Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins lay on the King! We must bear all. O hard condition, Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel But his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? What are thy comings in? O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the King, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony,— Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread, Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages.


ERPINGHAM. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you.


KING HENRY. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent. I'll be before thee.


ERPINGHAM. I shall do't, my lord.


KING HENRY. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts. Possess them not with fear. Take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord, O, not today, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new, And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.


KING HENRY. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee. The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.


SCENE II. The French camp.


Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others.


ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!


Enter Constable.


Now, my Lord Constable!


CONSTABLE. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!


DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!


RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?


MESSENGER. The English are embattl'd, you French peers.


CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall today draw out, And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, Who in unnecessary action swarm About our squares of battle, were enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation, But that our honours must not. What's to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount; For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall crouch down in fear and yield.


GRANDPRÉ. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favouredly become the morning field. Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps; The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit Lies foul with chew'd grass, still, and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words To demonstrate the life of such a battle, In life so lifeless as it shows itself.


CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.


DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them?


CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guard; on to the field! I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day.


SCENE III. The English camp.


Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host: Salisbury and Westmorland.


GLOUCESTER. Where is the King?


BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle.


WESTMORLAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.


EXETER. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.


SALISBURY. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge. If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!


BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!


EXETER. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today! And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.


[Exit Salisbury.]


BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness, Princely in both.


Enter the King.


WESTMORLAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work today!


KING. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin. If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires; But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more, methinks, would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart. His passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, "These wounds I had on Crispian's day." Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered, We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now abed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.


Enter Salisbury.


SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed. The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us.


KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so.


WESTMORLAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!


KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?


WESTMORLAND. God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!


KING HENRY. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men, Which likes me better than to wish us one. You know your places. God be with you all!


MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow; For certainly thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind Thy followers of repentance; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies Must lie and fester.


KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now?


MONTJOY. The Constable of France.


KING HENRY. I pray thee, bear my former answer back: Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? The man that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall no doubt Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, Shall witness live in brass of this day's work; And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. Mark then abounding valour in our English, That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, Break out into a second course of mischief, Killing in relapse of mortality. Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable We are but warriors for the working-day. Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd With rainy marching in the painful field; There's not a piece of feather in our host— Good argument, I hope, we will not fly— And time hath worn us into slovenry; But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads And turn them out of service. If they do this— As, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour. Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald. They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.


MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well; Thou never shalt hear herald any more.


KING HENRY. I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom.


YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.


KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away; And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!


SCENE IV. The field of battle.


Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy.


PISTOL. Yield, cur!


PISTOL. Qualité? Caleno custore me! Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.


PISTOL. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman. Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark: O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransom.


PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys, Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat In drops of crimson blood.


PISTOL. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offer'st me brass?


PISTOL. Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French What is his name.


BOY. He says his name is Master Fer.


PISTOL. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him. Discuss the same in French unto him.


BOY. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.


PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.


PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.


PISTOL. What are his words?


BOY. He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house; and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.


PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take.


PISTOL. Expound unto me, boy.


BOY. He gives you upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England.


PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me!


I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, "The empty vessel makes the greatest sound." Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hang'd; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys with the luggage of our camp. The French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys.


SCENE V. Another part of the field.


Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.


DAUPHIN. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.


[A short alarum.]


CONSTABLE. Why, all our ranks are broke.


DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves, Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?


ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?


BOURBON. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let's die in honour! Once more back again! And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, Like a base pandar, hold the chamber door Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminated.


CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.


ORLEANS. We are enough yet living in the field To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon.


BOURBON. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng. Let life be short, else shame will be too long.


SCENE VI. Another part of the field.


Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners.


KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen. But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.


EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.


KING HENRY. Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting. From helmet to the spur all blood he was.


EXETER. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, Larding the plain; and by his bloody side, Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes That bloodily did yawn upon his face. He cries aloud, "Tarry, my cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our chivalry." Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up. He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says, "Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign." So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips; And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd; But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.


KING HENRY. I blame you not; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.


But hark! what new alarum is this same? The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men. Then every soldier kill his prisoners; Give the word through.


SCENE VII. Another part of the field.


FLUELLEN. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'Tis expressly against the law of arms. 'Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not?


GOWER. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this slaughter. Besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the King's tent; wherefore the King, most worthily, hath caus'd every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king!


FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?


GOWER. Alexander the Great.


FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not pig great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.


GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.


FLUELLEN. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is call'd Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.


GOWER. Our King is not like him in that. He never kill'd any of his friends.


FLUELLEN. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it. As Alexander kill'd his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgements, turn'd away the fat knight with the great belly doublet. He was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.


FLUELLEN. That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.


GOWER. Here comes his Majesty.


Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with prisoners. Flourish.


KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill. If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field; they do offend our sight. If they'll do neither, we will come to them, And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings. Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have, And not a man of them that we shall take Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.


EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.


GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.


KING HENRY. How now! what means this, herald? Know'st thou not That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom? Com'st thou again for ransom?


MONTJOY. No, great King; I come to thee for charitable license, That we may wander o'er this bloody field To book our dead, and then to bury them; To sort our nobles from our common men. For many of our princes—woe the while!— Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King, To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies!


KING HENRY. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not if the day be ours or no; For yet a many of your horsemen peer And gallop o'er the field.


MONTJOY. The day is yours.


KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it! What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?


MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt.


KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.


FLUELLEN. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.


FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb'red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day.


KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour; For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.


FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases His grace, and His majesty too!


KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman.


FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, I care not who know it. I will confess it to all the 'orld. I need not be asham'd of your Majesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man.


Enter Williams.


Our heralds go with him; Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.


[Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy.]


EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King.


KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?


WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive.


WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' the ear; or if I can see my glove in his cap, which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it out soundly.


KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath?


FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your Majesty, in my conscience.


KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree.


FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If he be perjur'd, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon God's ground and His earth, in my conscience, la!


KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the fellow.


WILLIAMS. So I will, my liege, as I live.


KING HENRY. Who serv'st thou under?


FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the wars.


KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier.


WILLIAMS. I will, my liege.


KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and stick it in thy cap. When Alençon and myself were down together, I pluck'd this glove from his helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon, and an enemy to our person. If thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.


FLUELLEN. Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desir'd in the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggrief'd at this glove; that is all. But I would fain see it once, an please God of His grace that I might see.


KING HENRY. Know'st thou Gower?


FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you.


KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.


FLUELLEN. I will fetch him.


KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels. The glove which I have given him for a favour May haply purchase him a box o' the ear. It is the soldier's; I by bargain should Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick. If that the soldier strike him, as I judge By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, Some sudden mischief may arise of it; For I do know Fluellen valiant And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly will return an injury. Follow, and see there be no harm between them. Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.


SCENE VIII. Before King Henry's pavilion.


Enter Gower and Williams.


WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.


FLUELLEN. God's will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to the King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.


WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove?


FLUELLEN. Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove.


WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it.


FLUELLEN. 'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England!


GOWER. How now, sir! you villain!


WILLIAMS. Do you think I'll be forsworn?


FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you.


FLUELLEN. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's name, apprehend him; he's a friend of the Duke Alençon's.


WARWICK. How now, how now! what's the matter?


FLUELLEN. My lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is his Majesty.


KING HENRY. How now! what's the matter?


FLUELLEN. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon.


WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his cap. I promis'd to strike him, if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.


FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of Alençon that your Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now?


KING HENRY. Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; And thou hast given me most bitter terms.


FLUELLEN. An it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the world.


KING HENRY. How canst thou make me satisfaction?


WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine that might offend your Majesty.


KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse.


WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appear'd to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape, I beseech you take it for your own fault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me.


KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; And wear it for an honour in thy cap Till I do challenge it. Give him his crowns; And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.


FLUELLEN. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better for you.


WILLIAMS. I will none of your money.


FLUELLEN. It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.


Enter an English Herald.


KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numb'red?


HERALD. Here is the number of the slaught'red French.


KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?


EXETER. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King; John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault: Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.


KING HENRY. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead One hundred twenty-six; added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights; So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead: Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; Jacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France; The master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures; Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin, John, Duke of Alençon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant, The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, And Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls, Grandpré and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix, Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship of death! Where is the number of our English dead?


[Herald gives him another paper.]


Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire; None else of name; and of all other men But five and twenty.—O God, thy arm was here; And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, But in plain shock and even play of battle, Was ever known so great and little loss On one part and on the other? Take it, God, For it is none but thine!


EXETER. 'Tis wonderful!


KING HENRY. Come, go we in procession to the village; And be it death proclaimed through our host To boast of this or take that praise from God Which is His only.


FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill'd?


KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment, That God fought for us.


FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, He did us great good.


KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites. Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum, The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, And then to Calais; and to England then, Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.


CHORUS. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, That I may prompt them; and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit the excuse Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the King Toward Calais; grant him there; there seen, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the King Seems to prepare his way. So let him land, And solemnly see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought that even now You may imagine him upon Blackheath, Where that his lords desire him to have borne His bruised helmet and his bended sword Before him through the city. He forbids it, Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent Quite from himself to God. But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens! The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in; As, by a lower but loving likelihood, Were now the general of our gracious empress, As in good time he may, from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry. Now in London place him; As yet the lamentation of the French Invites the King of England's stay at home, The Emperor's coming in behalf of France, To order peace between them;—and omit All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, Till Harry's back-return again to France. There must we bring him; and myself have play'd The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past. Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance After your thoughts, straight back again to France.


SCENE I. France. The English camp.


GOWER. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today? Saint Davy's day is past.


FLUELLEN. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will tell you ass my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention with him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.


GOWER. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.


FLUELLEN. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you, Anchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!


PISTOL. Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.


FLUELLEN. I peseech you heartily, scurfy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek. Because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and your digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.


PISTOL. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.


FLUELLEN. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] Will you be so good, scald knave, as eat it?


PISTOL. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.


FLUELLEN. You say very true, scald knave, when God's will is. I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals. Come, there is sauce for it. [Strikes him.] You call'd me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you today a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.


GOWER. Enough, captain; you have astonish'd him.


FLUELLEN. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.


FLUELLEN. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and ambiguities.


PISTOL. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear—


FLUELLEN. Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? There is not enough leek to swear by.


PISTOL. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.


FLUELLEN. Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all.


FLUELLEN. Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.


PISTOL. Me a groat!


FLUELLEN. Yes, verily and in truth you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.


PISTOL. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.


FLUELLEN. If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels. You shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.


PISTOL. All hell shall stir for this.


GOWER. Go, go; you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel. You find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.


PISTOL. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now? News have I, that my Doll is dead i' the spital Of malady of France; And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn, And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. To England will I steal, and there I'll steal; And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars, And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.


SCENE II. France. A royal palace.


Enter at one door, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, Gloucester, Westmorland, Clarence, Huntingdon and other Lords. At another, Queen Isabel, the French King, the Princess Katharine, Alice, and other Ladies; the Duke of Burgundy and other French.


KING HENRY. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met! Unto our brother France, and to our sister, Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; And, as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!


FRENCH KING. Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met! So are you, princes English, every one.


QUEEN ISABEL. So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day and of this gracious meeting As we are now glad to behold your eyes; Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French that met them in their bent The fatal balls of murdering basilisks. The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality; and that this day Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.


KING HENRY. To cry amen to that, thus we appear.


QUEEN ISABEL. You English princes all, I do salute you.


BURGUNDY. My duty to you both, on equal love, Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd, With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, To bring your most imperial Majesties Unto this bar and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since then my office hath so far prevail'd That, face to face and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me If I demand, before this royal view, What rub or what impediment there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd, And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in it own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd, Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts That should deracinate such savagery; The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility; And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. Even so our houses and ourselves and children Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, The sciences that should become our country; But grow like savages,—as soldiers will That nothing do but meditate on blood,— To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire, And everything that seems unnatural. Which to reduce into our former favour You are assembled; and my speech entreats That I may know the let, why gentle Peace Should not expel these inconveniences And bless us with her former qualities.


KING HENRY. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, Whose want gives growth to the imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peace With full accord to all our just demands; Whose tenours and particular effects You have enschedul'd briefly in your hands.


BURGUNDY. The King hath heard them; to the which as yet There is no answer made.


KING HENRY. Well, then, the peace, Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.


FRENCH KING. I have but with a cursorary eye O'erglanc'd the articles. Pleaseth your Grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will suddenly Pass our accept and peremptory answer.


KING HENRY. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester, Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King; And take with you free power to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best Shall see advantageable for our dignity, Anything in or out of our demands, And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us?


QUEEN ISABEL. Our gracious brother, I will go with them. Haply a woman's voice may do some good, When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on.


KING HENRY. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us: She is our capital demand, compris'd Within the fore-rank of our articles.


QUEEN ISABEL. She hath good leave.


[Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine and Alice.]


KING HENRY. Fair Katharine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?


KATHARINE. Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England.


KING HENRY. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?


KATHARINE. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell wat is "like me."


KING HENRY. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.


KING HENRY. What says she, fair one? That the tongues of men are full of deceits?


KING HENRY. The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you"; then if you urge me farther than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?


KING HENRY. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg'd, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say'st thou then to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.


KATHARINE. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?


KING HENRY. No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.


KATHARINE. I cannot tell wat is dat.


KING HENRY. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!—donc votre est France, et vous êtes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.


KING HENRY. No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me?


KING HENRY. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard? Shall we not? What say'st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?


KATHARINE. I do not know dat.


KING HENRY. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?


KING HENRY. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father's ambition! He was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I am thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?


KATHARINE. Dat is as it shall please le roi mon père.


KING HENRY. Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.


KATHARINE. Den it sall also content me.


KING HENRY. Upon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen.


KING HENRY. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.


KING HENRY. Madame my interpreter, what says she?


ALICE. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France,—I cannot tell wat is baiser en Anglish.


KING HENRY. It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say?


KING HENRY. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion. We are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently and yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.


Enter the French Power and the English Lords.


BURGUNDY. God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?


KING HENRY. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is good English.


BURGUNDY. Is she not apt?


KING HENRY. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness.


BURGUNDY. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her then, being a maid yet ros'd over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to.


KING HENRY. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.


BURGUNDY. They are then excus'd, my lord, when they see not what they do.


KING HENRY. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.


BURGUNDY. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning; for maids, well summer'd and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on.


KING HENRY. This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too.


BURGUNDY. As love is, my lord, before it loves.


KING HENRY. It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands in my way.


FRENCH KING. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn'd into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that no war hath entered.


KING HENRY. Shall Kate be my wife?


FRENCH KING. So please you.


KING HENRY. I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my will.


FRENCH KING. We have consented to all terms of reason.


KING HENRY. Is't so, my lords of England?


WESTMORLAND. The king hath granted every article; His daughter first, and then in sequel all, According to their firm proposed natures.


EXETER. Only he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that the King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in French, Notre très-cher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, Héritier de France; and thus in Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, rex Angliae et haeres Franciae.


FRENCH KING. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied But our request shall make me let it pass.


KING HENRY. I pray you then, in love and dear alliance, Let that one article rank with the rest; And thereupon give me your daughter.


FRENCH KING. Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms Of France and England, whose very shores look pale With envy of each other's happiness, May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.


KING HENRY. Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all, That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.


QUEEN ISABEL. God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two, are one in love, So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporate league; That English may as French, French Englishmen, Receive each other. God speak this Amen!


KING HENRY. Prepare we for our marriage; on which day, My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, And all the peers', for surety of our leagues, Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!


CHORUS. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, Our bending author hath pursu'd the story, In little room confining mighty men, Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. Small time, but in that small most greatly lived This star of England. Fortune made his sword, By which the world's best garden he achieved, And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King Of France and England, did this king succeed; Whose state so many had the managing, That they lost France and made his England bleed: Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, In your fair minds let this acceptance take.


ACT I Scene I. Westminster Abbey Scene II. France. Before Orleans Scene III. London. Before the Tower Scene IV. Orleans Scene V. Before Orleans Scene VI. Orleans


ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess's castle SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden SCENE V. The Tower of London


ACT III SCENE I. London. The Parliament House SCENE II. France. Before Rouen SCENE III. The plains near Rouen SCENE IV. Paris. The Palace


ACT IV SCENE I. Paris. The Palace SCENE II. Before Bordeaux SCENE III. Plains in Gascony SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony SCENE V. The English camp near Bordeaux SCENE VI. A field of battle SCENE VII. Another part of the field


ACT V SCENE I. London. The Palace SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou SCENE III. Before Angiers SCENE IV. Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou SCENE V. London. The royal palace


KING HENRY the Sixth DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France DUKE OF EXETER, (Thomas Beaufort), great-uncle to the King BISHOP OF WINCHESTER (Henry Beaufort), great-uncle to the King, afterwards Cardinal DUKE OF SOMERSET (John Beaufort) RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard, late Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke of York EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF SALISBURY EARL OF SUFFOLK LORD TALBOT, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury JOHN TALBOT, his son Edmund MORTIMER, Earl of March SIR JOHN FASTOLF SIR WILLIAM LUCY SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE MAYOR of London WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower VERNON, of the White-Rose or York faction BASSET, of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction A LAWYER Mortimer's JAILERS


CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples DUKE OF BURGUNDY DUKE OF ALENÇON BASTARD OF ORLEANS Governor of Paris MASTER GUNNER of Orleans and BOY, his son General of the French forces in Bordeaux A French Sergeant. A Porter An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle


MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called Joan of Arc


Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.


Fiends appearing to Joan la Pucelle


SCENE: Partly in England and partly in France


Dead March. Enter the funeral of King Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloucester, Protector; the Duke of Exeter, the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, the Duke of Somerset with Heralds, &c.


BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death: King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.


GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command; His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech. He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.


EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive. Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And Death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! Shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, By magic verses have contriv'd his end?


WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings; Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought: The Church's prayers made him so prosperous.


GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd. None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom like a school-boy you may overawe.


WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art Protector, And lookest to command the Prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe More than God or religious churchmen may.


GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes.


BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace; Let's to the altar; heralds, wait on us. Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms, Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, 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. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens. A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright—


MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Rouen, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.


BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.


GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.


EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd?


MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered: That here you maintain several factions And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals. One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your honours new-begot. Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away.


[He exits.]


EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.


BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries.


Enter to them another Messenger.


MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import. The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alençon flieth to his side.


EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! All fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?


GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.


BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun.


MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.


WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame, is't so?


MESSENGER. O no, wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown. The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly 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 everywhere, enrag'd he slew. The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agaz'd on him. His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, "A Talbot! a Talbot!" cried out amain, And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up If Sir John Fastolf had not play'd the coward. He, being in the vaward, plac'd behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wrack and massacre. Enclosed were they with their enemies. A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's 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.


BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself, For living idly here, in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.


MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford; Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.


BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay. I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne; His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll 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 George's feast withal. Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.


MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd The English army is grown weak and faint; The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.


EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.


BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave To go about my preparation.


GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can To view th' artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king.


EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is, Being ordain'd his special governor; And for his safety there I'll best devise.


WINCHESTER. Each hath his place and function to attend. I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office. The King from Eltham I intend to steal, And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.


SCENE II. France. Before Orleans


Sound a Flourish. Enter Charles, Alençon and Reignier, marching with Drum and Soldiers.


CHARLES. 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; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans, Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.


ALENÇON. They want their porridge and their fat bull beeves. Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths, Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.


REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear. Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, And he may well in fretting spend his gall; Nor men nor money hath he to make war.


CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum! We will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me 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, Alençon and Reignier.


CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I! Dogs, cowards, dastards! I would ne'er have fled But that they left me 'midst my enemies.


REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.


ALENÇON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity?


CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager. Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.


REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone.


ALENÇON. Be it so.


Enter the Bastard of Orleans.


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


CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.


BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd. Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand. A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome. What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible.


CHARLES. Go, call her in.


But first, to try her skill, 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.


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


PUCELLE. Reignier is 't 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, there's nothing hid from me. In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.


REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.


PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate. Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me, And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity. Her aid she promised and assured success. In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I blest with which you may see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated. My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this; thou shalt be fortunate If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.


CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms. Only this proof I'll of thy valour make: In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence.


PUCELLE. I am prepared. Here is my keen-edg'd sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side, The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.


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


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


[Here they fight, and Joan la Pucelle overcomes.]


CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, And fightest with the sword of Deborah.


PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak.


CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me. Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be. 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.


PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above. When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense.


CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.


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


ALENÇON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.


REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?


ALENÇON. He may mean more than we poor men do know. These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.


REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no?


PUCELLE. Why, no, I say. Distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.


CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm. We'll fight it out.


PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise. Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon's days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.


CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough?


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


REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.


CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it. No prophet will I trust if she prove false.


SCENE III. London. Before the Tower.


Enter the Duke of Gloucester with his Servingmen in blue coats.


GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day. Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.


FIRST WARDER. [Within.] Who's there that knocks so imperiously?


FIRST SERVINGMAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.


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


FIRST SERVINGMAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord Protector?


FIRST WARDER. [Within.] The Lord protect him, so we answer him. We do no otherwise than we are will'd.


GLOUCESTER. Who willed you? Or whose will stands but mine? There's none Protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?


[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower gates, and Woodville, the Lieutenant, speaks within.]


WOODVILLE. What noise is this? What traitors have we here?


GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.


WOODVILLE. Have patience, noble Duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids. From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.


GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the King. Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.


SERVINGMEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.


Enter to the Protector at the Tower gates Winchester and his men in tawny coats.


WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphrey! What means this?


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


WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not Protector, of the King or realm.


GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord; Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence.


WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot. This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.


GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back. Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth, I'll use to carry thee out of this place.


WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st, I beard thee to thy face.


GLOUCESTER. 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'll stamp thy cardinal's hat; In spite of Pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.


WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the Pope.


GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose, I cry, "a rope, a rope!" Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!


Here Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's men, and enter in the hurly-burly the Mayor of London and his Officers.


MAYOR. Fie, lords, that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace!


GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! Thou know'st little of my wrongs. Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.


WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is Protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the Prince.


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


[Here they skirmish again.]


MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation. Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst, cry.


OFFICER. All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the King's, 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, henceforward, upon pain of death.


GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law; But we shall meet and break our minds at large.


WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we will meet, to thy cost, be sure; Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.


MAYOR. I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil.


GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell. Thou dost but what thou mayst.


WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head, For I intend to have it ere long.


[Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Winchester with their Servingmen.]


MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year.


SCENE IV. Orleans.


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


MASTER GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won.


BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.


MASTER GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me. Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The Prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the Governor's.


BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you if I may spy them.


Enter, on the turrets, Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glansdale, Sir Thomas Gargrave and others.


SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled, being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.


TALBOT. The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me, Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But O, the treacherous Fastolf wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute If I now had him brought into my power.


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


TALBOT. With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me To be a public spectacle to all. 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 digg'd stones out of the ground To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them were spread That they supposed I could rend bars of steel And spurn in pieces posts of adamant. Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walk'd about me every minute while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.


Enter the Boy with a linstock.


SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently. Now it is supper-time in Orleans. 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, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next.


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


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


TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.


Here they shoot, and Salisbury and Gargrave fall down.


SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!


GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!


TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak! How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower, accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woeful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet liv'st 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. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.


[Exeunt some with the body of Gargrave.]


Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort, Thou shalt not die whiles— He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, As who should say "When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French." Plantagenet, I will; and, like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn. Wretched shall France be only in thy name.


[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens.]


What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?


MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head. The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege.


[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans.]


TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan; It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. Pucelle or puzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey we Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.


SCENE V. Before Orleans.


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.


TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them. A woman clad in armour chaseth them.


Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee. Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.


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


[Here they fight.]


TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.


[They fight again.]


PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come. I must go victual Orleans forthwith.


[A short alarum. Then enter the town with soldiers.]


O'ertake me, if thou canst. I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament. This day is ours, as many more shall be.


TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do. 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 call'd us for our fierceness, English dogs; Now like to whelps we crying run away.


Hark, countrymen, either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead. Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.


[Alarum. Here another skirmish.]


It will not be! Retire into your trenches. You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head.


SCENE VI. Orleans.


Flourish. Enter on the walls La Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alençon and Soldiers.


PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English. Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.


CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans. More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.


REIGNIER. Why ring not 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.


ALENÇON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.


CHARLES. '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. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was; In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally After this golden day of victory.


SCENE I. Before Orleans.


Enter a Sergeant of a band, with two Sentinels.


SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant. If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.


FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall.


Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.


Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and forces, with scaling-ladders.


TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Walloon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted. Embrace we then this opportunity, As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.


BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell!


BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?


TALBOT. A maid, they say.


BEDFORD. A maid! And be so martial!


BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun.


TALBOT. Well, let them practice and converse with spirits. God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.


BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.


TALBOT. Not all together. Better far, I guess, 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.


BEDFORD. Agreed. I'll to yond corner.


BURGUNDY. And I to this.


TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both.


SENTINEL. Arm! Arm! The enemy doth make assault!


[Cry: "St George," "A Talbot!"]


The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter several ways the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon and Reignier, half ready and half unready.


ALENÇON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?


BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.


REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.


ALENÇON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this.


BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.


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


ALENÇON. Here cometh Charles. I marvel how he sped.


Enter Charles and La Pucelle.


BASTARD. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.


CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much?


PUCELLE. 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 fall'n.


CHARLES. Duke of Alençon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch tonight, Did look no better to that weighty charge.


ALENÇON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised.


BASTARD. Mine was secure.


REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.


CHARLES. And for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro About relieving of the sentinels. Then how or which way should they first break in?


PUCELLE. 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, scattered and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them.


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


SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of "Talbot" serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name.


SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town.


Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain and others.


BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.


[Retreat sounded.]


TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town.


Dead March. Enter with the body of Salisbury.


Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd; Upon the which, that everyone may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France.


But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates.


BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.


BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapors of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have.


MESSENGER. 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?


TALBOT. Here is the Talbot. Who would speak with him?


MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, 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.


BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.


TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled. And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company?


BEDFORD. No, truly, it is more than manners will; And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.


TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, Captain. [Whispers.] You perceive my mind?


CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.


SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess's castle.


Enter the Countess and her Porter.


COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.


COUNTESS. The plot is laid. If all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumour 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.


MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.


COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What, is this the man?


MESSENGER. Madam, it is.


COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false. I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies.


TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you.


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


MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot, for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure.


TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here.


Enter Porter with keys.


COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.


TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?


COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs. But now the substance shall endure the like, And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny these many years Wasted our country, slain our citizens, And sent our sons and husbands captivate.


COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to moan.


TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow Whereon to practice your severity.


COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?


TALBOT. I am indeed.


COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.


TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself. You are deceived, my substance is not here; For what you see is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity. I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.


COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here. How can these contrarieties agree?


TALBOT. That will I show you presently.


Winds his horn. Drums strike up; a peal of ordnance. Enter Soldiers.


How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded That Talbot is but shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate.


COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse. I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath, For I am sorry that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art.


TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady, nor misconster The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done hath not offended me; Nor other satisfaction do I crave 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.


COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house.


SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden.


Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon and another Lawyer.


PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence? Dare no man answer in a case of truth?


SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient.


PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth; Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?


SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law And never yet could frame my will to it; And therefore frame the law unto my will.


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


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


PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance! The truth appears so naked on my side That any purblind eye may find it out.


SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.


PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: Let him that is a true-born gentleman 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.


SOMERSET. 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.


WARWICK. I love no colours, and without all colour Of base insinuating flattery I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.


SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset, And say withal I think he held the right.


VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more Till you conclude that he upon whose side The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree Shall yield the other in the right opinion.


SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.