Act III, Scene I
Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloster, Winchester,
Warwick, Somerset, Suffolk, Richard Plantagenet.
Gloster offers to put vp a Bill:
Winchester snatches it, teares it.
Com'st thou with deepe premeditated Lines?
With written Pamphlets, studiously deuis'd?
Humfrey of Gloster, if thou canst accuse,
Or ought intend'st to lay vnto my charge,
Doe it without inuention, suddenly,
As I with sudden, and extemporall speech,
Purpose to answer what thou canst obiect.
Presumptuous Priest, this place cõmands my patiẽce,
Or thou should'st finde thou hast dis-honor'd me.
Thinke not, although in Writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outragious Crymes,
That therefore I haue forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the Methode of my Penne.
No Prelate, such is thy audacious wickednesse,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious prancks,
As very Infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernitious Vsurer,
Froward by nature, Enemie to Peace,
Lasciuious, wanton, more then well beseemes
A man of thy Profession, and Degree.
And for thy Trecherie, what's more manifest?
In that thou layd'st a Trap to take my Life,
As well at London Bridge, as at the Tower.
Beside, I feare me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The King, thy Soueraigne, is not quite exempt
From enuious mallice of thy swelling heart.
Gloster, I doe defie thee. Lords vouchsafe
To giue me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were couetous, ambitious, or peruerse,
As he will haue me: how am I so poore?
Or how haps it, I seeke not to aduance
Or rayse my selfe? but keepe my wonted Calling.
And for Dissention, who preferreth Peace
More then I doe? except I be prouok'd.
No, my good Lords, it is not that offends,
It is not that, that hath incens'd the Duke:
It is because no one should sway but hee,
No one, but hee, should be about the King;
And that engenders Thunder in his breast,
And makes him rore these Accusations forth.
But he shall know I am as good.
Thou Bastard of my Grandfather.
I, Lordly Sir: for what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in anothers Throne?
Am I not Protector, sawcie Priest?
And am not I a Prelate of the Church?
Yes, as an Out-law in a Castle keepes,
And vseth it, to patronage his Theft.
Thou art reuerent,
Touching thy Spirituall Function, not thy Life.
Rome shall remedie this.
Roame thither then.
My Lord, it were your dutie to forbeare.
I, see the Bishop be not ouer-borne:
Me thinkes my Lord should be Religious,
And know the Office that belongs to such.
Me thinkes his Lordship should be humbler,
It fitteth not a Prelate so to plead.
Yes, when his holy State is toucht so neere.
State holy, or vnhallow'd, what of that?
Is not his Grace Protector to the King?
Plantagenet I see must hold his tongue,
Least it be said, Speake Sirrha when you should:
Must your bold Verdict enter talke with Lords?
Else would I haue a fling at Winchester.
Vnckles of Gloster, and of Winchester,
The speciall Watch-men of our English Weale,
I would preuayle, if Prayers might preuayle,
To ioyne your hearts in loue and amitie.
Oh, what a Scandall is it to our Crowne,
That two such Noble Peeres as ye should iarre?
Beleeue me, Lords, my tender yeeres can tell,
Ciuill dissention is a viperous Worme,
That gnawes the Bowels of the Common-wealth.
A noyse within, Downe with the Tawny-Coats.
What tumult's this?
An Vprore, I dare warrant,
Begun through malice of the Bishops men.
A noyse againe, Stones, Stones. Enter Maior.
Oh my good Lords, and vertuous Henry,
Pitty the Citie of London, pitty vs:
The Bishop,and the Duke of Glosters men,
Forbidden late to carry any Weapon,
Haue fill'd their Pockets full of peeble stones;
And banding themselues in contrary parts,
Doe pelt so fast at one anothers Pate,
That many haue their giddy braynes knockt out:
Our Windowes are broke downe in euery Street,
And we, for feare, compell'd to shut our Shops.
Enter in skirmish with bloody Pates.
We charge you, on allegeance to our selfe,
To hold your slaughtring hands, and keepe the Peace:
Pray' Vnckle Gloster mittigate this strife.
Nay,if we be forbidden Stones,
wee'le fall to it with our Teeth.
Doe what ye dare, we are as resolute.
You of my household, leaue this peeuish broyle,
And set this vnaccustom'd fight aside.
My Lord, we know your Grace to be a man
Iust, and vpright; and for your Royall Birth,
Inferior to none, but to his Maiestie:
And ere that we will suffer such a Prince,
So kinde a Father of the Common-weale,
To be disgraced by an Inke-horne Mate,
Wee and our Wiues and Children all will fight,
And haue our bodyes slaughtred by thy foes.
I, and the very parings of our Nayles
Shall pitch a Field when we are dead.
Stay, stay, I say:
And if you loue me, as you say you doe,
Let me perswade you to forbeare a while.
Oh, how this discord doth afflict my Soule.
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
My sighes and teares, and will not once relent?
Who should be pittifull, if you be not?
Or who should study to preferre a Peace,
If holy Church-men take delight in broyles?
Yeeld my Lord Protector, yeeld Winchester,
Except you meane with obstinate repulse
To slay your Soueraigne, and destroy the Realme.
You see what Mischiefe, and what Murther too,
Hath beene enacted through your enmitie:
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
He shall submit, or I will neuer yeeld.
Compassion on the King commands me stoupe,
Or I would see his heart out, ere the Priest
Should euer get that priuiledge of me.
Behold my Lord of Winchester, the Duke
Hath banisht moodie discontented fury,
As by his smoothed Browes it doth appeare:
Why looke you still so sterne, and tragicall?
Here Winchester, I offer thee my Hand.
Fie Vnckle Beauford, I haue heard you preach,
That Mallice was a great and grieuous sinne:
And will not you maintaine the thing you teach?
But proue a chiefe offendor in the same.
Sweet King: the Bishop hath a kindly gyrd:
For shame my Lord of Winchester relent;
What, shall a Child instruct you what to doe?
Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yeeld to thee
Loue for thy Loue, and Hand for Hand I giue.
I, but I feare me with a hollow Heart.
See here my Friends and louing Countreymen,
This token serueth for a Flagge of Truce,
Betwixt our selues, and all our followers:
So helpe me God, as I dissemble not.
So helpe me God, as I intend it not.
Oh louing Vnckle, kinde Duke of Gloster,
How ioyfull am I made by this Contract.
Away my Masters, trouble vs no more,
But ioyne in friendship, as your Lords haue done.
Content, Ile to the Surgeons.
And so will I.
And I will see what Physick the
Accept this Scrowle, most gracious Soueraigne,
Which in the Right of Richard Plantagenet,
We doe exhibite to your Maiestie.
Well vrg'd, my Lord of Warwick: for sweet Prince,
And if your Grace marke euery circumstance,
You haue great reason to doe Richard right,
Especially for those occasions
At Eltam Place I told your Maiestie.
And those occasions, Vnckle, were of force:
Therefore my louing Lords, our pleasure is,
That Richard be restored to his Blood.
Let Richard be restored to his Blood,
So shall his Fathers wrongs be recompenc't.
As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
If Richard will be true, not that all alone,
But all the whole Inheritance I giue,
That doth belong vnto the House of Yorke,
From whence you spring, by Lineall Descent.
Thy humble seruant vowes obedience,
And humble seruice, till the point of death.
Stoope then, and set your Knee against my Foot,
And in reguerdon of that dutie done,
I gyrt thee with the valiant Sword of Yorke:
Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And rise created Princely Duke of Yorke.
And so thriue Richard, as thy foes may fall,
And as my dutie springs, so perish they,
That grudge one thought against your Maiesty.
Welcome high Prince, the mighty Duke of Yorke.
Perish base Prince, ignoble Duke of Yorke.
Now will it best auaile your Maiestie,
To crosse the Seas, and to be Crown'd in France:
The presence of a King engenders loue
Amongst his Subiects, and his loyall Friends,
As it dis-animates his Enemies.
When Gloster sayes the word, King Henry goes,
For friendly counsaile cuts off many Foes.
Your Ships alreadie are in readinesse.
Senet. Flourish. Exeunt. Manet Exeter.
I, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue:
This late dissention growne betwixt the Peeres,
Burnes vnder fained ashes of forg'd loue,
And will at last breake out into a flame,
As festred members rot but by degree,
Till bones and flesh and sinewes fall away,
So will this base and enuious discord breed.
And now I feare that fatall Prophecie,
Which in the time of Henry, nam'd the Fift,
Was in the mouth of euery sucking Babe,
That Henry borne at Monmouth should winne all,
And Henry borne at Windsor, loose all:
Which is so plaine, that Exeter doth wish,
His dayes may finish, ere that haplesse time.
Act III, Scene II
Enter Pucell disguis'd, with foure Souldiors
with Sacks vpon their backs.
These are the Citie Gates, the Gates of Roan,
Through which our Pollicy must make a breach.
Take heed, be wary how you place your words,
Talke like the vulgar sort of Market men,
That come to gather Money for their Corne.
If we haue entrance, as I hope we shall,
And that we finde the slouthfull Watch but weake,
Ile by a signe giue notice to our friends,
That Charles the Dolphin may encounter them.
Our Sacks shall be a meane to sack the City
And we be Lords and Rulers ouer Roan,
Therefore wee'le knock.
Peasauns la pouure gens de Fraunce,
Poore Market folkes that come to sell their Corne.
Enter, goe in, the Market Bell is rung.
Now Roan, Ile shake thy Bulwarkes to the ground.
Enter Charles, Bastard, Alanson.
Saint Dennis blesse this happy Stratageme,
And once againe wee'le sleepe secure in Roan.
Here entred Pucell, and her Practisants:
Now she is there, how will she specifie?
Here is the best and safest passage in.
By thrusting out a Torch from yonder Tower,
Which once discern'd, shewes that her meaning is,
No way to that (for weaknesse) which she entred.
Enter Pucell on the top, thrusting out a Torch
Behold, this is the happy Wedding Torch,
That ioyneth Roan vnto her Countreymen,
But burning fatall to the Talbonites.
See Noble Charles the Beacon of our friend,
The burning Torch in yonder Turret stands.
Now shine it like a Commet of Reuenge,
A Prophet to the fall of all our Foes.
Deferre no time, delayes haue dangerous ends,
Enter and cry, the Dolphin, presently,
And then doe execution on the Watch.
An Alarum. Talbot in an Excursion.
France, thou shalt rue this Treason with thy teares,
If Talbot but suruiue thy Trecherie.
Pucell that Witch, that damned Sorceresse,
Hath wrought this Hellish Mischiefe vnawares,
That hardly we escap't the Pride of France.
An Alarum: Excursions. Bedford brought in sicke in a
Enter Talbot and Burgonie without: within,
Pucell, Charles, Bastard, and Reigneir
on the Walls.
God morrow Gallants, want ye Corn for Bread?
I thinke the Duke of Burgonie will fast,
Before hee'le buy againe at such a rate.
'Twas full of Darnell: doe you like the taste?
Scoffe on vile Fiend, and shamelesse Curtizan,
I trust ere long to choake thee with thine owne,
And make thee curse the Haruest of that Corne.
Your Grace may starue (perhaps) before that time.
Oh let no words, but deedes, reuenge this Treason.
What will you doe, good gray-beard? / Breake a Launce,
and runne a-Tilt at Death, / Within a Chayre.
Foule Fiend of France, and Hag of all despight,
Incompass'd with thy lustfull Paramours,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant Age,
And twit with Cowardise a man halfe dead?
Damsell, Ile haue a bowt with you againe,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
Are ye so hot, Sir: yet Pucell hold thy peace,
If Talbot doe but Thunder, Raine will follow.
They whisper together in counsell.
God speed the Parliament: who shall be the Speaker?
Dare yee come forth,and meet vs in the field?
Belike your Lordship takes vs then for fooles,
To try if that our owne be ours, or no.
I speake not to that rayling Hecate,
But vnto thee Alanson, and the rest.
Will ye, like Souldiors, come and fight it out?
Seignior hang: base Muleters of France,
Like Pesant foot-Boyes doe they keepe the Walls,
And dare not take vp Armes, like Gentlemen.
Away Captaines, let's get vs from the Walls,
For Talbot meanes no goodnesse by his Lookes.
God b'uy my Lord, we came but to tell you
That wee are here.
Exeunt from the Walls.
And there will we be too, ere it be long,
Or else reproach be Talbots greatest fame.
Vow Burgonie, by honor of thy House,
Prickt on by publike Wrongs sustain'd in France,
Either to get the Towne againe, or dye.
And I, as sure as English Henry liues,
And as his Father here was Conqueror;
As sure as in this late betrayed Towne,
Great Cordelions Heart was buryed;
So sure I sweare, to get the Towne, or dye.
My Vowes are equall partners with thy Vowes.
But ere we goe, regard this dying Prince,
The valiant Duke of Bedford: Come my Lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sicknesse, and for crasie age.
Lord Talbot, doe not so dishonour me:
Here will I sit, before the Walls of Roan,
And will be partner of your weale or woe.
Couragious Bedford, let vs now perswade you.
Not to be gone from hence: for once I read,
That stout Pendragon, in his Litter sick,
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.
Me thinkes I should reuiue the Souldiors hearts,
Because I euer found them as my selfe.
Vndaunted spirit in a dying breast,
Then be it so: Heauens keepe old Bedford safe.
And now no more adoe, braue Burgonie,
But gather we our Forces out of hand,
And set vpon our boasting Enemie.
An Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir Iohn Falstaffe, and
Whither away Sir Iohn Falstaffe, in such haste?
Whither away? to saue my selfe by flight,
We are like to haue the ouerthrow againe.
What? will you flye, and leaue Lord Talbot?
all the Talbots in the World, to saue my life.
Cowardly Knight,ill fortune follow thee.
Retreat. Excursions. Pucell, Alanson, and Charles
Now quiet Soule, depart when Heauen please,
For I haue seene our Enemies ouerthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They that of late were daring with their scoffes,
Are glad and faine by flight to saue themselues.
Bedford dyes, and is carryed in by
two in his Chaire.
An Alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgonie, and the rest.
Lost, and recouered in a day againe,
This is a double Honor, Burgonie:
Yet Heauens haue glory for this Victorie.
Warlike and Martiall Talbot, Burgonie
Inshrines thee in his heart, and there erects
Thy noble Deeds, as Valors Monuments.
Thanks gentle Duke: but where is Pucel now?
I thinke her old Familiar is asleepe.
Now where's the Bastards braues, and Charles his glikes?
What all amort? Roan hangs her head for griefe,
That such a valiant Company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the Towne,
Placing therein some expert Officers,
And then depart to Paris, to the King,
For there young Henry with his Nobles lye.
What wills Lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgonie.
But yet before we goe, let's not forget
The Noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
But see his Exequies fulfill'd in Roan.
A brauer Souldier neuer couched Launce,
A gentler Heart did neuer sway in Court.
But Kings and mightiest Potentates must die,
For that's the end of humane miserie.
Act III, Scene III
Enter Charles, Bastard, Alanson, Pucell.
Dismay not (Princes) at this accident,
Nor grieue that Roan is so recouered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosiue,
For things that are not to be remedy'd.
Let frantike Talbot triumph for a while,
And like a Peacock sweepe along his tayle,
Wee'le pull his Plumes, and take away his Trayne,
If Dolphin and the rest will be but rul'd.
We haue been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy Cunning had no diffidence,
One sudden Foyle shall neuer breed distrust.
Search out thy wit for secret pollicies,
And we will make thee famous through the World.
Wee'le set thy Statue in some holy place,
And haue thee reuerenc't like a blessed Saint.
Employ thee then, sweet Virgin, for our good.
Then thus it must be, this doth Ioane deuise:
By faire perswasions, mixt with sugred words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgonie
To leaue the Talbot, and to follow vs.
I marry Sweeting, if we could doe that,
France were no place for Henryes Warriors,
Nor should that Nation boast it so with vs,
But be extirped from our Prouinces.
For euer should they be expuls'd from France,
And not haue Title of an Earledome here.
Your Honors shall perceiue how I will worke,
To bring this matter to the wished end.
Drumme sounds a farre off.
Hearke, by the sound of Drumme you may perceiue
Their Powers are marching vnto Paris-ward.
Here sound an English March.
There goes the Talbot, with his Colours spred,
And all the Troupes of English after him.
Now in the Rereward comes the Duke and his:
Fortune in fauor makes him lagge behinde.
Summon a Parley, we will talke with him.
Trumpets sound a Parley.
A Parley with the Duke of Burgonie.
Who craues a Parley with the Burgonie?
The Princely Charles of France, thy Countreyman.
What say'st thou Charles? for I am marching hence.
Speake Pucell, and enchaunt him with thy words.
Braue Burgonie, vndoubted hope of France,
Stay, let thy humble Hand-maid speake to thee.
Speake on,but be not ouer-tedious.
Looke on thy Country, look on fertile France,
And see the Cities and the Townes defac't,
By wasting Ruine of the cruell Foe,
As lookes the Mother on her lowly Babe,
When Death doth close his tender-dying Eyes.
See, see the pining Maladie of France:
Behold the Wounds, the most vnnaturall Wounds,
Which thou thy selfe hast giuen her wofull Brest.
Oh turne thy edged Sword another way,
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that helpe:
One drop of Blood drawne from thy Countries Bosome,
Should grieue thee more then streames of forraine gore.
Returne thee therefore with a floud of Teares,
And wash away thy Countries stayned Spots.
Either she hath bewitcht me with her words,
Or Nature makes me suddenly relent.
Besides, all French and France exclaimes on thee,
Doubting thy Birth and lawfull Progenie.
Who ioyn'st thou with, but with a Lordly Nation,
That will not trust thee, but for profits sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that Instrument of Ill,
Who then, but English Henry, will be Lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a Fugitiue?
Call we to minde, and marke but this for proofe:
Was not the Duke of Orleance thy Foe?
And was he not in England Prisoner?
But when they heard he was thine Enemie,
They set him free, without his Ransome pay'd,
In spight of Burgonie and all his friends.
See then, thou fight'st against thy Countreymen,
And ioyn'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, returne; returne thou wandering Lord,
Charles and the rest will take thee in their armes.
I am vanquished: These haughtie wordes of hers
Haue batt'red me like roaring Cannon-shot,
And made me almost yeeld vpon my knees.
Forgiue me Countrey, and sweet Countreymen:
And Lords accept this heartie kind embrace.
My Forces and my Power of Men are yours.
So farwell Talbot, Ile no longer trust thee.
Done like a Frenchman: turne and turne againe.
Welcome braue Duke, thy friendship makes vs fresh.
And doth beget new Courage in our Breasts.
Pucell hath brauely play'd her part in this,
And doth deserue a Coronet of Gold.
Now let vs on, my Lords, And ioyne our Powers,
And seeke how we may preiudice the Foe.
Act III, Scene IV
Enter the King, Gloucester, Winchester, Yorke,
Suffolke, Somerset, Warwicke, Exeter: To them, with
his Souldiors, Talbot.
My gracious Prince, and honorable Peeres,
Hearing of your arriuall in this Realme,
I haue a while giuen Truce vnto my Warres,
To doe my dutie to my Soueraigne.
In signe whereof, this Arme, that hath reclaym'd
To your obedience, fiftie Fortresses,
Twelue Cities, and seuen walled Townes of strength,
Beside fiue hundred Prisoners of esteeme;
Lets fall his Sword before your Highnesse feet:
And with submissiue loyaltie of heart
Ascribes the Glory of his Conquest got,
First to my God, and next vnto your Grace.
Is this the Lord Talbot, Vnckle Gloucester,
That hath so long beene resident in France?
Yes, if it please your Maiestie, my Liege.
Welcome braue Captaine, and victorious Lord.
When I was young (as yet I am not old)
I doe remember how my Father said,
A stouter Champion neuer handled Sword.
Long since we were resolued of your truth,
Your faithfull seruice, and your toyle in Warre:
Yet neuer haue you tasted our Reward,
Or beene reguerdon'd with so much as Thanks,
Because till now, we neuer saw your face.
Therefore stand vp, and for these good deserts,
We here create you Earle of Shrewsbury,
And in our Coronation take your place.
Senet. Flourish. Exeunt.
Manet Vernon and Basset.
Now Sir, to you that were so hot at Sea,
Disgracing of these Colours that I weare,
In honor of my Noble Lord of Yorke
Dar'st thou maintaine the former words thou spak'st?
Yes Sir, as well as you dare patronage
The enuious barking of your sawcie Tongue,
Against my Lord the Duke of Somerset.
Sirrha,thy Lord I honour as he is.
Why, what is he? as good a man as Yorke.
Hearke ye: not so: in witnesse take ye that.
Villaine, thou knowest The Law of Armes is such,
That who so drawes a Sword, 'tis present death,
Or else this Blow should broach thy dearest Bloud.
But Ile vnto his Maiestie, and craue,
I may haue libertie to venge this Wrong,
When thou shalt see, Ile meet thee to thy cost.
Well miscreant, Ile be there as soone as you,
And after meete you, sooner then you would.
Flourish. Enter the King, Exeter, Gloucester, Winchester,
Warwick, Somerset, Suffolk, Richard Plantagenet,
and others. Gloucester offers to put up a bill.
Winchester snatches it, tears it
Comest thou with deep premeditated lines?
With written pamphlets studiously devised?
Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse
Or aught intendest to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention, suddenly;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
Presumptuous priest, this place commands my patience,
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonoured me.
Think not, although in writing I preferred
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forged, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer,
Froward by nature, enemy to peace,
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degree.
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest,
In that thou laidest a trap to take my life,
As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?
Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,
As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or how haps it I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissension, who preferreth peace
More than I do, except I be provoked?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that that hath incensed the Duke:
It is because no one should sway but he,
No one but he should be about the King;
And that engenders thunder in his breast
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know I am as good –
Thou bastard of my grandfather!
Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne?
Am I not Protector, saucy priest?
And am not I a prelate of the Church?
Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.
Thou art reverend
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Rome shall remedy this.
Roam thither then.
My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
Ay, see the Bishop be not overborne.
Methinks my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.
Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
Yes, when his holy state is touched so near.
State holy or unhallowed, what of that?
Is not his grace Protector to the King?
Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,
Lest it be said ‘ Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?’
Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown
That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
Civil dissension is a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
A noise within: ‘ Down with the tawny coats!’
What tumult's this?
An uproar, I dare warrant,
Begun through malice of the Bishop's men.
A noise again: ‘ Stones! Stones!’ Enter the Mayor
O my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city of London, pity us!
The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have filled their pockets full of pebble-stones
And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
That many have their giddy brains knocked out.
Our windows are broke down in every street
And we, for fear, compelled to shut our shops.
Enter Servingmen of Gloucester and Winchester in
skirmish with bloody pates
We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
Nay, if we be forbidden stones,
we'll fall to it with our teeth.
Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
You of my household, leave this peevish broil
And set this unaccustomed fight aside.
My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright, and for your royal birth
Inferior to none but to his majesty;
And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
We and our wives and children all will fight
And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.
Ay, and the very parings of our nails
shall pitch a field when we are dead.
They begin to skirmish again
Stay, stay, I say!
And if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
Yield, my Lord Protector, yield, Winchester,
Except you mean with obstinate repulse
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too,
Hath been enacted through your enmity.
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
He shall submit, or I will never yield.
Compassion on the King commands me stoop,
Or I would see his heart out ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.
Behold, my lord of Winchester, the Duke
Hath banished moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear;
Why look you still so stern and tragical?
Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
Fie, uncle Beaufort, I have heard you preach
That malice was a great and grievous sin;
And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
But prove a chief offender in the same?
Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird.
For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do?
Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee.
Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.
(to them) See here, my friends and loving countrymen:
This token serveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.
So help me God, as I dissemble not.
So help me God – (aside) as I intend it not.
O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
How joyful am I made by this contract!
Away, my masters! Trouble us no more,
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
Content; I'll to the surgeon's.
And so will I.
And I will see what physic the
Exeunt Servingmen and Mayor
Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
We do exhibit to your majesty.
Well urged, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet prince,
An if your grace mark every circumstance,
You have great reason to do Richard right,
Especially for those occasions
At Eltham Place I told your majesty.
And those occasions, uncle, were of force;
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
That Richard be restored to his blood.
Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.
As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
If Richard will be true, not that alone
But all the whole inheritance I give
That doth belong unto the House of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.
Thy humble servant vows obedience
And humble service till the point of death.
Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
And in reguerdon of that duty done
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And rise created princely Duke of York.
And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty!
Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!
Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!
Now will it best avail your majesty
To cross the seas and to be crowned in France.
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
As it disanimates his enemies.
When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
Your ships already are in readiness.
Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Exeter
Ay, we may march in England or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
And will at last break out into a flame.
As festered members rot but by degree
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy
Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
And Henry born at Windsor should lose all;
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time.
Enter Joan la Pucelle disguised, with four soldiers
dressed like countrymen with sacks upon their backs
These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
Through which our policy must make a breach.
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen.
Therefore we'll knock.
Paysans, la pauvre gent de France,
Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.
(opening the gates)
Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.
Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.
Exeunt into the city
Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alençon, Reignier, and
Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem,
And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
Here entered Pucelle and her practisants.
Now she is there, how will she specify
Here is the best and safest passage in?
By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower,
Which, once discerned, shows that her meaning is:
No way to that, for weakness, which she entered.
Enter Joan la Pucelle on the top, thrusting out a torch
Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.
See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
Defer no time; delays have dangerous ends.
Enter and cry ‘ The Dauphin!’ presently,
And then do execution on the watch.
Alarum. They storm the gates and exeunt
An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion from within
France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
That hardly we escaped the pride of France.
An alarum. Excursions. Bedford brought in sick in a
Enter Talbot and Burgundy without; within, Joan la
Pucelle, Charles, the Bastard, Alençon, and Reignier
on the walls
Good morrow, gallants, want ye corn for bread?
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
Before he'll buy again at such a rate.
'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?
Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtesan!
I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own,
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.
O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
What will you do, good greybeard? Break a lance,
And run a-tilt at death within a chair?
Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,
Encompassed with thy lustful paramours,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace.
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
The English whisper together in counsel
God speed the parliament; who shall be the Speaker?
Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?
Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours or no.
I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alençon, and the rest.
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
Signor, hang! Base muleteers of France!
Like peasant footboys do they keep the walls
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls,
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
God bye, my lord; we came but to tell you
That we are here.
Exeunt from the walls
And there will we be too ere it be long,
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
Pricked on by public wrongs sustained in France,
Either to get the town again or die;
And I, as sure as English Henry lives
And as his father here was conqueror,
As sure as in this late betrayed town
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,
So sure I swear to get the town or die.
My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.
Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me;
Here will I sit, before the walls of Rouen,
And will be partner of your weal or woe.
Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
Came to the field and vanquished his foes.
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
Because I ever found them as myself.
Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe!
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand
And set upon our boasting enemy.
Exeunt all but Bedford and attendants
An alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir John Falstaff and
Whither away, Sir John Falstaff, in such haste?
Whither away? To save myself by flight.
We are like to have the overthrow again.
What, will you fly and leave Lord Talbot?
All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.
Cowardly knight, ill fortune follow thee!
Retreat. Excursions. Pucelle, Alençon, and Charles
enter from the town and fly
Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They that of late were daring with their scoffs
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
Bedford dies and is carried in by
two attendants in his chair
An alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and the rest of
the English soldiers
Lost and recovered in a day again!
This is a double honour, Burgundy.
Yet heavens have glory for this victory!
Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects
Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.
Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?
I think her old familiar is asleep.
Now where's the Bastard's braves and Charles his gleeks?
What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers,
And then depart to Paris to the King,
For there young Henry with his nobles lie.
What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.
But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceased,
But see his exequies fulfilled in Rouen.
A braver soldier never couched lance;
A gentler heart did never sway in court.
But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
For that's the end of human misery.
Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alençon, Joan la Pucelle,
Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.
We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint.
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions, mixed with sugared words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot and to follow us.
Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors,
Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our provinces.
For ever should they be expulsed from France
And not have title of an earldom here.
Your honours shall perceive how I will work
To bring this matter to the wished end.
Drum sounds afar off
Hark, by the sound of drum you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
Here sound an English march
There goes the Talbot with his colours spread,
And all the troops of English after him.
Here sound a French march
Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his;
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
Trumpets sound a parley
A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
Enter Burgundy and troops
Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
What sayest thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.
Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France,
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Speak on; but be not overtedious.
Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defaced
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe;
As looks the mother on her lowly babe
When death doth close his tender-dying eyes,
See, see the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.
O, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.
Either she hath bewitched me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who joinest thou with but with a lordly nation
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashioned thee that instrument of ill,
Who then but English Henry will be lord,
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof:
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner?
But when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free without his ransom paid,
In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
See then, thou fightest against thy countrymen,
And joinest with them will be thy slaughtermen.
Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord;
Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.
I am vanquished. These haughty words of hers
Have battered me like roaring cannon-shot
And made me almost yield upon my knees.
(to them) Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen!
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
My forces and my power of men are yours.
So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.
Done like a Frenchman – (aside) turn and turn again.
Welcome, brave Duke. Thy friendship makes us fresh.
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this,
And doth deserve a coronet of gold.
Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
Enter the King, Gloucester, Winchester, Richard
Duke of York, Suffolk, Somerset, Warwick, Exeter,
Vernon, Basset, and other courtiers. To them, with
his soldiers, Talbot
My gracious prince, and honourable peers,
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have awhile given truce unto my wars
To do my duty to my sovereign;
In sign whereof this arm that hath reclaimed
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,
And with submissive loyalty of heart
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
First to my God and next unto your grace.
Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,
That hath so long been resident in France?
Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.
Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
When I was young – as yet I am not old –
I do remember how my father said
A stouter champion never handled sword.
Long since we were resolved of your truth,
Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
Yet never have you tasted our reward
Or been reguerdoned with so much as thanks,
Because till now we never saw your face.
Therefore stand up, and for these good deserts
We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
And in our coronation take your place.
Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Vernon
Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
Disgracing of these colours that I wear
In honour of my noble lord of York,
Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?
Yes, sir, as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.
Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
Why, what is he? As good a man as York.
Hark ye, not so. In witness take ye that.
He strikes him
Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such
That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death,
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his majesty and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong,
When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.
Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you,
And after meet you sooner than you would.