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twg_000000018600 | 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 maintaind the truth; Or else was wrangling Somerset in th error? SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018601 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018602 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018603 | my side it is so well apparelld, So clear, so shining and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind mans 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018604 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018605 | 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 croppd from the tree Shall yield the other in the right opinion. SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018606 | I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. PLANTAGENET. And I. VERNON. Then for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018607 | so against your will. VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt And keep me on the side where still I am. SOMERSET. Well, well, come on, who else? LAWYER. Unless my study and my books be false, [_To Somerset._] The argument you held was wrong in law; In sign whereof I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018608 | pluck a white rose too. PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side. SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet, Tis not for fear but anger that thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018609 | cheeks Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. SOMERSET. Well, Ill find friends to wear my bleeding roses, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018610 | That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee. SUFFOLK. Ill turn my part thereof into thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018611 | throat. SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole! We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. WARWICK. Now, by Gods will, thou wrongst him, Somerset; His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, Third son to the third Edward King of England. Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the places privilege, Or durst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018612 | not for his craven heart, say thus. SOMERSET. By Him that made me, Ill maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom. Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late kings days? And, by his treason, standst not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? His trespass yet lives guilty in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018613 | thy blood; And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted, Condemnd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that Ill prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripend to my will. For your partaker Pole and you yourself, Ill note you in my book of memory, To scourge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018614 | you for this apprehension. Look to it well, and say you are well warnd. SOMERSET. Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still; And know us by these colours for thy foes, For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018615 | I for ever and my faction wear, Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree. SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chokd with thy ambition! And so farewell until I meet thee next. [_Exit._] SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard. [_Exit._] PLANTAGENET. How I am braved and must perforce endure it! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018616 | WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house Shall be wiped out in the next parliament Calld for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; And if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset and William Pole, Will I upon thy party | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018617 | wear this rose. And here I prophesy: this brawl today, Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send between the Red Rose and the White A thousand souls to death and deadly night. PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. VERNON. In your behalf still will I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018618 | wear the same. LAWYER. And so will I. PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentlemen. Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say This quarrel will drink blood another day. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. The Tower of London. Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Jailers. MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018619 | new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, And pithless arms, like to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018620 | a witherd vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground. Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have. But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? FIRST JAILER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. We sent unto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018621 | the Temple, unto his chamber, And answer was returnd that he will come. MORTIMER. Enough. My soul shall then be satisfied. Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Before whose glory I was great in arms, This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscured, Deprived of honour | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018622 | and inheritance. But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just Death, kind umpire of mens miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. I would his troubles likewise were expired, That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Richard Plantagenet. FIRST JAILER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? PLANTAGENET. Ay, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018623 | noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. And now declare, sweet stem from Yorks great stock, Why didst thou say of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018624 | late thou wert despised? PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm, And, in that ease, Ill tell thee my disease. This day, in argument upon a case, Some words there grew twixt Somerset and me; Among which terms he used his lavish tongue And did upbraid me with my fathers death; Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018625 | Else with the like I had requited him. Therefore, good uncle, for my fathers sake, In honour of a true Plantagenet, And for alliance sake, declare the cause My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprisond me And hath detaind me all my flowering youth Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018626 | cursed instrument of his decease. PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was, For I am ignorant and cannot guess. MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Deposed his nephew Richard, Edwards son, The first-begotten and the lawful heir Of Edward | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018627 | king, the third of that descent; During whose reign the Percies of the north, Finding his usurpation most unjust, Endeavourd my advancement to the throne. The reason moved these warlike lords to this Was, for thatyoung King Richard thus removed, Leaving no heir begotten of his body I was the next by birth and parentage; For by my mother I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018628 | derived am From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son To King Edward the Third; whereas he From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Being but fourth of that heroic line. But mark: as in this haughty great attempt They labored to plant the rightful heir, I lost my liberty and they their lives. Long after this, when Henry the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018629 | Fifth, Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, Thy father, Earl of Cambridge then, derived From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, Marrying my sister that thy mother was, Again, in pity of my hard distress. Levied an army, weening to redeem And have installd me in the diadem. But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl And was beheaded. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018630 | Thus the Mortimers, In whom the title rested, were suppressd. PLANTAGENET. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have, And that my fainting words do warrant death. Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather. But yet be wary in thy studious care. PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018631 | prevail with me. But yet methinks, my fathers execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And like a mountain, not to be removed. But now thy uncle is removing hence, As princes do their courts when they are cloyd With long continuance in a settled place. PLANTAGENET. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018632 | O uncle, would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age! MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; Only give order for my funeral. And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes, And prosperous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018633 | be thy life in peace and war! [_Dies._] PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, And like a hermit overpassd thy days. Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; And what I do imagine, let that rest. Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself Will see his burial better | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018634 | than his life. [_Exeunt Jailers, bearing out the body of Mortimer._] Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Choked with ambition of the meaner sort. And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offerd to my house, I doubt not but with honour to redress; And therefore haste I to the Parliament, Either to be restored to my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018635 | blood, Or make mine ill th advantage of my good. [_Exit._] ACT III SCENE I. London. The Parliament House. Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloucester, the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Somerset, Suffolk, and others. Gloucester offers to put up a bill. Winchester snatches it, tears it. WINCHESTER. Comst thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devised, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018636 | Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse Or aught intendst to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention, suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my patience, Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonourd me. Think not, although in writing I preferrd The manner of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018637 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018638 | man of thy profession and degree; And for thy treachery, whats more manifest, In that thou laidst a trap to take my life, As well at London Bridge as at the Tower? Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts are sifted, The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart. WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018639 | 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018640 | No, my good lords, it is not that offends; It is not that that hath incensed the Duke. It is because no one should sway but he, No one but he should be about the King; And that engenders thunder in his breast And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good GLOUCESTER. As | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018641 | good! Thou bastard of my grandfather! WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in anothers throne? GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest? WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church? GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft. WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester! GLOUCESTER. Thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018642 | art reverend Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this. GLOUCESTER. Roam thither, then. WARWICK. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. SOMERSET. Ay, so the bishop be not overborne. Methinks my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such. WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018643 | prelate so to plead. SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touchd so near. WARWICK. State holy or unhallowd, what of that? Is not his Grace Protector to the King? PLANTAGENET. [_Aside_.] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue, Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Else would I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018644 | a fling at Winchester. KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal, I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018645 | Civil dissension is a viperous worm That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. [_A noise within, Down with the tawny-coats!._] What tumults this? WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the Bishops men. [_A noise again, Stones! stones!_] Enter Mayor. MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, Pity the city of London, pity us! The Bishop | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018646 | and the Duke of Gloucesters men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have filld their pockets full of pebble stones And, banding themselves in contrary parts, Do pelt so fast at one anothers pate That many have their giddy brains knockd out; Our windows are broke down in every street, And we for fear compelld to shut our shops. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018647 | Servingmen in skirmish with bloody pates. KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace. Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. FIRST SERVINGMAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, well fall to it with our teeth. SECOND SERVINGMAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [_Skirmish again._] GLOUCESTER. You of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018648 | my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustomd fight aside. THIRD SERVINGMAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a man Just and upright, and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none but to his Majesty; And ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018649 | inkhorn mate, We and our wives and children all will fight And have our bodies slaughterd by thy foes. FIRST SERVINGMAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [_Begin again._] GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say! And if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018650 | awhile. KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? Who should be pitiful, if you be not? Or who should study to prefer a peace If holy churchmen take delight in broils? WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester; Except you mean | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018651 | with obstinate repulse To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. You see what mischief and what murder too, Hath been enacted through your enmity; Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield. GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop, Or I would see his heart out, ere the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018652 | priest Should ever get that privilege of me. WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke Hath banishd moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear. Why look you still so stern and tragical? GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach That malice was a great | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018653 | and grievous sin; And will not you maintain the thing you teach, But prove a chief offender in the same? WARWICK. Sweet King! The bishop hath a kindly gird. For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent! What, shall a child instruct you what to do? WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee; Love for thy love and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018654 | hand for hand I give. GLOUCESTER. [_Aside_.] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. See here, my friends and loving countrymen, This token serveth for a flag of truce Betwixt ourselves and all our followers, So help me God, as I dissemble not! WINCHESTER. [_Aside_.] So help me God, as I intend it not! KING HENRY. O loving | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018655 | uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, How joyful am I made by this contract! Away, my masters, trouble us no more, But join in friendship, as your lords have done. FIRST SERVINGMAN. Content. Ill to the surgeons. SECOND SERVINGMAN. And so will I. THIRD SERVINGMAN. And I will see what physic the tavern affords. [_Exeunt Servingmen, Mayor, &c._] WARWICK. Accept this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018656 | scroll, most gracious sovereign, Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet We do exhibit to your Majesty. GLOUCESTER. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick. For, sweet prince, An if your Grace mark every circumstance, You have great reason to do Richard right, Especially for those occasions At Eltham Place I told your Majesty. KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018657 | of force; Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is That Richard be restored to his blood. WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood; So shall his fathers wrongs be recompensed. WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone But all the whole inheritance I give That doth belong unto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018658 | the house of York, From whence you spring by lineal descent. PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience And humble service till the point of death. KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot; And in reguerdon of that duty done I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, And rise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018659 | created princely Duke of York. PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall! And as my duty springs, so perish they That grudge one thought against your Majesty! ALL. Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York! SOMERSET. [_Aside_.] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York! GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty To cross the seas | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018660 | and to be crownd in France. The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, As it disanimates his enemies. KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes; For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness. [_Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Exeter._] EXETER. Ay, we may march | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018661 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018662 | I fear that fatal prophecy Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth Was in the mouth of every sucking babe: That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, And Henry born at Windsor lose all, Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish His days may finish ere that hapless time. [_Exit._] SCENE II. France. Before Rouen. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018663 | La Pucelle with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs. PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, Through which our policy must make a breach. Take heed, be wary how you place your words; Talk like the vulgar sort of market men That come to gather money for their corn. If we have entrance, as I hope | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018664 | we shall, And that we find the slothful watch but weak, Ill by a sign give notice to our friends, That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; Therefore well knock. [_Knocks._] WATCH. [_Within_.] _Qui est la?_ PUCELLE. _Paysans, la pauvres | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018665 | gens de France:_ Poor market folks that come to sell their corn. WATCH. Enter, go in; the market bell is rung. PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, Ill shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [_Exeunt._] Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alenon, Reignier and forces. CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem, And once again well sleep secure in Rouen. BASTARD. Here enterd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018666 | Pucelle and her practisants; Now she is there, how will she specify Here is the best and safest passage in? REIGNIER. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower, Which, once discernd, shows that her meaning is: No way to that, for weakness, which she enterd. Enter La Pucelle, on the top, thrusting out a torch burning. PUCELLE. Behold, this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018667 | is the happy wedding torch That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, But burning fatal to the Talbonites. [_Exit._] BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; The burning torch, in yonder turret stands. CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes! REIGNIER. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018668 | Enter and cry, The Dauphin! presently, And then do execution on the watch. [_Alarum. Exeunt._] An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion. TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, If Talbot but survive thy treachery. Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, That hardly we escaped the pride of France. [_Exit._] An | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018669 | alarum. Excursions. Bedford, brought in sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and Burgundy without: within, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alenon, and Reignier on the walls. PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread? I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast Before hell buy again at such a rate. Twas full of darnel. Do you like the taste? BURGUNDY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018670 | Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan! I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own, And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! PUCELLE. What will you do, good graybeard? Break a lance And run a tilt at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018671 | Death within a chair? TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassd with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead? Damsel, Ill have a bout with you again, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. PUCELLE. Are ye so hot? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018672 | peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. [_The English whisper together in council._] God speed the Parliament! Who shall be the Speaker? TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field? PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours or no. TALBOT. I speak not to that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018673 | railing Hecate, But unto thee, Alenon, and the rest; Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? ALENON. Seignieur, no. TALBOT. Seignieur, hang! Base muleteers of France! Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. PUCELLE. Away, captains! Lets get us from the walls, For Talbot means no goodness by his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018674 | looks. Goodbye, my lord; we came but to tell you That we are here. [_Exeunt from the walls._] TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbots greatest fame! Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, Prickd on by public wrongs sustaind in France, Either to get the town again or die. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018675 | 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-lions heart was buried, So sure I swear to get the town or die. BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. TALBOT. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018676 | my lord, We will bestow you in some better place, Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me. Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, And will be partner of your weal or woe. BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018677 | I read That stout Pendragon in his litter sick Came to the field and vanquished his foes. Methinks I should revive the soldiers hearts, Because I ever found them as myself. TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe! And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, But gather we our forces out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018678 | of hand And set upon our boasting enemy. [_Exeunt all but Bedford and Attendants._] An alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolf and a Captain. CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolf, in such haste? FASTOLF. Whither away? To save myself by flight. We are like to have the overthrow again. CAPTAIN. What! Will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot? FASTOLF. Ay, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018679 | All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [_Exit._] CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight, ill fortune follow thee! [_Exit._] Retreat. Excursions. La Pucelle, Alenon and Charles fly. BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please, For I have seen our enemies overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? They that of late were daring with their scoffs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018680 | Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [_Bedford dies, and is carried in by two in his chair._] An alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgundy and the rest. TALBOT. Lost, and recoverd in a day again! This is a double honour, Burgundy. Yet heavens have glory for this victory! BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018681 | and there erects Thy noble deeds as valours monuments. TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now? I think her old familiar is asleep. Now wheres the Bastards 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018682 | therein some expert officers, And then depart to Paris to the King, For there young Henry with his nobles lie. BURGUNDY. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. TALBOT. But yet, before we go, lets not forget The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased, But see his exequies fulfilld in Rouen. A braver soldier never couched lance, A gentler heart did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018683 | never sway in court; But kings and mightiest potentates must die, For thats the end of human misery. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The plains near Rouen. Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alenon, La Pucelle and forces. PUCELLE. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered. Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018684 | are not to be remedied. Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while And like a peacock sweep along his tail; Well pull his plumes and take away his train, If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled. CHARLES. We have been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy cunning had no diffidence. One sudden foil shall never breed distrust | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018685 | BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies, And we will make thee famous through the world. ALENON. Well set thy statue in some holy place, And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint. Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: By fair persuasions mixd with sugard words We | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018686 | will entice the Duke of Burgundy To leave the Talbot and to follow us. CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, France were no place for Henrys warriors; Nor should that nation boast it so with us, But be extirped from our provinces. ALENON. For ever should they be expulsed from France, And not have title of an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018687 | earldom here. PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work To bring this matter to the wished end. [_Drum sounds afar off._] Hark! By the sound of drum you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. [_Here sound an English march._] There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, And all the troops of English after him. [_French | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018688 | march._] Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his. Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. Summon a parley; we will talk with him. [_Trumpets sound a parley._] CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy! Enter Burgundy. BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman. BURGUNDY. What sayst thou, Charles? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018689 | for I am marching hence. CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words. PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France, Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. BURGUNDY. Speak on, but be not over-tedious. PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, And see the cities and the towns defaced By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018690 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018691 | from thy countrys bosom Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore. Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, And wash away thy countrys stained spots. BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitchd me with her words, Or nature makes me suddenly relent. PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. Who joinst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018692 | thou with but with a lordly nation That will not trust thee but for profits sake? When Talbot hath set footing once in France, And fashiond thee that instrument of ill, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018693 | 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 fightst against thy countrymen, And joinst with them will be thy slaughtermen. Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; Charles and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018694 | the rest will take thee in their arms. BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers Have batterd me like roaring cannon-shot, And made me almost yield upon my knees. Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. My forces and my power of men are yours. So, farewell, Talbot; Ill no longer trust | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018695 | thee. PUCELLE. [_Aside_.] Done like a Frenchman: turn and turn again. CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us fresh. BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. ALENON. Pucelle hath bravely playd her part in this, And doth deserve a coronet of gold. CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers, And seek how we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018696 | may prejudice the foe. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Paris. The Palace. Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, Exeter, York, Warwick and Vernon; Suffolk, Somerset, Basset and others. To them, with his soldiers, Talbot. TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers, Hearing of your arrival in this realm, I have awhile given truce unto my wars To do my duty to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018697 | my sovereign; In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaimd To your obedience fifty fortresses, Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength, Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, Lets fall his sword before your Highness feet, And with submissive loyalty of heart Ascribes the glory of his conquest got First to my God, and next unto your Grace. [_Kneels_.] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018698 | KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester, That hath so long been resident in France? GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege. KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord! When I was young, as yet I am not old, I do remember how my father said A stouter champion never handled sword. Long since we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018699 | were resolved of your truth, Your faithful service, and your toil in war; Yet never have you tasted our reward, Or been reguerdond 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
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