Part 21

SOMERSET. 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.

VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt And keep me on the side where still I am.

SOMERSET. Well, well, come on, who else?

LAWYER. Unless my study and my books be false,

[_To Somerset._]

The argument you held was wrong in law; In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side.

SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet, ’Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

SOMERSET. Well, I’ll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

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

SUFFOLK. I’ll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole! We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.

WARWICK. Now, by God’s will, thou wrong’st 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?

PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place’s privilege, Or durst not for his craven heart, say thus.

SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I’ll maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom. Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king’s days? And, by his treason, stand’st 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.

PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted, Condemn’d to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I’ll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen’d to my will. For your partaker Pole and you yourself, I’ll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension. Look to it well, and say you are well warn’d.

SOMERSET. 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.

PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for ever and my faction wear, Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree.

SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok’d with thy ambition! And so farewell until I meet thee next.

[_Exit._]

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

[_Exit._]

PLANTAGENET. How I am braved and must perforce endure it!

WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house Shall be wiped out in the next parliament Call’d for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; And if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset and William Pole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose. And here I prophesy: this brawl today, 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.

PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.

LAWYER. And so will I.

PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentlemen. Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say This quarrel will drink blood another day.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE V. The Tower of London.

Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Jailers.

MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, And pithless arms, like to a wither’d vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground. Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have. But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

FIRST JAILER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber, And answer was return’d that he will come.

MORTIMER. Enough. My soul shall then be satisfied. Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Before whose glory I was great in arms, This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscured, Deprived of honour and inheritance. But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just Death, kind umpire of men’s miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. I would his troubles likewise were expired, That so he might recover what was lost.

Enter Richard Plantagenet.

FIRST JAILER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

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

PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. And now declare, sweet stem from York’s great stock, Why didst thou say of late thou wert despised?

PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm, And, in that ease, I’ll tell thee my disease. This day, in argument upon a case, Some words there grew ’twixt Somerset and me; Among which terms he used his lavish tongue And did upbraid me with my father’s death; Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, Else with the like I had requited him. Therefore, good uncle, for my father’s sake, In honour of a true Plantagenet, And for alliance’ sake, declare the cause My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison’d me And hath detain’d me all my flowering youth Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease.

PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was, For I am ignorant and cannot guess.

MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward’s son, The first-begotten and the lawful heir Of Edward king, the third of that descent; During whose reign the Percies of the north, Finding his usurpation most unjust, Endeavour’d my advancement to the throne. The reason moved these warlike lords to this Was, for that—young King Richard thus removed, Leaving no heir begotten of his body— I was the next by birth and parentage; For by my mother I derived am From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son To King Edward the Third; whereas he From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Being but fourth of that heroic line. But mark: as in this haughty great attempt They labored to plant the rightful heir, I lost my liberty and they their lives. Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, Thy father, Earl of Cambridge then, derived From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, Marrying my sister that thy mother was, Again, in pity of my hard distress. Levied an army, weening to redeem And have install’d me in the diadem. But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the title rested, were suppress’d.

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

MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have, And that my fainting words do warrant death. Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather. But yet be wary in thy studious care.

PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me. But yet methinks, my father’s execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And like a mountain, not to be removed. But now thy uncle is removing hence, As princes do their courts when they are cloy’d With long continuance in a settled place.

PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age!

MORTIMER. 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; Only give order for my funeral. And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes, And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

[_Dies._]

PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, And like a hermit overpass’d thy days. Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; And what I do imagine, let that rest. Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself Will see his burial better than his life.

[_Exeunt Jailers, bearing out the body of Mortimer._]

Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Choked with ambition of the meaner sort. And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer’d to my house, I doubt not but with honour to redress; And therefore haste I to the Parliament, Either to be restored to my blood, Or make mine ill th’ advantage of my good.

[_Exit._]

ACT III

SCENE I. London. The Parliament House.

Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloucester, the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Somerset, Suffolk, and others. Gloucester offers to put up a bill. Winchester snatches it, tears it.

WINCHESTER. Com’st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devised, Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse Or aught intend’st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention, suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my patience, Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour’d me. Think not, although in writing I preferr’d 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, As very infants prattle of thy pride. Thou art a most pernicious usurer, Froward by nature, enemy to peace; Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems A man of thy profession and degree; And for thy treachery, what’s more manifest, In that thou laid’st a trap to take my life, As well at London Bridge as at the Tower? Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts are sifted, The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will have me, how am I so poor? Or how haps it I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissension, who preferreth peace More than I do, except I be provoked? 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, No one but he should be about the King; And that engenders thunder in his breast And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good—

GLOUCESTER. As good! Thou bastard of my grandfather!

WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another’s throne?

GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest?

WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?

GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft.

WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!

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

WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this.

GLOUCESTER. Roam thither, then.

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

SOMERSET. Ay, so the bishop be not overborne. Methinks my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such.

WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch’d so near.

WARWICK. State holy or unhallow’d, what of that? Is not his Grace Protector to the King?

PLANTAGENET. [_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.

KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal, I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

[_A noise within, “Down with the tawny-coats!”._]

What tumult’s this?

WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the Bishop’s men.

[_A noise again, “Stones! stones!”_]

Enter Mayor.

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

Enter Servingmen in skirmish with bloody pates.

KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace. Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.

FIRST SERVINGMAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we’ll fall to it with our teeth.

SECOND SERVINGMAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

[_Skirmish again._]

GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustom’d fight aside.

THIRD SERVINGMAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a man Just and upright, and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none but to his Majesty; And ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, We and our wives and children all will fight And have our bodies slaughter’d by thy foes.

FIRST SERVINGMAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

[_Begin again._]

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

KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? Who should be pitiful, if you be not? Or who should study to prefer a peace If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester; Except you mean with obstinate repulse To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. You see what mischief and what murder too, Hath been enacted through your enmity; Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

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

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

WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke Hath banish’d moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear. Why look you still so stern and tragical?

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

KING HENRY. 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, But prove a chief offender in the same?

WARWICK. Sweet King! The bishop hath a kindly gird. For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent! What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee; Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.

GLOUCESTER. [_Aside_.] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.— See here, my friends and loving countrymen, This token serveth for a flag of truce Betwixt ourselves and all our followers, So help me God, as I dissemble not!

WINCHESTER. [_Aside_.] So help me God, as I intend it not!

KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, How joyful am I made by this contract! Away, my masters, trouble us no more, But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

FIRST SERVINGMAN. Content. I’ll to the surgeon’s.

SECOND SERVINGMAN. And so will I.

THIRD SERVINGMAN. And I will see what physic the tavern affords.

[_Exeunt Servingmen, Mayor, &c._]

WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet We do exhibit to your Majesty.

GLOUCESTER. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick. For, sweet prince, An if your Grace mark every circumstance, You have great reason to do Richard right, Especially for those occasions At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.

KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force; Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is That Richard be restored to his blood.

WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood; So shall his father’s wrongs be recompensed.

WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone But all the whole inheritance I give That doth belong unto the house of York, From whence you spring by lineal descent.

PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience And humble service till the point of death.

KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot; And in reguerdon of that duty done I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, And rise created princely Duke of York.

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

ALL. Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!

SOMERSET. [_Aside_.] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!

GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty To cross the seas and to be crown’d in France. The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, As it disanimates his enemies.

KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes; For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness.

[_Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Exeter._]

EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France, Not seeing what is likely to ensue. This late dissension grown betwixt the peers Burns under feigned ashes of forged love, And will at last break out into a flame; As festered members rot but by degree Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, So will this base and envious discord breed. And now I fear that fatal prophecy Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth Was in the mouth of every sucking babe: That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, And Henry born at Windsor lose all, Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish His days may finish ere that hapless time.

[_Exit._]

SCENE II. France. Before Rouen.

Enter La Pucelle with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs.

PUCELLE. 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; Talk like the vulgar sort of market men 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, I’ll by a sign give notice to our friends, That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; Therefore we’ll knock. [_Knocks._]

WATCH. [_Within_.] _Qui est la?_

PUCELLE. _Paysans, la pauvres gens de France:_ Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

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

PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I’ll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.

[_Exeunt._]

Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, Reignier and forces.

CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem, And once again we’ll sleep secure in Rouen.

BASTARD. Here enter’d Pucelle and her practisants; Now she is there, how will she specify Here is the best and safest passage in?

REIGNIER. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower, Which, once discern’d, shows that her meaning is: No way to that, for weakness, which she enter’d.

Enter La Pucelle, on the top, thrusting out a torch burning.

PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, But burning fatal to the Talbonites.

[_Exit._]

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

CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

REIGNIER. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends; Enter and cry, “The Dauphin!” presently, And then do execution on the watch.

[_Alarum. Exeunt._]

An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion.

TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, If Talbot but survive thy treachery. Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, That hardly we escaped the pride of France.

[_Exit._]

An alarum. Excursions. Bedford, brought in sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and Burgundy without: within, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alençon, and Reignier on the walls.

PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread? I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast Before he’ll buy again at such a rate. ’Twas full of darnel. Do you like the taste?

BURGUNDY. 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.

CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.

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

PUCELLE. What will you do, good graybeard? Break a lance And run a tilt at Death within a chair?

TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompass’d with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead? Damsel, I’ll have a bout with you again, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

PUCELLE. Are ye so hot? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.

[_The English whisper together in council._]

God speed the Parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?

TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours or no.

TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate, But unto thee, Alençon, and the rest; Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

ALENÇON. Seignieur, no.

TALBOT. Seignieur, hang! Base muleteers of France! Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let’s get us from the walls, For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. Goodbye, my lord; we came but to tell you That we are here.

[_Exeunt from the walls._]

TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot’s greatest fame! Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, Prick’d on by public wrongs sustain’d in France, Either to get the town again or die. And I, as sure as English Henry lives, And as his father here was conqueror, As sure as in this late-betrayed town Great Coeur-de-lion’s heart was buried, So sure I swear to get the town or die.

BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

TALBOT. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, We will bestow you in some better place, Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.

BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me. Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, And will be partner of your weal or woe.

BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.

BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read That stout Pendragon in his litter sick Came to the field and vanquished his foes. Methinks I should revive the soldiers’ hearts, Because I ever found them as myself.

TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe! And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, But gather we our forces out of hand And set upon our boasting enemy.

[_Exeunt all but Bedford and Attendants._]

An alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolf and a Captain.

CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolf, in such haste?

FASTOLF. Whither away? To save myself by flight. We are like to have the overthrow again.

CAPTAIN. What! Will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?

FASTOLF. Ay, All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.

[_Exit._]

CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight, ill fortune follow thee!

[_Exit._]

Retreat. Excursions. La Pucelle, Alençon and Charles fly.

BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please, For I have seen our enemies’ overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? They that of late were daring with their scoffs Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

[_Bedford dies, and is carried in by two in his chair._]

An alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgundy and the rest.

TALBOT. Lost, and recover’d in a day again! This is a double honour, Burgundy. Yet heavens have glory for this victory!

BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects Thy noble deeds as valour’s monuments.

TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now? I think her old familiar is asleep. Now where’s the Bastard’s braves, and Charles his gleeks? What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief That such a valiant company are fled. Now will we take some order in the town, Placing therein some expert officers, And then depart to Paris to the King, For there young Henry with his nobles lie.

BURGUNDY. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.

TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let’s not forget The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased, But see his exequies fulfill’d in Rouen. A braver soldier never couched lance, A gentler heart did never sway in court; But kings and mightiest potentates must die, For that’s the end of human misery.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. The plains near Rouen.

Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, La Pucelle and forces.

PUCELLE. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered. Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied. Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while And like a peacock sweep along his tail; We’ll pull his plumes and take away his train, If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

CHARLES. We have been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy cunning had no diffidence. One sudden foil shall never breed distrust

BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies, And we will make thee famous through the world.

ALENÇON. We’ll set thy statue in some holy place, And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint. Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: By fair persuasions mix’d with sugar’d words We will entice the Duke of Burgundy To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, France were no place for Henry’s warriors; Nor should that nation boast it so with us, But be extirped from our provinces.

ALENÇON. For ever should they be expulsed from France, And not have title of an earldom here.

PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work To bring this matter to the wished end.

[_Drum sounds afar off._]

Hark! By the sound of drum you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

[_Here sound an English march._]

There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, And all the troops of English after him.

[_French march._]

Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his. Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

[_Trumpets sound a parley._]

CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

Enter Burgundy.

BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

BURGUNDY. What say’st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

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

PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France, Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

BURGUNDY. Speak on, but be not over-tedious.

PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, And see the cities and the towns defaced By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. As looks the mother on her lowly babe When death doth close his tender dying eyes, See, see the pining malady of France; Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast. O, turn thy edged sword another way; Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help. One drop of blood drawn from thy country’s bosom Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore. Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, And wash away thy country’s stained spots.

BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch’d me with her words, Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. Who join’st thou with but with a lordly nation That will not trust thee but for profit’s sake? When Talbot hath set footing once in France, And fashion’d thee that instrument of ill, Who then but English Henry will be lord, And thou be thrust out like a fugitive? Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof: Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe? And was he not in England prisoner? But when they heard he was thine enemy, They set him free without his ransom paid, In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. See then, thou fight’st against thy countrymen, And join’st with them will be thy slaughtermen. Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers Have batter’d me like roaring cannon-shot, And made me almost yield upon my knees. Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. My forces and my power of men are yours. So, farewell, Talbot; I’ll no longer trust thee.

PUCELLE. [_Aside_.] Done like a Frenchman: turn and turn again.

CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us fresh.

BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

ALENÇON. Pucelle hath bravely play’d her part in this, And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers, And seek how we may prejudice the foe.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. Paris. The Palace.

Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, Exeter, York, Warwick and Vernon; Suffolk, Somerset, Basset and others. To them, with his soldiers, Talbot.

TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers, Hearing of your arrival in this realm, I have awhile given truce unto my wars To do my duty to my sovereign; In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim’d To your obedience fifty fortresses, Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength, Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, Lets fall his sword before your Highness’ feet, And with submissive loyalty of heart Ascribes the glory of his conquest got First to my God, and next unto your Grace. [_Kneels_.]

KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester, That hath so long been resident in France?

GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege.

KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord! When I was young, as yet I am not old, I do remember how my father said A stouter champion never handled sword. Long since we were resolved of your truth, Your faithful service, and your toil in war; Yet never have you tasted our reward, Or been reguerdon’d with so much as thanks. Because till now we never saw your face. Therefore, stand up; and for these good deserts We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury; And in our coronation take your place.

[_Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Vernon and Basset._]

VERNON. Now, sir, to you that were so hot at sea, Disgracing of these colours that I wear In honour of my noble Lord of York, Dar’st thou maintain the former words thou spak’st?

BASSET. Yes, sir, as well as you dare patronage The envious barking of your saucy tongue Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.

VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

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

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

[_Strikes him._]

BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such That whoso draws a sword, ’tis present death, Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. But I’ll unto his Majesty, and crave I may have liberty to venge this wrong; When thou shalt see I’ll meet thee to thy cost.

VERNON. Well, miscreant, I’ll be there as soon as you; And, after, meet you sooner than you would.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

SCENE I. Paris. The Palace.

Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, Talbot, Exeter, York, and Warwick; Suffolk, Somerset, the Governor of Paris, and others.

GLOUCESTER. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth!

GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath, That you elect no other king but him; Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, And none your foes but such as shall pretend Malicious practices against his state: This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

Enter Sir John Fastolf.

FASTOLF. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, To haste unto your coronation, A letter was deliver’d to my hands, Writ to your Grace from th’ Duke of Burgundy.

TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee! I vow’d, base knight, when I did meet thee next, To tear the Garter from thy craven’s leg, [_Plucking it off_.] Which I have done, because unworthily Thou wast installed in that high degree. Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest. This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 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, Like to a trusty squire did run away; In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; Myself and divers gentlemen beside Were there surprised and taken prisoners. Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss, Or whether that such cowards ought to wear This ornament of knighthood, yea or no?

GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous And ill beseeming any common man, Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.

TALBOT. When first this Order was ordain’d, 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, But always resolute in most extremes. He then that is not furnish’d in this sort Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, Profaning this most honourable Order, 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.

KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear’st thy doom! Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.

[_Exit Fastolf._]

And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter Sent from our uncle, Duke of Burgundy.

GLOUCESTER. What means his Grace, that he hath changed his style? No more but, plain and bluntly, “To the King”! Hath he forgot he is his sovereign? Or doth this churlish superscription Pretend some alteration in good will? What’s here? [_Reads_] “I have, upon especial cause, Moved with compassion of my country’s wrack, Together with the pitiful complaints Of such as your oppression feeds upon, Forsaken your pernicious faction And join’d with Charles, the rightful King of France.” O monstrous treachery! Can this be so, That in alliance, amity, and oaths, There should be found such false dissembling guile?

KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

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

KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?

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

KING HENRY. 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?

TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes, but that I am prevented, I should have begg’d I might have been employ’d.

KING HENRY. 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.

TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still You may behold confusion of your foes.

[_Exit._]

Enter Vernon and Basset.

VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.

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

YORK. This is my servant; hear him, noble prince.

SOMERSET. And this is mine, sweet Henry, favour him.

KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak. Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim, And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom?

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

BASSET. And I with him, for he hath done me wrong.

KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both complain? First let me know, and then I’ll answer you.

BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France, This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, Upbraided me about the rose I wear, Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves Did represent my master’s blushing cheeks When stubbornly he did repugn the truth About a certain question in the law Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him; With other vile and ignominious terms. In confutation of which rude reproach, And in defence of my lord’s worthiness, I crave the benefit of law of arms.

VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord; For though he seem with forged quaint conceit To set a gloss upon his bold intent, Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him, And he first took exceptions at this badge, Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower Bewray’d the faintness of my master’s heart.

YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out, Though ne’er so cunningly you smother it.

KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause Such factious emulations shall arise! Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, And then your Highness shall command a peace.

SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

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

BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife! And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the King and us? And you, my lords, methinks you do not well To bear with their perverse objections, Much less to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves. Let me persuade you take a better course.

EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends.

KING HENRY. 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, And that within ourselves we disagree, How will their grudging stomachs be provoked To willful disobedience, and rebel! Beside, what infamy will there arise When foreign princes shall be certified That for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henry’s peers and chief nobility Destroy’d themselves and lost the realm of France! O, think upon the conquest of my father, My tender years, and let us not forgo That for a trifle that was bought with blood! Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. I see no reason if I wear this rose,

[_Putting on a red rose._]

That anyone should therefore be suspicious I more incline to Somerset than York. 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 crown’d. But your discretions better can persuade Than I am able to instruct or teach; And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let us still continue peace and love. Cousin of York, we institute your Grace To be our Regent in these parts of France; And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, Go cheerfully together and digest Your angry choler on your enemies. Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest After some respite will return to Calais; From thence to England, where I hope ere long To be presented, by your victories, With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout.

[_Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick, Exeter and Vernon._]

WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you the King Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not; I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

YORK. An if I wist he did—but let it rest; Other affairs must now be managed.

[_Exeunt all but Exeter._]

EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, I fear we should have seen decipher’d there More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, Than yet can be imagined or supposed. But howsoe’er, no simple man that sees This jarring discord of nobility, This shouldering of each other in the court, This factious bandying of their favourites, But sees it doth presage some ill event. ’Tis much when scepters are in children’s hands; But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.

[_Exit._]

SCENE II. Before Bordeaux.

Enter Talbot with trump and drum.

TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter. Summon their general unto the wall.

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 do him homage as obedient subjects, And I’ll withdraw me and my bloody power. But if you frown upon this proffer’d peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Lean Famine, quartering Steel, and climbing Fire, Who in a moment even with the earth Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, If you forsake the offer of their love.

GENERAL. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation’s terror and their bloody scourge! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death; For, I protest, we are well fortified 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 pitch’d 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 ta’en the sacrament To rive their dangerous artillery Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. Lo, there thou stand’st, a breathing valiant man Of an invincible unconquer’d spirit. This is the latest glory of thy praise That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; For ere the glass, that now begins to run, Finish the process of his sandy hour, These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, Shall see thee wither’d, bloody, pale, and dead.

[_Drum afar off._]

Hark, hark, the Dauphin’s drum, a warning bell, Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul, And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[_Exeunt General, etc._]

TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy. Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. O, negligent and heedless discipline! How are we park’d and bounded in a pale, A little herd of England’s 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 England’s right, Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Plains in Gascony.

Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and many soldiers

YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return’d again That dogg’d the mighty army of the Dauphin?

MESSENGER. They are return’d, my lord, and give it out That he is march’d to Bordeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot. As he march’d along, By your espials were discovered Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, Which join’d with him and made their march for Bordeaux.

[_Exit._]

YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset That thus delays my promised supply Of horsemen that were levied for this siege! Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, And I am louted by a traitor villain And cannot help the noble chevalier. God comfort him in this necessity! If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never so needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm’d about with grim destruction. To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! To Bordeaux, York! Else farewell, Talbot, France, and England’s honour.

YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot’s place! So should we save a valiant gentleman By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.

LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress’d lord!

YORK. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word; We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get, All long of this vile traitor Somerset.

LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot’s 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.

YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have To bid his young son welcome to his grave? Away! Vexation almost stops my breath, That sunder’d friends greet in the hour of death. Lucy, farewell. No more my fortune can But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, Long all of Somerset and his delay.

[_Exit, with his soldiers._]

LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory, Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all hurry to loss.

[_Exit._]

SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony.

Enter Somerset with his army; a Captain of Talbot’s with him.

SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now. This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted. All our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot 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.

CAPTAIN. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o’er-match’d forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

SOMERSET. How now, Sir William, whither were you sent?

LUCY. Whither, my lord? From bought and sold Lord Talbot, Who, ring’d about with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset To beat assailing Death from his weak legions; And whiles the honourable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. Let not your private discord keep away The levied succours that should lend him aid, While he, renowned noble gentleman, Yield up his life unto a world of odds. Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default.

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

LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you withhold his levied host Collected for this expedition.

SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse. I owe him little duty, and less love, And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now entrapp’d the noble-minded Talbot. Never to England shall he bear his life, But dies betray’d to fortune by your strife.

SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight. Within six hours they will be at his aid.

LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta’en or slain, For fly he could not if he would have fled; And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!

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

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE V. The English camp near Bordeaux.

Enter Talbot and John his son.

TALBOT. O young John Talbot, I did send for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of war, That Talbot’s name might be in thee revived When sapless age and weak unable limbs Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. But—O malignant and ill-boding stars!— Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger. Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And I’ll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.

JOHN TALBOT. Is my name Talbot? And am I your son? And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name, To make a bastard and a slave of me! The world will say, he is not Talbot’s blood, That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

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

JOHN TALBOT. He that flies so will ne’er return again.

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

JOHN TALBOT. 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, they’ll say it was for fear. There is no hope that ever I will stay If the first hour I shrink and run away. Here on my knee I beg mortality, Rather than life preserved with infamy.

TALBOT. Shall all thy mother’s hopes lie in one tomb?

JOHN TALBOT. Ay, rather than I’ll shame my mother’s womb.

TALBOT. Upon my blessing, I command thee go.

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

TALBOT. Part of thy father may be saved in thee.

JOHN TALBOT. No part of him but will be shame in me.

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

JOHN TALBOT. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?

TALBOT. Thy father’s charge shall clear thee from that stain.

JOHN TALBOT. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If death be so apparent, then both fly.

TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die? My age was never tainted with such shame.

JOHN TALBOT. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be sever’d from your side Than can yourself yourself in twain divide. Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; For live I will not, if my father die.

TALBOT. 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.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE VI. A field of battle.

Alarum. Excursions, wherein Talbot’s son is hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him.

TALBOT. 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.

JOHN TALBOT. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son! The life thou gav’st me first was lost and done, Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, To my determined time thou gav’st new date.

TALBOT. When from the Dauphin’s crest thy sword struck fire, It warm’d thy father’s heart with proud desire Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, Quicken’d with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. The ireful Bastard Orleans, that drew blood From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood Of thy first fight, I soon encountered, And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his bastard blood, and in disgrace Bespoke him thus: “Contaminated, base, And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.” Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father’s care, Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal’d the son of chivalry? Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead; The help of one stands me in little stead. O, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our lives in one small boat! If I today die not with Frenchmen’s rage, Tomorrow I shall die with mickle age. By me they nothing gain an if I stay; ’Tis but the short’ning of my life one day. In thee thy mother dies, our household’s name, My death’s revenge, thy youth, and England’s fame. All these and more we hazard by thy stay; All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.

JOHN TALBOT. 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 fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France, To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son. Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot.

TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet. If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side, And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE VII. Another part of the field.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Talbot led by a Servant.

TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone. O, where’s young Talbot? Where is valiant John? Triumphant Death, smear’d with captivity, Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee. When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And like a hungry lion did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none, Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustering battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His over-mounting spirit; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

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

Enter soldiers, with the body of young Talbot.

TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh’st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, In thy despite shall scape mortality. O thou whose wounds become hard-favour’d Death, Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. Poor boy, he smiles, methinks, as who should say, Had Death been French, then Death had died today. Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave.

[_Dies._]

Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle and forces.

CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this.

BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging-wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!

PUCELLE. Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said: “Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid.” But with a proud majestical high scorn He answer’d thus: “Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench.” So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder.

CHARLES. O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter Sir William Lucy and a French Herald.

LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent, To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day.

CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?

LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! ’Tis a mere French word. We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’en, And to survey the bodies of the dead.

CHARLES. For prisoners ask’st thou? Hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seek’st.

LUCY. But where’s the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, Created for his rare success in arms Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 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, Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth Of all his wars within the realm of France?

PUCELLE. Here’s a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this. Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.

LUCY. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman’s only scourge, Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis? O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, 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, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence And give them burial as beseems their worth.

PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God’s sake, let him have them; to keep them here, They would but stink and putrify the air.

CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.

LUCY. I’ll bear them hence; But from their ashes shall be rear’d A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou wilt. And now to Paris in this conquering vein. All will be ours, now bloody Talbot’s slain.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT V

SCENE I. London. The Palace.

Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester and Exeter.

KING HENRY. Have you perused the letters from the Pope, The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?

GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this: They humbly sue unto your Excellence To have a godly peace concluded of Between the realms of England and of France.

KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?

GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood And stablish quietness on every side.

KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle, for I always thought It was both impious and unnatural That such immanity and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith.

GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect And surer bind this knot of amity, The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, A man of great authority in France, Proffers his only daughter to your Grace In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young! And fitter is my study and my books Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Yet call th’ ambassadors; and, as you please, So let them have their answers every one. I shall be well content with any choice Tends to God’s glory and my country’s weal.

Enter Winchester in Cardinal’s habit, a Legate and two Ambassadors.

EXETER. What, is my Lord of Winchester install’d And call’d unto a cardinal’s degree? Then I perceive that will be verified Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy: “If once he come to be a cardinal, He’ll make his cap co-equal with the crown.”

KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits Have been consider’d and debated on. Your purpose is both good and reasonable; And therefore are we certainly resolved To draw conditions of a friendly peace, Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean Shall be transported presently to France.

GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master, I have inform’d his Highness so at large, As liking of the lady’s virtuous gifts, Her beauty and the value of her dower, He doth intend she shall be England’s Queen.

KING HENRY. 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 inshipp’d, Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

[_Exeunt all but Winchester and Legate._]

WINCHESTER. Stay my lord legate; you shall first receive The sum of money which I promised Should be deliver’d to his Holiness For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship’s leisure.

WINCHESTER. [_Aside_.] Now Winchester will not submit, I trow, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive That neither in birth or for authority, The Bishop will be overborne by thee. I’ll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou.

Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, Bastard, Reignier, La Pucelle and forces.

CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits: ’Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt And turn again unto the warlike French.

ALENÇON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; Else ruin combat with their palaces!

Enter Scout.

SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices!

CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.

SCOUT. The English army, that divided was Into two parties, is now conjoin’d in one, And means to give you battle presently.

CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; But we will presently provide for them.

BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there. Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

PUCELLE. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed. Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; Let Henry fret and all the world repine.

CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Before Angiers.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucelle.

PUCELLE. The Regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; And ye choice spirits that admonish me, And give me signs of future accidents. [_Thunder_] You speedy helpers, that are substitutes Under the lordly monarch of the north, Appear and aid me in this enterprise.

Enter Fiends.

This speed and quick appearance argues proof Of your accustom’d diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull’d Out of the powerful regions under earth, Help me this once, that France may get the field.

[_They walk and speak not._]

O, hold me not with silence over-long! Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, I’ll lop a member off and give it you In earnest of a further benefit, So you do condescend to help me now.

[_They hang their heads._]

No hope to have redress? My body shall Pay recompense if you will grant my suit.

[_They shake their heads._]

Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Then take my soul; my body, soul and all, Before that England give the French the foil.

[_They depart._]

See, they forsake me. Now the time is come That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest And let her head fall into England’s lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with. Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.

[_Exit._]

Excursions. Burgundy and York fight hand to hand. The French fly. La Pucelle is taken.

YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast. Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty. A goodly prize, fit for the devil’s grace! See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if with Circe she would change my shape!

PUCELLE. Chang’d to a worser shape thou canst not be.

YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee! And may ye both be suddenly surprised By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

YORK. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!

PUCELLE. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.

YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou com’st to the stake.

[_Exeunt._]

Alarum. Enter Suffolk with Margaret in his hand.

SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

[_Gazes on her._]

O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly! For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, I kiss these fingers for eternal peace, And lay them gently on thy tender side. Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.

MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, The King of Naples, whosoe’er thou art.

SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call’d. Be not offended, nature’s miracle, Thou art allotted to be ta’en by me. So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. Yet, if this servile usage once offend, Go and be free again as Suffolk’s friend.

[_She is going._]

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, Twinkling another counterfeited beam, So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak. I’ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind. Fie, de la Pole, disable not thyself; Hast not a tongue? Is she not here? Wilt thou be daunted at a woman’s sight? Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.

MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, What ransom must I pay before I pass? For I perceive I am thy prisoner.

SUFFOLK. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, Before thou make a trial of her love?

MARGARET. Why speak’st thou not? What ransom must I pay?

SUFFOLK. She’s beautiful, and therefore to be woo’d; She is a woman, therefore to be won.

MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no?

SUFFOLK. Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife; Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?

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

SUFFOLK. There all is marr’d; there lies a cooling card.

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

SUFFOLK. And yet a dispensation may be had.

MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.

SUFFOLK. I’ll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? Why, for my king. Tush, that’s a wooden thing!

MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.

SUFFOLK. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, 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, And our nobility will scorn the match.

MARGARET. Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?

SUFFOLK. It shall be so, disdain they ne’er so much. Henry is youthful and will quickly yield. Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

MARGARET. What though I be enthrall’d? He seems a knight, And will not any way dishonour me.

SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

MARGARET. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French; And then I need not crave his courtesy.

SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause.

MARGARET. Tush, women have been captivate ere now.

SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?

MARGARET. I cry you mercy, ’tis but _quid_ for _quo_.

SUFFOLK. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile Than is a slave in base servility; For princes should be free.

SUFFOLK. And so shall you, If happy England’s royal king be free.

MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

SUFFOLK. I’ll undertake to make thee Henry’s queen, To put a golden scepter in thy hand And set a precious crown upon thy head, If thou wilt condescend to be my—

MARGARET. What?

SUFFOLK. His love.

MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry’s wife.

SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam, I unworthy am To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, And have no portion in the choice myself. How say you, madam, are ye so content?

MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.

SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth. And, madam, at your father’s castle walls We’ll crave a parley, to confer with him.

A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the walls.

See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!

REIGNIER. To whom?

SUFFOLK. To me.

REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy? I am a soldier, and unapt to weep Or to exclaim on fortune’s fickleness.

SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: Consent, and for thy honour give consent, Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, Whom I with pain have woo’d and won thereto; And this her easy-held imprisonment Hath gain’d thy daughter princely liberty.

REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.

REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend To give thee answer of thy just demand.

[_Exit from the walls._]

SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.

Trumpets sound. Enter Reignier, below.

REIGNIER. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories. Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king. What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?

REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth To be the princely bride of such a lord, Upon condition I may quietly Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou, Free from oppression or the stroke of war, My daughter shall be Henry’s, if he please.

SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her; And those two counties I will undertake Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry’s royal name, As deputy unto that gracious king, Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.

SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Because this is in traffic of a king. [_Aside_.] And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case. I’ll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemnized. So, farewell, Reignier; set this diamond safe In golden palaces, as it becomes.

REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.

MARGARET. Farewell, my lord; good wishes, praise, and prayers Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [_Going_].

SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam; but hark you, Margaret, No princely commendations to my king?

MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid, A virgin and his servant, say to him.

SUFFOLK. Words sweetly placed and modestly directed. But, madam, I must trouble you again: No loving token to his Majesty?

MARGARET. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, Never yet taint with love, I send the King.

SUFFOLK. And this withal. [_Kisses her_.]

MARGARET. That for thyself. I will not so presume To send such peevish tokens to a king.

[_Exeunt Reignier and Margaret._]

SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay; Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth. There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise. Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, And natural graces that extinguish art; Repeat their semblance often on the seas, That, when thou com’st to kneel at Henry’s feet, Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.

[_Exit._]

SCENE IV. Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou.

Enter York, Warwick and others.

YORK. Bring forth that sorceress condemn’d to burn.

Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd.

SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father’s heart outright! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is my chance to find thee out, Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with thee!

PUCELLE. Decrepit miser, base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood. Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, as please you, ’tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows. Her mother liveth yet, can testify She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?

YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been, Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

SHEPHERD. 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. Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.

PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn’d this man Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

SHEPHERD. ’Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest 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 Of thy nativity! I would the milk Thy mother gave thee when thou suck’dst 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! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good.

[_Exit._]

YORK. Take her away, for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.

PUCELLE. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn’d: Not one begotten of a shepherd swain, But issued from the progeny of kings; Virtuous and holy, chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits. But you, that are polluted with your lusts, Stain’d 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. No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

YORK. Ay, ay; away with her to execution!

WARWICK. 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, That so her torture may be shortened.

PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, That warranteth by law to be thy privilege: I am with child, ye bloody homicides. Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death.

YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child?

WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e’er ye wrought! Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling. I did imagine what would be her refuge.

WARWICK. Well, go to; we’ll have no bastards live, Especially since Charles must father it.

PUCELLE. You are deceived; my child is none of his. It was Alençon that enjoy’d my love.

YORK. Alençon, that notorious Machiavel! It dies and if it had a thousand lives.

PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you. ’Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I named, But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail’d.

WARWICK. A married man! That’s most intolerable.

YORK. Why, here’s a girl! I think she knows not well— There were so many—whom she may accuse.

WARWICK. It’s sign she hath been liberal and free.

YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure! Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee. Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

PUCELLE. Then lead me hence, with whom I leave my curse: May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode; But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you, till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!

[_Exit, guarded._]

YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

Enter Bishop of Winchester as Cardinal, attended.

WINCHESTER. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence With letters of commission from the King. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, Have earnestly implored a general peace Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; And here at hand the Dauphin and his train Approacheth to confer about some matter.

YORK. Is all our travail turn’d to this effect? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, That in this quarrel have been overthrown And sold their bodies for their country’s benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquered? O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief The utter loss of all the realm of France.

WARWICK. 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, Alençon, Bastard, Reignier and others.

CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed That peaceful truce shall be proclaim’d in France, We come to be informed by yourselves What the conditions of that league must be.

YORK. Speak, Winchester, for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison’d voice By sight of these our baleful enemies.

WINCHESTER. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: That, in regard King Henry gives consent, Of mere compassion and of lenity, 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 To pay him tribute and submit thyself, Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, And still enjoy the regal dignity.

ALENÇON. Must he be then as shadow of himself? Adorn his temples with a coronet, And yet, in substance and authority, Retain but privilege of a private man? This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

CHARLES. ’Tis known already that I am possess’d With more than half the Gallian territories, And therein reverenced for their lawful king. Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish’d, Detract so much from that prerogative As to be call’d but viceroy of the whole? No, lord ambassador, I’ll rather keep That which I have than, coveting for more, Be cast from possibility of all.

YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means Used intercession to obtain a league, And, now the matter grows to compromise, Stand’st thou aloof upon comparison? Either accept the title thou usurp’st, Of benefit proceeding from our king And not of any challenge of desert, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.