And neer throughout the year to church thou gost


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


Instead of gold, well offer up our arms:


Since arms avail not now that Henrys dead.


When at their mothers moist eyes babes shall suck,


Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,


And none but women left to wail the dead.


Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,


Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!


A far more glorious star thy soul will make


Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,


Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.


What sayst thou, man, before dead Henrys corse?


Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns


Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.


These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.


How were they lost? what treachery was used?


No treachery; but want of men and money.


That here you maintain several factions,


And whilst a field should be dispatchd and fought,


One would have lingering wars with little cost;


Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;


By guileful fair words peace may be obtaind.


Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:


Croppd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;


These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.


Give me my steeled coat. Ill fight for France.


Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!


Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,


Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.


France is revolted from the English quite,


The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;


The Bastard of Orleans with him is joind;


Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;


The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!


O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?


We will not fly, but to our enemies throats.


Bedford, if thou be slack, Ill fight it out.


Gloucester, why doubtst thou of my forwardness?


My gracious lords, to add to your laments,


Wherewith you now bedew King Henrys hearse,


Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.


O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was oerthrown:


The circumstance Ill tell you more at large.


The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,


Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.


By three and twenty thousand of the French


He wanted pikes to set before his archers;


Instead whereof sharp stakes pluckd out of hedges


To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.


More than three hours the fight continued;


Where valiant Talbot above human thought


Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:


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


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


The French exclaimd, the devil was in arms;


His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit


And rushd into the bowels of the battle.


Here had the conquest fully been seald up,


If Sir John Fastolfe had not playd the coward:


With purpose to relieve and follow them,


Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.


Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;


A base Walloon, to win the Dauphins grace,


Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,


Whom all France with their chief assembled strength


Durst not presume to look once in the face.


Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,


Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,


And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:


Most of the rest slaughterd or took likewise.


His ransom there is none but I shall pay:


Ill hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:


His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;


Four of their lords Ill change for one of ours.


Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;


Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,


To keep our great Saint Georges feast withal:


Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,


Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.


So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;


The English army is grown weak and faint:


Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.


Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,


I do remember it; and here take my leave,


Ill to the Tower with all the haste I can,


And then I will proclaim young Henry king.


To Eltham will I, where the young king is,


And for his safety there Ill best devise.


Each hath his place and function to attend:


But long I will not be Jack out of office:


And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.


Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers


Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens


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


Late did he shine upon the English side;


Otherwhiles the famishd English, like pale ghosts,


They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:


And have their provender tied to their mouths


Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.


Lets raise the siege: why live we idly here?


Remaineth none but mad-braind Salisbury;


And he may well in fretting spend his gall,


Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.


Now for the honour of the forlorn French!


When he sees me go back one foot or fly.


Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER


Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would neer have fled,


The other lords, like lions wanting food,


Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,


During the time Edward the Third did reign.


It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!


Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would eer suppose


Lets leave this town; for they are hare-braind slaves,


And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:


Of old I know them; rather with their teeth


The walls theyll tear down than forsake the siege.


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


Else neer could they hold out so as they do.


By my consent, well even let them alone.


Wheres the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.


Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.


Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appalld:


Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?


Which by a vision sent to her from heaven


And drive the English forth the bounds of France.


Whats past and whats to come she can descry.


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


Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:


Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:


By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.


Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE


Fair maid, ist thou wilt do these wondrous feats?


Reignier, ist thou that thinkest to beguile me?


Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;


I know thee well, though never seen before.


Be not amazed, theres nothing hid from me:


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


She takes upon her bravely at first dash.


Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherds daughter,


Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased


And to suns parching heat displayd my cheeks,


Her aid she promised and assured success:


And, whereas I was black and swart before,


With those clear rays which she infused on me


That beauty am I blessd with which you see.


Ask me what question thou canst possible,


My courage try by combat, if thou darest,


And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.


Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,


If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.


Thou hast astonishd me with thy high terms:


In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,


And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;


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


Deckd with five flower-de-luces on each side;


The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharines


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


Then come, o Gods name; I fear no woman.


And while I live, Ill neer fly from a man.


Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes


Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon


Christs mother helps me, else I were too weak.


Whoeer helps thee, tis thou that must help me:


My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.


Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:


Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.


When I have chased all thy foes from hence,


Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.


My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.


Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;


Else neer could he so long protract his speech.


Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?


He may mean more than we poor men do know:


These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.


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


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


What she says Ill confirm: well fight it out.


This night the siege assuredly Ill raise:


Expect Saint Martins summer, halcyon days,


Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.


With Henrys death the English circle ends;


Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.


Nor yet Saint Philips daughters, were like thee.


Bright star of Venus, falln down on the earth,


How may I reverently worship thee enough?


Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.


Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;


Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.


Presently well try: come, lets away about it:


No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.


Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats


Since Henrys death, I fear, there is conveyance.


Where be these warders, that they wait not here?


Open the gates; tis Gloucester that calls.


[Within]  Whos there that knocks so imperiously?


First Serving-ManIt is the noble Duke of Gloucester.


[Within]  Whoeer he be, you may not be let in.


First Serving-ManVillains, answer you so the lord protector?


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


Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?


Theres none protector of the realm but I.


Break up the gates, Ill be your warrantize.


Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?


Gloucesters men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within


What noise is this? what traitors have we here?


Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?


Open the gates; heres Gloucester that would enter.


Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;


That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.


Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him fore me?


Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,


Whom Henry, our late sovereign, neer could brook?


Thou art no friend to God or to the king:


Open the gates, or Ill shut thee out shortly.


Serving-MenOpen the gates unto the lord protector,


Or well burst them open, if that you come not quickly.


Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats


How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?


Peeld priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?


And not protector, of the king or realm.


Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;


Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:


Ill canvass thee in thy broad cardinals hat,


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


I will not slay thee, but Ill drive thee back:


Thy scarlet robes as a childs bearing-cloth


Ill use to carry thee out of this place.


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


What! am I dared and bearded to my face?


Draw, men, for all this privileged place;


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


I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:


Under my feet I stamp thy cardinals hat:


In spite of pope or dignities of church,


Here by the cheeks Ill drag thee up and down.


Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.


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


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


Thee Ill chase hence, thou wolf in sheeps array.


Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!


Here GLOUCESTERs men beat out BISHOP OF  WINCHESTERs men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers


Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,


Thus contumeliously should break the peace!


Peace, mayor! thou knowst little of my wrongs:


Heres Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,


Hath here distraind the Tower to his use.


One that still motions war and never peace,


Oercharging your free purses with large fines,


And would have armour here out of the Tower,


To crown himself king and suppress the prince.


I will not answer thee with words, but blows.


Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife


Come, officer; as loud as eer thou canst,


All manner of men assembled here in arms this day


against Gods peace and the kings, we charge and


command you, in his highness name, to repair to


your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,


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


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


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


Thy heart-blood I will have for this days work.


Ill call for clubs, if you will not away.


This cardinals more haughty than the devil.


Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.


Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men


See the coast cleard, and then we will depart.


Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!


Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy


Master-GunnerSirrah, thou knowst how Orleans is besieged,


And how the English have the suburbs won.


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


Master-GunnerBut now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:


Something I must do to procure me grace.


How the English, in the suburbs close intrenchd,


Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars


And thence discover how with most advantage


They may vex us with shot, or with assault.


A piece of ordnance gainst it I have placed;


And even these three days have I watchd,


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


If thou spyst any, run and bring me word;


And thou shalt find me at the governors.


Father, I warrant you; take you no care;


Ill never trouble you, if I may spy them.


Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others


Or by what means gotst thou to be released?


Discourse, I prithee, on this turrets top.


Calld the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;


Once in contempt they would have barterd me:


Which I, disdaining, scornd; and craved death,


But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,


Whom with my bare fists I would execute,


Yet tellst thou not how thou wert entertaind.


With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.


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


The scarecrow that affrights our children so.


Then broke I from the officers that led me,


And with my nails diggd stones out of the ground,


None durst come near for fear of sudden death.


So great fear of my name mongst them was spread,


That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,


That walked about me every minute-while;


Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.


I grieve to hear what torments you endured,


Here, through this grate, I count each one


and view the Frenchmen how they fortify:


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


Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,


Where is best place to make our battery next.


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


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


For aught I see, this city must be famishd,


Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall


O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!


What chance is this that suddenly hath crossd us?


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


How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?


One of thy eyes and thy cheeks side struck off!


Henry the Fifth he first traind to the wars;


Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,


His sword did neer leave striking in the field.


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


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


The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.


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


Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?


Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;


He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.


As who should say When I am dead and gone,


Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,


Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:


Wretched shall France be only in my name.


Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens


What stir is this? what tumults in the heavens?


Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?


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


The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle joind,


Is come with a great power to raise the siege.


Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans


Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!


It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.


Your hearts Ill stamp out with my horses heels,


And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.


And then well try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.


Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the  DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA  PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT


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


Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:


Here, here she comes. Ill have a bout with thee;


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


And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.


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


Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?


My breast Ill burst with straining of my courage


And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.


But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.


Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:


A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers


Oertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.


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


This day is ours, as many more shall be.


My thoughts are whirled like a potters wheel;


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


Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists:


So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench


Are from their hives and houses driven away.


They calld us for our fierceness English dogs;


Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.


Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,


Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions stead:


Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,


As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.


It will not be: retire into your trenches:


You all consented unto Salisburys death,


For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.


In spite of us or aught that we could do.


The shame hereof will make me hide my head.


Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers


Advance our waving colours on the walls;


Thus Joan la Pucelle hath performd her word.


How shall I honour thee for this success?


That one day bloomd and fruitful were the next.


France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!


More blessed hap did neer befall our state.


Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?


Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires


And feast and banquet in the open streets,


To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.


All France will be replete with mirth and joy,


When they shall hear how we have playd the men.


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


For which I will divide my crown with her,


And all the priests and friars in my realm


Shall in procession sing her endless praise.


But Joan la Pucelle shall be Frances saint.


Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels


Near to the walls, by some apparent sign


Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.


When others sleep upon their quiet beds,


Constraind to watch in darkness, rain and cold.


Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march


By whose approach the regions of Artois,


This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,


As fitting best to quittance their deceit


Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,


To join with witches and the help of hell!


But whats that Pucelle whom they term so pure?


Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,


If underneath the standard of the French


Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:


God is our fortress, in whose conquering name


Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.


Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.


That we do make our entrance several ways;


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


The other yet may rise against their force.


And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.


Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right


Of English Henry, shall this night appear


The French leap over the walls in their shirts.  Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready


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


Unready! ay, and glad we scaped so well.


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


Of all exploits since first I followd arms,


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


Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.


Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?


Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,


That now our loss might be ten times so much?


Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!


At all times will you have my power alike?


Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,


Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?


Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,


This sudden mischief never could have falln.


That, being captain of the watch to-night,


Did look no better to that weighty charge.


Had all your quarters been as safely kept


We had not been thus shamefully surprised.


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


Within her quarter and mine own precinct


Then how or which way should they first break in?


Question, my lords, no further of the case,


How or which way: tis sure they found some place


But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.


And now there rests no other shift but this;


To gather our soldiers, scatterd and dispersed,


Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A  Talbot! a Talbot! They fly, leaving their clothes behind


Ill be so bold to take what they have left.


The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;


Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others


The day begins to break, and night is fled,


Whose pitchy mantle over-veild the earth.


Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.


And here advance it in the market-place,


For every drop of blood was drawn from him,


There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.


A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interrd:


Upon the which, that every one may read,


The treacherous manner of his mournful death


And what a terror he had been to France.


I muse we met not with the Dauphins grace,


His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,


Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,


Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,


They did amongst the troops of armed men


Leap oer the walls for refuge in the field.


For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,


Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,


When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,


That could not live asunder day or night.


After that things are set in order here,


Well follow them with all the power we have.


All hail, my lords! which of this princely train


Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts


So much applauded through the realm of France?


Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?


The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,


By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe


To visit her poor castle where she lies,


That she may boast she hath beheld the man


Whose glory fills the world with loud report.


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


When ladies crave to be encounterd with.


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


Neer trust me then; for when a world of men


Could not prevail with all their oratory,


And therefore tell her I return great thanks,


No, truly; it is more than manners will:


And I have heard it said, unbidden guests


Well then, alone, since theres no remedy,


SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESSs castle.


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


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


Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,


And his achievements of no less account:


Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,


To give their censure of these rare reports.


By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.


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


Is this the Talbot, so much feard abroad


That with his name the mothers still their babes?


I thought I should have seen some Hercules,


And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.


It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp


Should strike such terror to his enemies.


But since your ladyship is not at leisure,


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


Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves


To know the cause of your abrupt departure.


And for that cause I trained thee to my house.


Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,


But now the substance shall endure the like,


And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,


And sent our sons and husbands captivate.


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


To think that you have aught but Talbots shadow


You are deceived, my substance is not here;


For what you see is but the smallest part


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


Your roof were not sufficient to containt.


This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;


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


Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers


How say you, madam? are you now persuaded


These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,


With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,


Razeth your cities and subverts your towns


I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited


And more than may be gatherd by thy shape.


Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;


Be not dismayd, fair lady; nor misconstrue


What you have done hath not offended me;


But only, with your patience, that we may


Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;


For soldiers stomachs always serve them well.


With all my heart, and think me honoured


To feast so great a warrior in my house.


Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer


Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?


Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;


Then say at once if I maintaind the truth;


Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?


And never yet could frame my will to it;


And therefore frame the law unto my will.


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


Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;


Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;


Between two blades, which bears the better temper:


Between two horses, which doth bear him best;


Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;


I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;


But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,


Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:


That it will glimmer through a blind mans eye.


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


In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:


And stands upon the honour of his birth,


If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,


From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.


Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,


But dare maintain the party of the truth,


Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.


I love no colours, and without all colour


I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.


I pluck this red rose with young Somerset


And say withal I think he held the right.


Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,


Till you conclude that he upon whose side


The fewest roses are croppd from the tree


Shall yield the other in the right opinion.


Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:


If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.


Then for the truth and plainness of the case.


I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,


Giving my verdict on the white rose side.


Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,


Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red


And fall on my side so, against your will.


And keep me on the side where still I am.


In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.


Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.


Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;


For pale they look with fear, as witnessing


Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks


Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,


And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.


Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;


Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.


Well, Ill find friends to wear my bleeding roses,


That shall maintain what I have said is true,


Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.


I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.


Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.


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


Ill turn my part thereof into thy throat.


We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.


Now, by Gods will, thou wrongst him, Somerset;


His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,


Third son to the third Edward King of England:


Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?


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


By him that made me, Ill maintain my words


Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,


For treason executed in our late kings days?


And, by his treason, standst not thou attainted,


Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?


His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;


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


Condemnd to die for treason, but no traitor;


And that Ill prove on better men than Somerset,


Were growing time once ripend to my will.


For your partaker Pole and you yourself,


Look to it well and say you are well warnd.


Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;


And know us by these colours for thy foes,


For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.


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


As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,


Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!


Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.


How I am braved and must perforce endure it!


This blot that they object against your house


Shall be wiped out in the next parliament


Calld for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;


I will not live to be accounted Warwick.


Against proud Somerset and William Pole,


Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,


Shall send between the red rose and the white


A thousand souls to death and deadly night.


That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.


In your behalf still will I wear the same.


This quarrel will drink blood another day.


Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers


Even like a man new haled from the rack,


So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.


And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,


These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,


Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,


And pithless arms, like to a witherd vine


That droops his sapless branches to the ground;


Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,


Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,


But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?


Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:


We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;


And answer was returnd that he will come.


Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.


Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.


Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,


This loathsome sequestration have I had:


And even since then hath Richard been obscured,


Just death, kind umpire of mens miseries,


With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:


I would his troubles likewise were expired,


My lord, your loving nephew now is come.


Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?


Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.


Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,


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


That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.


And now declare, sweet stem from Yorks great stock,


Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?


First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;


And, in that ease, Ill tell thee my disease.


Some words there grew twixt Somerset and me;


Among which terms he used his lavish tongue


And did upbraid me with my fathers death:


Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,


Therefore, good uncle, for my fathers sake,


And for alliance sake, declare the cause


My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.


That cause, fair nephew, that imprisond me


And hath detaind me all my flowering youth


Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,


Discover more at large what cause that was,


And death approach not ere my tale be done.


Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,


Deposed his nephew Richard, Edwards son,


Of Edward king, the third of that descent:


During whose reign the Percies of the north,


The reason moved these warlike lords to this


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


From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son


From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,


They laboured to plant the rightful heir,


Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,


Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived


From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,


But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl


In whom the tide rested, were suppressd.


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


True; and thou seest that I no issue have


And that my fainting words do warrant death;


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


Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:


As princes do their courts, when they are cloyd


With long continuance in a settled place.


O, uncle, would some part of my young years


Might but redeem the passage of your age!


Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth


Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.


Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;


And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes


And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!


And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!


Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;


Will see his burial better than his life.


Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out the body of MORTIMER


Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:


And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,


And therefore haste I to the parliament,


Or make my ill the advantage of my good.


Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER,  WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF  WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.  GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it


Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,


With written pamphlets studiously devised,


Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,


Or aught intendst to lay unto my charge,


Purpose to answer what thou canst object.


Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,


Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonourd me.


Think not, although in writing I preferrd


The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,


That therefore I have forged, or am not able


Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:


No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,


Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,


Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems


And for thy treachery, whats more manifest?


In that thou laidst a trap to take my life,


As well at London bridge as at the Tower.


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


The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt


From envious malice of thy swelling heart.


Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe


If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,


Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?


And for dissension, who preferreth peace


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


It is not that that hath incensed the duke:


It is, because no one should sway but he;


And that engenders thunder in his breast


And makes him roar these accusations forth.


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


Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.


And know the office that belongs to such.


Methinks his lordship should be humbler;


Yes, when his holy state is touchd so near.


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


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


Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?


Else would I have a fling at Winchester.


The special watchmen of our English weal,


I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,


That two such noble peers as ye should jar!


Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell


That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.


A noise within, Down with the tawny-coats!


Begun through malice of the bishops men.


A noise again, Stones! stones! Enter Mayor


The bishop and the Duke of Gloucesters men,


Have filld their pockets full of pebble stones


And banding themselves in contrary parts


That many have their giddy brains knockd out:


Our windows are broke down in every street


And we for fear compelld to shut our shops.


Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates


We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,


To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.


Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.


First Serving-manNay, if we be forbidden stones,


Second Serving-manDo what ye dare, we are as resolute.


You of my household, leave this peevish broil


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


Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,


And ere that we will suffer such a prince,


We and our wives and children all will fight


And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.


First Serving-manAy, and the very parings of our nails


O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!


My sighs and tears and will not once relent?


If holy churchmen take delight in broils?


Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;


To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.


You see what mischief and what murder too


Then be at peace except ye thirst for blood.


Compassion on the king commands me stoop;


Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest


As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:


Why look you still so stern and tragical?


Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach


That malice was a great and grievous sin;


And will not you maintain the thing you teach,


Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.


For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!


What, shall a child instruct you what to do?


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


Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.


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


See here, my friends and loving countrymen,


Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:


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


O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,


But join in friendship, as your lords have done.


First Serving-manContent: Ill to the surgeons.


Third Serving-manAnd I will see what physic the tavern affords.


Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,


Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet


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


And if your grace mark every circumstance,


You have great reason to do Richard right;


And those occasions, uncle, were of force:


Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is


So shall his fathers wrongs be recompensed.


As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.


That doth belong unto the house of York,


From whence you spring by lineal descent.


And humble service till the point of death.


Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;


I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:


And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!


That grudge one thought against your majesty!


Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!


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


To cross the seas and to be crownd in France:


Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,


When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;


For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.


Ay, we may march in England or in France,


This late dissension grown betwixt the peers


Burns under feigned ashes of forged love


And will at last break out into a flame:


Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,


So will this base and envious discord breed.


Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth


That Henry born at Monmouth should win all


His days may finish ere that hapless time.


Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs


These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,


Through which our policy must make a breach:


Take heed, be wary how you place your words;


That come to gather money for their corn.


If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,


And that we find the slothful watch but weak,


Ill by a sign give notice to our friends,


That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.


Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,


Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.


Now, Rouen, Ill shake thy bulwarks to the ground.


Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces


And once again well sleep secure in Rouen.


Here enterd Pucelle and her practisants;


Where is the best and safest passage in?


By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;


Which, once discernd, shows that her meaning is,


No way to that, for weakness, which she enterd.


Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a torch burning


See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;


The burning torch in yonder turret stands.


Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;


France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,


Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,


Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,


That hardly we escaped the pride of France.


An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick  in a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without:  within JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls


Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?


Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?


Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!


I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own


And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.


Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.


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


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


Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,


Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age


And twit with cowardice a man half dead?


Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.


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


If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.


God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?


Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?


Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,


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


Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls


And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.


Away, captains! lets get us from the walls;


For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.


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


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


Or else reproach be Talbots greatest fame!


Prickd on by public wrongs sustaind in France,


My vows are equal partners with thy vows.


But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,


The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,


We will bestow you in some better place,


Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen


And will be partner of your weal or woe.


Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.


Not to be gone from hence; for once I read


Came to the field and vanquished his foes:


Methinks I should revive the soldiers hearts,


Then be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!


An alarum: excursions. Enter FASTOLFE and a Captain


Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?


We are like to have the overthrow again.


What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?


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


Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!


Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON, and CHARLES fly


Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,


What is the trust or strength of foolish man?


They that of late were daring with their scoffs


Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.


BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair


An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest


Yet heavens have glory for this victory!


Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects


Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?


Now wheres the Bastards braves, and Charles his gleeks?


What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief


Now will we take some order in the town,


For there young Henry with his nobles lie.


What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.


The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,


A gentler heart did never sway in court;


But kings and mightiest potentates must die,


Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces


And like a peacock sweep along his tail;


Well pull his plumes and take away his train,


If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.


One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.


And we will make thee famous through the world.


And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:


Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.


Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:


By fair persuasions mixd with sugard words


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


France were no place for Henrys warriors;


Nor should that nation boast it so with us,


For ever should they be expulsed from France


Your honours shall perceive how I will work


Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive


Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.


Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over at a distance, TALBOT and his forces


There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,


And all the troops of English after him.


Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:


The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.


What sayst thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.


Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.


Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!


Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.


Look on thy country, look on fertile France,


And see the cities and the towns defaced


When death doth close his tender dying eyes,


Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,


Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast.


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


One drop of blood drawn from thy countrys bosom


Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:


Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,


And wash away thy countrys stained spots.


Either she hath bewitchd me with her words,


Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,


Who jointst thou with but with a lordly nation


That will not trust thee but for profits sake?


When Talbot hath set footing once in France


And fashiond thee that instrument of ill,


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


They set him free without his ransom paid,


In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.


See, then, thou fightst against thy countrymen


And jointst with them will be thy slaughtermen.


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


Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.


I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers


Have batterd me like roaring cannon-shot,


Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,


And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:


My forces and my power of men are yours:


So farewell, Talbot; Ill no longer trust thee.


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


Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.


And doth beget new courage in our breasts.


Pucelle hath bravely playd her part in this,


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


Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF  WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK,  EXETER, VERNONBASSET, and others. To them with his Soldiers, TALBOT


My gracious prince, and honourable peers,


In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaimd


Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,


Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,


Lets fall his sword before your highness feet,


First to my God and next unto your grace.


Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,


That hath so long been resident in France?


Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.


Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!


Long since we were resolved of your truth,


Your faithful service and your toil in war;


Or been reguerdond with so much as thanks,


Because till now we never saw your face:


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


Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET


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


Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?


The envious barking of your saucy tongue


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


Villain, thou knowst the law of arms is such


That whoso draws a sword, tis present death,


Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.


When thou shalt see Ill meet thee to thy cost.


Well, miscreant, Ill be there as soon as you;


And, after, meet you sooner than you would.


Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF  WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, TALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others


Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.


God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!


Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,


And none your foes but such as shall pretend


This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!


My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,


Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.


I vowd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,


To tear the garter from thy cravens leg,


Thou wast installed in that high degree.


When but in all I was six thousand strong


And that the French were almost ten to one,


Before we met or that a stroke was given,


In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;


Were there surprised and taken prisoners.


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


Or whether that such cowards ought to wear


To say the truth, this fact was infamous


Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.


When first this order was ordaind, my lords,


Knights of the garter were of noble birth,


Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,


Such as were grown to credit by the wars;


Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,


He then that is not furnishd in this sort


Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,


And should, if I were worthy to be judge,


Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain


That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.


Stain to thy countrymen, thou hearst thy doom!


Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:


Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.


And now, my lord protector, view the letter


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


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


Moved with compassion of my countrys wreck,


And joind with Charles, the rightful King of France.


There should be found such false dissembling guile?


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


Is that the worst this letter doth contain?


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


Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him


And give him chastisement for this abuse.


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


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


I should have beggd I might have been employd.


Then gather strength and march unto him straight:


Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason


And what offence it is to flout his friends.


Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.


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


This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.


And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.


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


Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?


And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?


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


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


What is that wrong whereof you both complain?


First let me know, and then Ill answer you.


Crossing the sea from England into France,


This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,


Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves


Did represent my masters blushing cheeks,


Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him;


For though he seem with forged quaint conceit


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


And he first took exceptions at this badge,


Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower


Bewrayd the faintness of my masters heart.


Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?


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


Though neer so cunningly you smother it.


Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,


When for so slight and frivolous a cause


Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,


Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.


Let this dissension first be tried by fight,


And then your highness shall command a peace.


Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.


There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.


Nay, let it rest where it began at first.


Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!


And perish ye, with your audacious prate!


Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed


And you, my lords, methinks you do not well


Much less to take occasion from their mouths


Let me persuade you take a better course.


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


Come hither, you that would be combatants:


Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,


Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.


And you, my lords, remember where we are,


In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:


If they perceive dissension in our looks


How will their grudging stomachs be provoked


Destroyd themselves, and lost the realm of France!


O, think upon the conquest of my father,


That for a trifle that was bought with blood


Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.


That any one should therefore be suspicious


Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:


As well they may upbraid me with my crown,


Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crownd.


But your discretions better can persuade


And therefore, as we hither came in peace,


So let us still continue peace and love.


To be our regent in these parts of France:


Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;


And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,


After some respite will return to Calais;


From thence to England; where I hope ere long


With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.


Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER and VERNON


My Lord of York, I promise you, the king


Prettily, methought, did play the orator.


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


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


Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;


For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,


I fear we should have seen decipherd there


More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,


This shouldering of each other in the court,


This factious bandying of their favourites,


But that it doth presage some ill event.


Tis much when sceptres are in childrens hands;


But more when envy breeds unkind division;


There comes the rain, there begins confusion.


Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:


Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft


English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,


Servant in arms to Harry King of England;


And thus he would: Open your city gates;


Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,


And Ill withdraw me and my bloody power:


But, if you frown upon this profferd peace,


You tempt the fury of my three attendants,


Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;


Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,


Our nations terror and their bloody scourge!


On us thou canst not enter but by death;


And strong enough to issue out and fight:


If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,


Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:


On either hand thee there are squadrons pitchd,


To wall thee from the liberty of flight;


And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,


But death doth front thee with apparent spoil


And pale destruction meets thee in the face.


Ten thousand French have taen the sacrament


Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.


Lo, there thou standst, a breathing valiant man,


For ere the glass, that now begins to run,


These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,


Shall see thee witherd, bloody, pale and dead.


Hark! hark! the Dauphins drum, a warning bell,


And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.


Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.


A little herd of Englands timorous deer,


Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!


If we be English deer, be then in blood;


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


But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,


Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel


And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:


Sell every man his life as dear as mine,


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


God and Saint George, Talbot and Englands right,


Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!


Enter a Messenger that meets YORK. Enter YORK with trumpet and many Soldiers


Are not the speedy scouts returnd again,


That doggd the mighty army of the Dauphin?


They are returnd, my lord, and give it out


That he is marchd to Bourdeaux with his power,


To fight with Talbot: as he marchd along,


Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,


Which joind with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.


Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!


If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.


Thou princely leader of our English strength,


Never so needful on the earth of France,


To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!


Else, farewell Talbot, France, and Englands honour.


O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart


Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbots place!


Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,


That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.


O, send some succor to the distressd lord!


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


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


Then God take mercy on brave Talbots soul;


And on his son young John, who two hours since


I met in travel toward his warlike father!


This seven years did not Talbot see his son;


And now they meet where both their lives are done.


To bid his young son welcome to his grave?


That sunderd friends greet in the hour of death.


But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.


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


Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,


The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,


Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,


Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.


Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of TALBOTs with him


Too rashly plotted: all our general force


Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour


By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:


York set him on to fight and die in shame,


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


Set from our oermatchd forces forth for aid.


How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?


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


To beat assailing death from his weak legions:


Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,


And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,


You, his false hopes, the trust of Englands honour,


Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.


The levied succors that should lend him aid,


Yields up his life unto a world of odds:


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


And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;


Swearing that you withhold his levied host,


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


And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.


The fraud of England, not the force of France,


Hath now entrappd the noble-minded Talbot:


Never to England shall he bear his life;


But dies, betrayd to fortune by your strife.


Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:


Within six hours they will be at his aid.


Too late comes rescue: he is taen or slain;


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


And fly would Talbot never, though he might.


If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!


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


SCENE V. The English camp near Bourdeaux.


O young John Talbot! I did send for thee


That Talbots name might be in thee revived


Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.


Now thou art come unto a feast of death,


Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;


And Ill direct thee how thou shalt escape


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


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


The world will say, he is not Talbots blood,


That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.


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


He that flies so will neer return again.


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


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


Your loss is great, so your regard should be;


My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.


Upon my death the French can little boast;


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


Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;


But mine it will, that no exploit have done:


You fled for vantage, everyone will swear;


But, if I bow, theyll say it was for fear.


If the first hour I shrink and run away.


Shall all thy mothers hopes lie in one tomb?


Ay, rather than Ill shame my mothers womb.


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


Part of thy father may be saved in thee.


Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.


Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?


Thy fathers charge shall clear thee from that stain.


And leave my followers here to fight and die?


My age was never tainted with such shame.


And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?


Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:


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


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


Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.


Come, side by side together live and die.


And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.


Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him


Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.


The regent hath with Talbot broke his word


And left us to the rage of France his sword.


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


I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.


The life thou gavest me first was lost and done,


Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,


To my determined time thou gavest new date.


When from the Dauphins crest thy sword struck fire,


It warmd thy fathers heart with proud desire


Quickend with youthful spleen and warlike rage,


And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.


The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood


From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood


Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace


Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine


Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:


Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy fathers care,


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


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


Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:


The help of one stands me in little stead.


To hazard all our lives in one small boat!


If I to-day die not with Frenchmens rage,


Tis but the shortening of my life one day:


In thee thy mother dies, our households name,


My deaths revenge, thy youth, and Englands fame:


All these and more we hazard by thy stay;


All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.


The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;


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


On that advantage, bought with such a shame,


To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,


Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,


The coward horse that bears me fail and die!


And like me to the peasant boys of France,


To be shames scorn and subject of mischance!


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


Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,


If thou wilt fight, fight by thy fathers side;


And, commendable proved, lets die in pride.


Alarum: excursions. Enter TALBOT led by a Servant


Where is my other life? mine own is gone;


O, wheres young Talbot? where is valiant John?


Triumphant death, smeard with captivity,


Young Talbots valour makes me smile at thee:


When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,


Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;


Into the clustering battle of the French;


And in that sea of blood my boy did drench


His over-mounting spirit, and there died,


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


Enter Soldiers, with the body of JOHN TALBOT


Thou antic death, which laughst us here to scorn,


Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,


O, thou, whose wounds become hard-favourd death,


Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!


Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;


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


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


Come, come and lay him in his fathers arms:


My spirit can no longer bear these harms.


Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,


Now my old arms are young John Talbots grave.


Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces


Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,


We should have found a bloody day of this.


How the young whelp of Talbots, raging-wood,


Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmens blood!


Thou maiden youth, be vanquishd by a maid:


But, with a proud majestical high scorn,


He answerd thus: Young Talbot was not born


So, rushing in the bowels of the French,


Doubtless he would have made a noble knight;


See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms


Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder


Whose life was Englands glory, Gallias wonder.


O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled


During the life, let us not wrong it dead.


Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the French preceding


Herald, conduct me to the Dauphins tent,


To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.


On what submissive message art thou sent?


Submission, Dauphin! tis a mere French word;


We English warriors wot not what it means.


I come to know what prisoners thou hast taen


For prisoners askst thou? hell our prison is.


But wheres the great Alcides of the field,


Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,


Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;


Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,


Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,


The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;


Knight of the noble order of Saint George,


Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;


Of all his wars within the realm of France?


The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,


Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles


Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.


Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmens only scourge,


O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turnd,


That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!


O, that I could but call these dead to life!


It were enough to fright the realm of France:


Were but his picture left amongst you here,


Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence


And give them burial as beseems their worth.


I think this upstart is old Talbots ghost,


He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.


For Gods sake let him have em; to keep them here,


They would but stink, and putrefy the air.


Ill bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be reard


A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.


So we be rid of them, do with em what thou wilt.


And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:


All will be ours, now bloody Talbots slain.


Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER


Have you perused the letters from the pope,


I have, my lord: and their intent is this:


Between the realms of England and of France.


How doth your grace affect their motion?


Well, my good lord; and as the only means


Should reign among professors of one faith.


The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,


Proffers his only daughter to your grace


In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.


Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!


Yet call the ambassador; and, as you please,


So let them have their answers every one:


Tends to Gods glory and my countrys weal.


Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER in Cardinals habit, a Legate and two Ambassadors


What! is my Lord of Winchester installd,


Hell make his cap co-equal with the crown.


My lords ambassadors, your several suits


Shall be transported presently to France.


And for the proffer of my lord your master,


He doth intend she shall be Englands queen.


In argument and proof of which contract,


Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.


And so, my lord protector, see them guarded


And safely brought to Dover; where inshippd


Exeunt all but CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate


Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive


For clothing me in these grave ornaments.


I will attend upon your lordships leisure.


[Aside]  Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,


Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive


That, neither in birth or for authority,


Ill either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,


Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces


These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:


Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,


And keep not back your powers in dalliance.


Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;


What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.


Into two parties, is now conjoined in one,


Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;


I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:


Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.


Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.


Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,


Let Henry fret and all the world repine.


Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!


Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE


The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.


Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;


You speedy helpers, that are substitutes


This speedy and quick appearance argues proof


Now, ye familiar spirits, that are culld


Out of the powerful regions under earth,


Help me this once, that France may get the field.


Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,


Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.


Then take my soul, my body, soul and all,


Before that England give the French the foil.


See, they forsake me! Now the time is come


That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest


And let her head fall into Englands lap.


And hell too strong for me to buckle with:


Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.


Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand  to hand with YORK. JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The French fly.


Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:


Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms


A goodly prize, fit for the devils grace!


See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,


As if with Circe she would change my shape!


Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.


No shape but his can please your dainty eye.


A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!


By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!


Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!


I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.


Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.


Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand


Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.


For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;


Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.


Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,


So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,


Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.


Go, and be free again, as Suffolks friend.


O, stay! I have no power to let her pass;


My hand would free her, but my heart says no


As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,


So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.


Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:


Ill call for pen and ink, and write my mind.


Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.


Say, Earl of Suffolk--if thy name be so--


How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit,


Why speakst thou not? what ransom must I pay?


Shes beautiful, and therefore to be wood;


Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife;


I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.


There all is marrd; there lies a cooling card.


He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.


And yet I would that you would answer me.


Why, for my king: tush, thats a wooden thing!


And peace established between these realms


But there remains a scruple in that too;


For though her father be the King of Naples,


Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,


Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?


It shall be so, disdain they neer so much.


Henry is youthful and will quickly yield.


What though I be enthralld? he seems a knight,


Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;


Sweet madam, give me a hearing in a cause--


Tush, women have been captivate ere now.


Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose


Ill undertake to make thee Henrys queen,


And have no portion in the choice myself.


Then call our captains and our colours forth.


And, madam, at your fathers castle walls


Well crave a parley, to confer with him.


A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the walls


See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!


Consent, and for thy honour give consent,


Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;


Whom I with pain have wood and won thereto;


Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty.


That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.


Welcome, brave earl, into our territories:


Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.


Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,


What answer makes your grace unto my suit?


Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth


To be the princely bride of such a lord;


Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,


Free from oppression or the stroke of war,


My daughter shall be Henrys, if he please.


Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.


Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.


Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,


And yet, methinks, I could be well content


Ill over then to England with this news,


And make this marriage to be solemnized.


So farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe


The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.


Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and prayers


Farewell, sweet madam: but hark you, Margaret;


Words sweetly placed and modestly directed.


Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart,


Never yet taint with love, I send the king.


O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;


Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;


Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,


Repeat their semblance often on the seas,


That, when thou comest to kneel at Henrys feet,


Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.


Bring forth that sorceress condemnd to burn.


Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd


Ah, Joan, this kills thy fathers heart outright!


Have I sought every country far and near,


And, now it is my chance to find thee out,


Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, Ill die with thee!


Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.


Out, out! My lords, an please you, tis not so;


She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.


Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?


This argues what her kind of life hath been,


Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.


Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!


God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;


And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:


Peasant, avaunt! You have subornd this man,


The morn that I was wedded to her mother.


Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.


Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time


Thy mother gave thee when thou suckdst her breast,


Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!


Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,


I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!


O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.


Take her away; for she hath lived too long,


To fill the world with vicious qualities.


First, let me tell you whom you have condemnd:


But you, that are polluted with your lusts,


Staind with the guiltless blood of innocents,


Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,


Because you want the grace that others have,


You judge it straight a thing impossible


To compass wonders but by help of devils.


Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,


Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.


And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,


Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:


Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,


Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?


That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.


Murder not then the fruit within my womb,


Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!


The greatest miracle that eer ye wrought:


Is all your strict preciseness come to this?


Well, go to; well have no bastards live;


Especially since Charles must father it.


You are deceived; my child is none of his:


Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,


But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevaild.


Why, heres a girl! I think she knows not well,


There were so many, whom she may accuse.


Its sign she hath been liberal and free.


And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.


Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:


Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:


But darkness and the gloomy shade of death


Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!


Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,


With letters of commission from the king.


For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,


Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils,


Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;


And here at hand the Dauphin and his train


Approacheth, to confer about some matter.


Is all our travail turnd to this effect?


So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers,


That in this quarrel have been overthrown


And sold their bodies for their countrys benefit,


Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?


Have we not lost most part of all the towns,


O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief


The utter loss of all the realm of France.


Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,


It shall be with such strict and severe covenants


As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.


Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, REIGNIER, and others


Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed


That peaceful truce shall be proclaimd in France,


What the conditions of that league must be.


Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes


Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:


That, in regard King Henry gives consent,


To ease your country of distressful war,


And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,


You shall become true liegemen to his crown:


And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear


Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,


With more than half the Gallian territories,


And therein reverenced for their lawful king:


Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquishd,


As to be calld but viceroy of the whole?


That which I have than, coveting for more,


Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means


And, now the matter grows to compromise,


Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.


To cavil in the course of this contract:


To save your subjects from such massacre


And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen


And therefore take this compact of a truce,


Although you break it when your pleasure serves.


How sayst thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?


Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,


Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.


So, now dismiss your army when ye please:


Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still,


Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER and EXETER


Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,


Of beauteous Margaret hath astonishd me:


Do breed loves settled passions in my heart:


Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,


Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale


The chief perfections of that lovely dame


And, which is more, she is not so divine,


So full-replete with choice of all delights,


Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,


Therefore, my lord protector, give consent


That Margaret may be Englands royal queen.


So should I give consent to flatter sin.


You know, my lord, your highness is betrothd


How shall we then dispense with that contract,


And not deface your honour with reproach?


To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists


And therefore may be broke without offence.


Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?


Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.


Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower,


Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.


A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,


That he should be so abject, base and poor,


To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.


So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,


As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.


Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,


And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,


It most of all these reasons bindeth us,


Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,


But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?


Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,


Approves her fit for none but for a king:


Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,


Will answer our hope in issue of a king;


As is fair Margaret he be linkd in love.


Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me


That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.


Whether it be through force of your report,


I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,


Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,


As I am sick with working of my thoughts.


Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;


To cross the seas to England and be crownd


King Henrys faithful and anointed queen:


For your expenses and sufficient charge,


Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,


And you, good uncle, banish all offence:


Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.


Thus Suffolk hath prevaild; and thus he goes,


As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,


With hope to find the like event in love,


Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;


But I will rule both her, the king and realm.


Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING  HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and  CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other


I had in charge at my depart for France,


To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,


In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,


The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,


Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,


I have performd my task and was espoused:


In sight of England and her lordly peers,


To your most gracious hands, that are the substance


The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,


The fairest queen that ever king received.


Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:


Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,


Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!


For thou hast given me in this beauteous face


A world of earthly blessings to my soul,


Great King of England and my gracious lord,


The mutual conference that my mind hath had,


By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,


With ruder terms, such as my wit affords


Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,


Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;


Such is the fulness of my hearts content.


Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.


[Kneeling]  Long live Queen Margaret, Englands


My lord protector, so it please your grace,


Here are the articles of contracted peace


Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,


For eighteen months concluded by consent.


[Reads]  Imprimis, it is agreed between the French


king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of


Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that


the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,


daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and


Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the


thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy


of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released


Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart


And dimmd mine eyes, that I can read no further.


[Reads]  Item, It is further agreed between them,


that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be


released and delivered over to the king her father,


and she sent over of the King of Englands own


proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.


They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:


We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,


And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,


We here discharge your grace from being regent


I the parts of France, till term of eighteen months


Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,


We thank you all for the great favour done,


Come, let us in, and with all speed provide


Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK


Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,


To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,


Your grief, the common grief of all the land.


What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,


His valour, coin and people, in the wars?


In winters cold and summers parching heat,


To conquer France, his true inheritance?


And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,


Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,


Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,


Received deep scars in France and Normandy?


With all the learned council of the realm,


Studied so long, sat in the council-house


How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,


And shall these labours and these honours die?


Shall Henrys conquest, Bedfords vigilance,


Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?


O peers of England, shameful is this league!


Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,


Blotting your names from books of memory,


Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,


For France, tis ours; and we will keep it still.


Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,


Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style


Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.


Now, by the death of Him that died for all,


These counties were the keys of Normandy.


But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?


For, were there hope to conquer them again,


My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.


Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;


Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:


And are the cities, that I got with wounds,


That dims the honour of this warlike isle!


France should have torn and rent my very heart,


Before I would have yielded to this league.


I never read but Englands kings have had


Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:


To match with her that brings no vantages.


That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth


For costs and charges in transporting her!


She should have stayed in France and starved


My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:


It was the pleasure of my lord the King.


My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;


Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,


But tis my presence that doth trouble ye.


Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face


Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,


I prophesied France will be lost ere long.


And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.


Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,


Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,


And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,


Theres reason he should be displeased at it.


Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words


Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.


What though the common people favour him,


Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,


With God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!


I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,


Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,


And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,


Well quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.


This weighty business will not brook delay:


Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphreys pride


And greatness of his place be grief to us,


Than all the princes in the land beside:


If Gloucester be displaced, hell be protector.


Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,


Pride went before, ambition follows him.


While these do labour for their own preferment,


I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester


More like a soldier than a man o the church,


As stout and proud as he were lord of all,


Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,


Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,


Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,


When thou wert regent for our sovereign,


Have made thee feard and honourd of the people:


With Somersets and Buckinghams ambition;


And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphreys deeds,


While they do tend the profit of the land.


So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,


[Aside]  And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.


Then lets make haste away, and look unto the main.


That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,


And would have kept so long as breath did last!


Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,


Which I will win from France, or else be slain,


Anjou and Maine are given to the French;


Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:


The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased


To change two dukedoms for a dukes fair daughter.


I cannot blame them all: what ist to them?


Tis thine they give away, and not their own.


Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage


And purchase friends and give to courtezans,


Still revelling like lords till all be gone;


Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands


And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,


While all is shared and all is borne away,


Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:


So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,


While his own lands are bargaind for and sold.


Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland


Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood


Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!


Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,


Even as I have of fertile Englands soil.


A day will come when York shall claim his own;


And therefore I will take the Nevils parts


And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,


And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,


For thats the golden mark I seek to hit:


Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,


Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,


Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.


Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:


Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,


With his new bride and Englands dear-bought queen,


And Humphrey with the peers be falln at jars:


Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,


With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;


And in my standard bear the arms of York


And, force perforce, Ill make him yield the crown,


Whose bookish rule hath pulld fair England down.


Why droops my lord, like over-ripend corn,


Hanging the head at Ceres plenteous load?


Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,


As frowning at the favours of the world?


Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,


Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?


What seest thou there? King Henrys diadem,


Enchased with all the honours of the world?


Until thy head be circled with the same.


Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.


What, ist too short? Ill lengthen it with mine:


Well both together lift our heads to heaven,


As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.


O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,


Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.


And may that thought, when I imagine ill


Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,


Be my last breathing in this mortal world!


My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.


What dreamd my lord? tell me, and Ill requite it


With sweet rehearsal of my mornings dream.


Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,


Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,


But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;


Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,


And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.


This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.


That he that breaks a stick of Gloucesters grove


Shall lose his head for his presumption.


But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:


And in that chair where kings and queens are crownd;


Where Henry and dame Margaret kneeld to me


Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:


Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,


And the protectors wife, beloved of him?


Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,


Above the reach or compass of thy thought?


And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,


What, what, my lord! are you so choleric


With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?


Next time Ill keep my dreams unto myself,


My lord protector, tis his highness pleasure


You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,


Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.


I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?


Yes, my good lord, Ill follow presently.


While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.


Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,


I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks


And smooth my way upon their headless necks;


Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,


We are alone; heres none but thee and I.


What sayst thou? majesty! I am but grace.


But, by the grace of God, and Humes advice,


What sayst thou, man? hast thou as yet conferrd


With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,


This they have promised, to show your highness


A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,


That shall make answer to such questions


As by your grace shall be propounded him.


It is enough; Ill think upon the questions:


Well see these things effected to the full.


Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,


With thy confederates in this weighty cause.


Hume must make merry with the duchess gold;


Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!


Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:


Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:


Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.


Yet have I gold flies from another coast;


And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,


They, knowing Dame Eleanors aspiring humour,


And buz these conjurations in her brain.


They say A crafty knave does need no broker;


Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinals broker.


Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near


To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.


Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last


Humes knavery will be the duchess wreck,


And her attainture will be Humphreys fall:


Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.


Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourers man, being one


My masters, lets stand close: my lord protector


will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver


Marry, the Lord protect him, for hes a good man!


Here a comes, methinks, and the queen with him.


Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and


How now, fellow! wouldst anything with me?


I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord


[Reading]  To my Lord Protector! Are your


supplications to his lordship? Let me see them:


Mine is, ant please your grace, against John


Goodman, my lord cardinals man, for keeping my


house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.


Thy wife, too! thats some wrong, indeed. Whats


Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the


Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.


[Giving his petition]  Against my master, Thomas


Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful


What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was


That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said


that he was, and that the king was an usurper.


his master with a pursuivant presently: well hear


And as for you, that love to be protected


Under the wings of our protectors grace,


Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.


My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,


Is this the fashion in the court of England?


Is this the government of Britains isle,


I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours


And stolest away the ladies hearts of France,


His champions are the prophets and apostles,


His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves


Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,


Your highness came to England, so will I


In England work your graces full content.


Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,


The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham,


And grumbling York: and not the least of these


But can do more in England than the king.


Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:


Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.


Not all these lords do vex me half so much


As that proud dame, the lord protectors wife.


She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,


More like an empress than Duke Humphreys wife:


Strangers in court do take her for the queen:


And in her heart she scorns our poverty:


Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,


She vaunted mongst her minions tother day,


The very train of her worst wearing gown


Was better worth than all my fathers lands,


Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.


Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,


And placed a quire of such enticing birds,


That she will light to listen to the lays,


So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me;


Yet must we join with him and with the lords,


Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.


As for the Duke of York, this late complaint


So, one by one, well weed them all at last,


And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.


Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER,  CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS


For my part, noble lords, I care not which;


If York have ill demeand himself in France,


Let York be regent; I will yield to him.


Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,


Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.


The cardinals not my better in the field.


All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.


Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,


Why Somerset should be preferred in this.


Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.


To give his censure: these are no womens matters.


If he be old enough, what needs your grace


And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.


Resign it then and leave thine insolence.


Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?--


The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck;


The Dauphin hath prevaild beyond the seas;


And all the peers and nobles of the realm


Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.


The commons hast thou rackd; the clergys bags


Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wifes attire


They sale of offices and towns in France,


If they were known, as the suspect is great,


Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.


Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan


Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?


Wast I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:


Could I come near your beauty with my nails,


Id set my ten commandments in your face.


Sweet aunt, be quiet; twas against her will.


Against her will! good king, look tot in time;


Shell hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:


Though in this place most master wear no breeches,


She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.


And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:


Shes tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,


Shell gallop far enough to her destruction.


But, to the matter that we have in hand:


I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man


To be your regent in the realm of France.


To show some reason, of no little force,


Ill tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:


First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;


Till France be won into the Dauphins hands:


Last time, I danced attendance on his will


Till Paris was besieged, famishd, and lost.


Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?