83Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,

84So sure I swear to get the town or die.

85My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

86But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,

87The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,

88We will bestow you in some better place,

89Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.

90Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:

91Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen

92And will be partner of your weal or woe.

93Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

94Not to be gone from hence; for once I read

95That stout Pendragon in his litter sick

96Came to the field and vanquished his foes:

97Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,

98Because I ever found them as myself.

99Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!

100Then be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!

101And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,

102But gather we our forces out of hand

103And set upon our boasting enemy.

104Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?

105Whither away! to save myself by flight:

106We are like to have the overthrow again.

107What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?

108Ay,

109All the Talbots in the world, to save my life!

110Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

111Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,

112For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.

113What is the trust or strength of foolish man?

114They that of late were daring with their scoffs

115Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

116Lost, and recover'd in a day again!

117This is a double honour, Burgundy:

118Yet heavens have glory for this victory!

119Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy

120Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects

121Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.

122Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?

123I think her old familiar is asleep:

124Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?

125What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief

126That such a valiant company are fled.

127Now will we take some order in the town,

128Placing therein some expert officers,

129And then depart to Paris to the king,

130For there young Henry with his nobles lie.

131What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.

132But yet, before we go, let's not forget

133The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,

134But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen:

135A braver soldier never couched lance,

136A gentler heart did never sway in court;

137But kings and mightiest potentates must die,

138For that's the end of human misery.

1Dismay not, princes, at this accident,

2Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:

3Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,

4For things that are not to be remedied.

5Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while

6And like a peacock sweep along his tail;

7We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,

8If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

9We have been guided by thee hitherto,

10And of thy cunning had no diffidence:

11One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

12Search out thy wit for secret policies,

13And we will make thee famous through the world.

14We'll set thy statue in some holy place,

15And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:

16Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

17Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:

18By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words

19We will entice the Duke of Burgundy

20To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

21Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,

22France were no place for Henry's warriors;

23Nor should that nation boast it so with us,

24But be extirped from our provinces.

25For ever should they be expulsed from France

26And not have title of an earldom here.

27Your honours shall perceive how I will work

28To bring this matter to the wished end.

29Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive

30Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

31There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,

32And all the troops of English after him.

33Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:

34Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.

35Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

36A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

37Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

38The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

39What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

40Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

41Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!

42Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

43Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

44Look on thy country, look on fertile France,

45And see the cities and the towns defaced

46By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.

47As looks the mother on her lowly babe

48When death doth close his tender dying eyes,

49See, see the pining malady of France;

50Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,

51Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast.

52O, turn thy edged sword another way;

53Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.

54One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom

55Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:

56Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,

57And wash away thy country's stained spots.

58Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,

59Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

60Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,

61Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.

62Who joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation

63That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?

64When Talbot hath set footing once in France

65And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,

66Who then but English Henry will be lord

67And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?

68Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof,

69Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?

70And was he not in England prisoner?

71But when they heard he was thine enemy,

72They set him free without his ransom paid,

73In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.

74See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen

75And joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.

76Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:

77Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

78I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers

79Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,

80And made me almost yield upon my knees.

81Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,

82And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:

83My forces and my power of men are yours:

84So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.

85[Aside] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

86Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

87And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

88Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,

89And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

90Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,

91And seek how we may prejudice the foe.

1My gracious prince, and honourable peers,

2Hearing of your arrival in this realm,

3I have awhile given truce unto my wars,

4To do my duty to my sovereign:

5In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd

6To your obedience fifty fortresses,

7Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,

8Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,

9Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,

10And with submissive loyalty of heart

11Ascribes the glory of his conquest got

12First to my God and next unto your grace.

13Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,

14That hath so long been resident in France?

15Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

16Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!

17When I was young, as yet I am not old,

18I do remember how my father said

19A stouter champion never handled sword.

20Long since we were resolved of your truth,

21Your faithful service and your toil in war;

22Yet never have you tasted our reward,

23Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,

24Because till now we never saw your face:

25Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,

26We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;

27And in our coronation take your place.

28Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,

29Disgracing of these colours that I wear

30In honour of my noble Lord of York:

31Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?

32Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage

33The envious barking of your saucy tongue

34Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.

35Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

36Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

37Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.

38Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such

39That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death,

40Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.

41But I'll unto his majesty, and crave

42I may have liberty to venge this wrong;

43When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.

44Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;

45And, after, meet you sooner than you would.

1Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

2God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!

3Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,

4That you elect no other king but him;

5Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,

6And none your foes but such as shall pretend

7Malicious practises against his state:

8This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

9My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,

10To haste unto your coronation,

11A letter was deliver'd to my hands,

12Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.

13Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!

14I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,

15To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,

16Which I have done, because unworthily

17Thou wast installed in that high degree.

18Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest

19This dastard, at the battle of Patay,

20When but in all I was six thousand strong

21And that the French were almost ten to one,

22Before we met or that a stroke was given,

23Like to a trusty squire did run away:

24In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;

25Myself and divers gentlemen beside

26Were there surprised and taken prisoners.

27Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;

28Or whether that such cowards ought to wear

29This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.

30To say the truth, this fact was infamous

31And ill beseeming any common man,

32Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.

33When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,

34Knights of the garter were of noble birth,

35Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,

36Such as were grown to credit by the wars;

37Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,

38But always resolute in most extremes.

39He then that is not furnish'd in this sort

40Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,

41Profaning this most honourable order,

42And should, if I were worthy to be judge,

43Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain

44That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.

45Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!

46Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:

47Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.

48And now, my lord protector, view the letter

49Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.

50What means his grace, that he hath changed his style?

51No more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!'

52Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?

53Or doth this churlish superscription

54Pretend some alteration in good will?

55What's here?

56'I have, upon especial cause,

57Moved with compassion of my country's wreck,

58Together with the pitiful complaints

59Of such as your oppression feeds upon,

60Forsaken your pernicious faction

61And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'

62O monstrous treachery! can this be so,

63That in alliance, amity and oaths,

64There should be found such false dissembling guile?

65What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

66He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.

67Is that the worst this letter doth contain?

68It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

69Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him

70And give him chastisement for this abuse.

71How say you, my lord? are you not content?

72Content, my liege! yes, but that I am prevented,

73I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.

74Then gather strength and march unto him straight:

75Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason

76And what offence it is to flout his friends.

77I go, my lord, in heart desiring still

78You may behold confusion of your foes.

79Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.

80And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.

81This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.

82And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.

83Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.

84Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?

85And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?

86With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

87And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

88What is that wrong whereof you both complain?

89First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

90Crossing the sea from England into France,

91This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,

92Upbraided me about the rose I wear;

93Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves

94Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,

95When stubbornly he did repugn the truth

96About a certain question in the law

97Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him;

98With other vile and ignominious terms:

99In confutation of which rude reproach

100And in defence of my lord's worthiness,

101I crave the benefit of law of arms.

102And that is my petition, noble lord:

103For though he seem with forged quaint conceit

104To set a gloss upon his bold intent,

105Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;

106And he first took exceptions at this badge,

107Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower

108Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

109Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

110Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,

111Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

112Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,

113When for so slight and frivolous a cause

114Such factious emulations shall arise!

115Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,

116Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

117Let this dissension first be tried by fight,

118And then your highness shall command a peace.

119The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;

120Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

121There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

122Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

123Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

124Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!

125And perish ye, with your audacious prate!

126Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed

127With this immodest clamorous outrage

128To trouble and disturb the king and us?

129And you, my lords, methinks you do not well

130To bear with their perverse objections;

131Much less to take occasion from their mouths

132To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves:

133Let me persuade you take a better course.

134It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.

135Come hither, you that would be combatants:

136Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,

137Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.

138And you, my lords, remember where we are,

139In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:

140If they perceive dissension in our looks

141And that within ourselves we disagree,

142How will their grudging stomachs be provoked

143To wilful disobedience, and rebel!

144Beside, what infamy will there arise,

145When foreign princes shall be certified

146That for a toy, a thing of no regard,

147King Henry's peers and chief nobility

148Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!

149O, think upon the conquest of my father,

150My tender years, and let us not forego

151That for a trifle that was bought with blood

152Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.

153I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

154That any one should therefore be suspicious

155I more incline to Somerset than York:

156Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:

157As well they may upbraid me with my crown,

158Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.

159But your discretions better can persuade

160Than I am able to instruct or teach:

161And therefore, as we hither came in peace,

162So let us still continue peace and love.

163Cousin of York, we institute your grace

164To be our regent in these parts of France:

165And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite

166Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;

167And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,

168Go cheerfully together and digest.

169Your angry choler on your enemies.

170Ourself, my lord protector and the rest

171After some respite will return to Calais;

172From thence to England; where I hope ere long

173To be presented, by your victories,

174With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.

175My Lord of York, I promise you, the king

176Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

177And so he did; but yet I like it not,

178In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

179Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;

180I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

181An if I wist he did,--but let it rest;

182Other affairs must now be managed.

183Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;

184For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,

185I fear we should have seen decipher'd there

186More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,

187Than yet can be imagined or supposed.

188But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees

189This jarring discord of nobility,

190This shouldering of each other in the court,

191This factious bandying of their favourites,

192But that it doth presage some ill event.

193'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;

194But more when envy breeds unkind division;

195There comes the rain, there begins confusion.

1Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:

2Summon their general unto the wall.

3English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,

4Servant in arms to Harry King of England;

5And thus he would: Open your city gates;

6Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,

7And do him homage as obedient subjects;

8And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:

9But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,

10You tempt the fury of my three attendants,

11Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;

12Who in a moment even with the earth

13Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,

14If you forsake the offer of their love.

15Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,

16Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!

17The period of thy tyranny approacheth.

18On us thou canst not enter but by death;

19For, I protest, we are well fortified

20And strong enough to issue out and fight:

21If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,

22Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:

23On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,

24To wall thee from the liberty of flight;

25And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,

26But death doth front thee with apparent spoil

27And pale destruction meets thee in the face.

28Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament

29To rive their dangerous artillery

30Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.

31Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,

32Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!

33This is the latest glory of thy praise

34That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;

35For ere the glass, that now begins to run,

36Finish the process of his sandy hour,

37These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,

38Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

39Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,

40Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;

41And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

42He fables not; I hear the enemy:

43Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.

44O, negligent and heedless discipline!

45How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,

46A little herd of England's timorous deer,

47Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!

48If we be English deer, be then in blood;

49Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,

50But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,

51Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel

52And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:

53Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

54And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.

55God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,

56Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

1Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,

2That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

3They are return'd, my lord, and give it out

4That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,

5To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,

6By your espials were discovered

7Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,

8Which join'd with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.

9A plague upon that villain Somerset,

10That thus delays my promised supply

11Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!

12Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,

13And I am lowted by a traitor villain

14And cannot help the noble chevalier:

15God comfort him in this necessity!

16If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

17Thou princely leader of our English strength,

18Never so needful on the earth of France,

19Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,

20Who now is girdled with a waist of iron

21And hemm'd about with grim destruction:

22To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!

23Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

24O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart

25Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!

26So should we save a valiant gentleman

27By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.

28Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,

29That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

30O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!

31He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;

32We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;

33All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

34Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul;

35And on his son young John, who two hours since

36I met in travel toward his warlike father!

37This seven years did not Talbot see his son;

38And now they meet where both their lives are done.

39Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have

40To bid his young son welcome to his grave?

41Away! vexation almost stops my breath,

42That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.

43Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,

44But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.

45Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,

46'Long all of Somerset and his delay.

47Thus, while the vulture of sedition

48Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,

49Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss

50The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,

51That ever living man of memory,

52Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,

53Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.

1It is too late; I cannot send them now:

2This expedition was by York and Talbot

3Too rashly plotted: all our general force

4Might with a sally of the very town

5Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot

6Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour

7By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:

8York set him on to fight and die in shame,

9That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

10Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me

11Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.

12How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?

13Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;

14Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,

15Cries out for noble York and Somerset,

16To beat assailing death from his weak legions:

17And whiles the honourable captain there

18Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,

19And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,

20You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,

21Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.

22Let not your private discord keep away

23The levied succors that should lend him aid,

24While he, renowned noble gentleman,

25Yields up his life unto a world of odds:

26Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,

27Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,

28And Talbot perisheth by your default.

29York set him on; York should have sent him aid.

30And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;

31Swearing that you withhold his levied host,

32Collected for this expedition.

33York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;

34I owe him little duty, and less love;

35And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

36The fraud of England, not the force of France,

37Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:

38Never to England shall he bear his life;

39But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

40Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:

41Within six hours they will be at his aid.

42Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;

43For fly he could not, if he would have fled;

44And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

45If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!

46His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.

1O young John Talbot! I did send for thee

2To tutor thee in stratagems of war,

3That Talbot's name might be in thee revived

4When sapless age and weak unable limbs

5Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.

6But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!

7Now thou art come unto a feast of death,

8A terrible and unavoided danger:

9Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;

10And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape

11By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.

12Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?

13And shall I fly? O if you love my mother,

14Dishonour not her honourable name,

15To make a bastard and a slave of me!

16The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,

17That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

18Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

19He that flies so will ne'er return again.

20If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

21Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:

22Your loss is great, so your regard should be;

23My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.

24Upon my death the French can little boast;

25In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.

26Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;

27But mine it will, that no exploit have done:

28You fled for vantage, everyone will swear;

29But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.

30There is no hope that ever I will stay,

31If the first hour I shrink and run away.

32Here on my knee I beg mortality,

33Rather than life preserved with infamy.

34Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?

35Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

36Upon my blessing, I command thee go.

37To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

38Part of thy father may be saved in thee.

39No part of him but will be shame in me.

40Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.

41Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?

42Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

43You cannot witness for me, being slain.

44If death be so apparent, then both fly.

45And leave my followers here to fight and die?

46My age was never tainted with such shame.

47And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?

48No more can I be sever'd from your side,

49Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:

50Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;

51For live I will not, if my father die.

52Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,

53Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.

54Come, side by side together live and die.

55And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.

1Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.

2The regent hath with Talbot broke his word

3And left us to the rage of France his sword.

4Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath;

5I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.

6O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!

7The life thou gavest me first was lost and done,

8Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,

9To my determined time thou gavest new date.

10When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,

11It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire

12Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,

13Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,

14Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,

15And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.

16The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood

17From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood

18Of thy first fight, I soon encountered,

19And interchanging blows I quickly shed

20Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace

21Bespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base

22And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,

23Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine

24Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'

25Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,

26Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,

27Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?

28Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,

29Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?

30Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:

31The help of one stands me in little stead.

32O, too much folly is it, well I wot,

33To hazard all our lives in one small boat!

34If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,

35To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:

36By me they nothing gain an if I stay;

37'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:

38In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,

39My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:

40All these and more we hazard by thy stay;

41All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.

42The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;

43These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:

44On that advantage, bought with such a shame,

45To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,

46Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,

47The coward horse that bears me fail and die!

48And like me to the peasant boys of France,

49To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!

50Surely, by all the glory you have won,

51An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:

52Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;

53If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

54Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,

55Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:

56If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;

57And, commendable proved, let's die in pride.

1Where is my other life? mine own is gone;

2O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?

3Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,

4Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:

5When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,

6His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,

7And, like a hungry lion, did commence

8Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;

9But when my angry guardant stood alone,

10Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none,

11Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart

12Suddenly made him from my side to start

13Into the clustering battle of the French;

14And in that sea of blood my boy did drench

15His over-mounting spirit, and there died,

16My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

17O, my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!

18Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,

19Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,

20Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

21Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,

22In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.

23O, thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,

24Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!

25Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;

26Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.

27Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,

28Had death been French, then death had died to-day.