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twg_000000018700 | Exeunt all but Vernon and Basset._] VERNON. Now, sir, to you that were so hot at sea, Disgracing of these colours that I wear In honour of my noble Lord of York, Darst thou maintain the former words thou spakst? BASSET. Yes, sir, as well as you dare patronage The envious barking of your saucy tongue Against my lord the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018701 | Duke of Somerset. VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York. VERNON. Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that. [_Strikes him._] BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such That whoso draws a sword, tis present death, Or else this blow should broach thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018702 | dearest blood. But Ill unto his Majesty, and crave I may have liberty to venge this wrong; When thou shalt see Ill meet thee to thy cost. VERNON. Well, miscreant, Ill be there as soon as you; And, after, meet you sooner than you would. [_Exeunt._] ACT IV SCENE I. Paris. The Palace. Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018703 | Talbot, Exeter, York, and Warwick; Suffolk, Somerset, the Governor of Paris, and others. GLOUCESTER. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth! GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath, That you elect no other king but him; Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, And none your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018704 | foes but such as shall pretend Malicious practices against his state: This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! Enter Sir John Fastolf. FASTOLF. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, To haste unto your coronation, A letter was deliverd to my hands, Writ to your Grace from th Duke of Burgundy. TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018705 | Burgundy and thee! I vowd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, To tear the Garter from thy cravens leg, [_Plucking it off_.] Which I have done, because unworthily Thou wast installed in that high degree. Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest. This dastard, at the battle of Patay, When but in all I was six thousand strong | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018706 | And that the French were almost ten to one, Before we met or that a stroke was given, Like to a trusty squire did run away; In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; Myself and divers gentlemen beside Were there surprised and taken prisoners. Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss, Or whether that such cowards ought | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018707 | to wear This ornament of knighthood, yea or no? GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous And ill beseeming any common man, Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. TALBOT. When first this Order was ordaind, my lords, Knights of the Garter were of noble birth, Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, Such as were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018708 | grown to credit by the wars; Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress, But always resolute in most extremes. He then that is not furnishd in this sort Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, Profaning this most honourable Order, And should, if I were worthy to be judge, Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain That doth presume | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018709 | to boast of gentle blood. KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hearst thy doom! Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death. [_Exit Fastolf._] And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter Sent from our uncle, Duke of Burgundy. GLOUCESTER. What means his Grace, that he hath changed his style? No | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018710 | more but, plain and bluntly, To the King! Hath he forgot he is his sovereign? Or doth this churlish superscription Pretend some alteration in good will? Whats here? [_Reads_] I have, upon especial cause, Moved with compassion of my countrys wrack, Together with the pitiful complaints Of such as your oppression feeds upon, Forsaken your pernicious faction And joind with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018711 | Charles, the rightful King of France. O monstrous treachery! Can this be so, That in alliance, amity, and oaths, There should be found such false dissembling guile? KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe. KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain? GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018712 | and all, my lord, he writes. KING HENRY. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him And give him chastisement for this abuse. How say you, my lord, are you not content? TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes, but that I am prevented, I should have beggd I might have been employd. KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018713 | him straight; Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason, And what offence it is to flout his friends. TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still You may behold confusion of your foes. [_Exit._] Enter Vernon and Basset. VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign. BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too. YORK. This | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018714 | is my servant; hear him, noble prince. SOMERSET. And this is mine, sweet Henry, favour him. KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak. Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim, And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom? VERNON. With him, my lord, for he hath done me wrong. BASSET. And I with him, for he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018715 | hath done me wrong. KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both complain? First let me know, and then Ill answer you. BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France, This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, Upbraided me about the rose I wear, Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves Did represent my masters blushing cheeks When stubbornly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018716 | he did repugn the truth About a certain question in the law Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him; With other vile and ignominious terms. In confutation of which rude reproach, And in defence of my lords worthiness, I crave the benefit of law of arms. VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord; For though he seem with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018717 | forged quaint conceit To set a gloss upon his bold intent, Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him, And he first took exceptions at this badge, Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower Bewrayd the faintness of my masters heart. YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018718 | Though neer so cunningly you smother it. KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause Such factious emulations shall arise! Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, And then your Highness shall command | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018719 | a peace. SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife! And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals, are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018720 | you not ashamed With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the King and us? And you, my lords, methinks you do not well To bear with their perverse objections, Much less to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves. Let me persuade you take a better course. EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018721 | lords, be friends. KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants: Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. And you, my lords, remember where we are: In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation; If they perceive dissension in our looks, And that within ourselves we disagree, How will their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018722 | grudging stomachs be provoked To willful disobedience, and rebel! Beside, what infamy will there arise When foreign princes shall be certified That for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henrys peers and chief nobility Destroyd themselves and lost the realm of France! O, think upon the conquest of my father, My tender years, and let us not forgo | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018723 | That for a trifle that was bought with blood! Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. I see no reason if I wear this rose, [_Putting on a red rose._] That anyone should therefore be suspicious I more incline to Somerset than York. Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both. As well they may upbraid me with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018724 | my crown Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crownd. But your discretions better can persuade Than I am able to instruct or teach; And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let us still continue peace and love. Cousin of York, we institute your Grace To be our Regent in these parts of France; And, good my Lord | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018725 | of Somerset, unite Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, Go cheerfully together and digest Your angry choler on your enemies. Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest After some respite will return to Calais; From thence to England, where I hope ere long To be presented, by your victories, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018726 | With Charles, Alenon, and that traitorous rout. [_Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick, Exeter and Vernon._] WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you the King Prettily, methought, did play the orator. YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset. WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018727 | not; I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. YORK. An if I wist he didbut let it rest; Other affairs must now be managed. [_Exeunt all but Exeter._] EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, I fear we should have seen decipherd there More rancorous spite, more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018728 | furious raging broils, Than yet can be imagined or supposed. But howsoeer, no simple man that sees This jarring discord of nobility, This shouldering of each other in the court, This factious bandying of their favourites, But sees it doth presage some ill event. Tis much when scepters are in childrens hands; But more when envy breeds unkind division: There | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018729 | comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [_Exit._] SCENE II. Before Bordeaux. Enter Talbot with trump and drum. TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter. Summon their general unto the wall. Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others aloft. English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, Servant in arms to Harry King of England; And thus he would: Open your city | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018730 | gates, Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient subjects, And Ill withdraw me and my bloody power. But if you frown upon this profferd peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Lean Famine, quartering Steel, and climbing Fire, Who in a moment even with the earth Shall lay your stately and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018731 | air-braving towers, If you forsake the offer of their love. GENERAL. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nations terror and their bloody scourge! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death; For, I protest, we are well fortified And strong enough to issue out and fight. If thou retire, the Dauphin, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018732 | well appointed, Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. On either hand thee there are squadrons pitchd To wall thee from the liberty of flight; And no way canst thou turn thee for redress But Death doth front thee with apparent spoil, And pale Destruction meets thee in the face. Ten thousand French have taen the sacrament To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018733 | rive their dangerous artillery Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. Lo, there thou standst, a breathing valiant man Of an invincible unconquerd spirit. This is the latest glory of thy praise That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; For ere the glass, that now begins to run, Finish the process of his sandy hour, These eyes, that see thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018734 | now well coloured, Shall see thee witherd, bloody, pale, and dead. [_Drum afar off._] Hark, hark, the Dauphins drum, a warning bell, Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul, And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. [_Exeunt General, etc._] TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy. Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. O, negligent and heedless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018735 | discipline! How are we parkd and bounded in a pale, A little herd of Englands timorous deer, Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs! If we be English deer, be then in blood; Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch, But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel And make the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018736 | cowards stand aloof at bay. Sell every man his life as dear as mine, And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. God and Saint George, Talbot and Englands right, Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Plains in Gascony. Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and many soldiers YORK. Are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018737 | not the speedy scouts returnd again That doggd the mighty army of the Dauphin? MESSENGER. They are returnd, my lord, and give it out That he is marchd to Bordeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot. As he marchd along, By your espials were discovered Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, Which joind with him and made | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018738 | their march for Bordeaux. [_Exit._] YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset That thus delays my promised supply Of horsemen that were levied for this siege! Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, And I am louted by a traitor villain And cannot help the noble chevalier. God comfort him in this necessity! If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018739 | Sir William Lucy. LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never so needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemmd about with grim destruction. To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! To Bordeaux, York! Else farewell, Talbot, France, and Englands honour. YORK. O God, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018740 | Somerset, who in proud heart Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbots place! So should we save a valiant gentleman By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep. LUCY. O, send some succour to the distressd lord! YORK. He dies, we lose; I break my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018741 | warlike word; We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get, All long of this vile traitor Somerset. LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbots soul, And on his son young John, who two hours since I met in travel toward his warlike father. This seven years did not Talbot see his son; And now they meet where both | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018742 | their lives are done. YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have To bid his young son welcome to his grave? Away! Vexation almost stops my breath, That sunderd friends greet in the hour of death. Lucy, farewell. No more my fortune can But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018743 | Long all of Somerset and his delay. [_Exit, with his soldiers._] LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory, Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all hurry to loss. [_Exit._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018744 | SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony. Enter Somerset with his army; a Captain of Talbots with him. SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now. This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted. All our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018745 | of former honour By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure. York set him on to fight and die in shame That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. CAPTAIN. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our oer-matchd forces forth for aid. Enter Sir William Lucy. SOMERSET. How now, Sir William, whither were you sent? LUCY. Whither, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018746 | my lord? From bought and sold Lord Talbot, Who, ringd about with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset To beat assailing Death from his weak legions; And whiles the honourable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of Englands honour, Keep off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018747 | aloof with worthless emulation. Let not your private discord keep away The levied succours that should lend him aid, While he, renowned noble gentleman, Yield up his life unto a world of odds. Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Alenon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default. SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018748 | LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you withhold his levied host Collected for this expedition. SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse. I owe him little duty, and less love, And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018749 | now entrappd the noble-minded Talbot. Never to England shall he bear his life, But dies betrayd to fortune by your strife. SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight. Within six hours they will be at his aid. LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is taen or slain, For fly he could not if he would have fled; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018750 | fly would Talbot never, though he might. SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu! LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. The English camp near Bordeaux. Enter Talbot and John his son. TALBOT. O young John Talbot, I did send for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of war, That Talbots | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018751 | name might be in thee revived When sapless age and weak unable limbs Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. ButO malignant and ill-boding stars! Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger. Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And Ill direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight. Come, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018752 | dally not, be gone. JOHN TALBOT. Is my name Talbot? And am I your son? And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name, To make a bastard and a slave of me! The world will say, he is not Talbots blood, That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. TALBOT. Fly, to revenge my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018753 | death if I be slain. JOHN TALBOT. He that flies so will neer return again. TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. JOHN TALBOT. Then let me stay and, father, do you fly. Your loss is great, so your regard should be; My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. Upon my death the French | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018754 | can little boast; In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; But mine it will, that no exploit have done. You fled for vantage, everyone will swear; But if I bow, theyll say it was for fear. There is no hope that ever I will stay If the first hour | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018755 | I shrink and run away. Here on my knee I beg mortality, Rather than life preserved with infamy. TALBOT. Shall all thy mothers hopes lie in one tomb? JOHN TALBOT. Ay, rather than Ill shame my mothers womb. TALBOT. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. JOHN TALBOT. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. TALBOT. Part | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018756 | of thy father may be saved in thee. JOHN TALBOT. No part of him but will be shame in me. TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. JOHN TALBOT. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? TALBOT. Thy fathers charge shall clear thee from that stain. JOHN TALBOT. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018757 | death be so apparent, then both fly. TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die? My age was never tainted with such shame. JOHN TALBOT. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be severd from your side Than can yourself yourself in twain divide. Stay, go, do what you will, the like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018758 | do I; For live I will not, if my father die. TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. Come, side by side together live and die, And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. A field of battle. Alarum. Excursions, wherein Talbots son is hemmed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018759 | about, and Talbot rescues him. TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight! The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word, And left us to the rage of France his sword. Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath; I gave thee life and rescued thee from death. JOHN TALBOT. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018760 | The life thou gavst me first was lost and done, Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, To my determined time thou gavst new date. TALBOT. When from the Dauphins crest thy sword struck fire, It warmd thy fathers heart with proud desire Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, Quickend with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alenon, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018761 | Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. The ireful Bastard Orleans, that drew blood From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood Of thy first fight, I soon encountered, And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his bastard blood, and in disgrace Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base, And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, Mean and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018762 | right poor, for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy. Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy fathers care, Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seald the son of chivalry? Fly, to revenge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018763 | my death when I am dead; The help of one stands me in little stead. O, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our lives in one small boat! If I today die not with Frenchmens rage, Tomorrow I shall die with mickle age. By me they nothing gain an if I stay; Tis but the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018764 | shortning of my life one day. In thee thy mother dies, our households name, My deaths revenge, thy youth, and Englands fame. All these and more we hazard by thy stay; All these are saved if thou wilt fly away. JOHN TALBOT. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018765 | On that advantage, bought with such a shame, To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France, To be shames scorn and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018766 | I fly, I am not Talbots son. Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbots foot. TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet. If thou wilt fight, fight by thy fathers side, And, commendable proved, lets die in pride. [_Exeunt._] SCENE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018767 | VII. Another part of the field. Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Talbot led by a Servant. TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone. O, wheres young Talbot? Where is valiant John? Triumphant Death, smeard with captivity, Young Talbots valour makes me smile at thee. When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandishd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018768 | over me, And like a hungry lion did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin and assaild of none, Dizzy-eyd fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustering battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018769 | did drench His over-mounting spirit; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne! Enter soldiers, with the body of young Talbot. TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laughst us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018770 | sky, In thy despite shall scape mortality. O thou whose wounds become hard-favourd Death, Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. Poor boy, he smiles, methinks, as who should say, Had Death been French, then Death had died today. Come, come, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018771 | lay him in his fathers arms; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbots grave. [_Dies._] Enter Charles, Alenon, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle and forces. CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this. BASTARD. How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018772 | the young whelp of Talbots, raging-wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmens blood! PUCELLE. Once I encounterd him, and thus I said: Thou maiden youth, be vanquishd by a maid. But with a proud majestical high scorn He answerd thus: Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench. So, rushing in the bowels of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018773 | the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms. BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was Englands glory, Gallias wonder. CHARLES. O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018774 | During the life, let us not wrong it dead. Enter Sir William Lucy and a French Herald. LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphins tent, To know who hath obtaind the glory of the day. CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent? LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! Tis a mere French word. We English warriors wot not what it means. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018775 | come to know what prisoners thou hast taen, And to survey the bodies of the dead. CHARLES. For prisoners askst thou? Hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seekst. LUCY. But wheres the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, Created for his rare success in arms Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018776 | Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the noble Order of Saint George, Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth Of all his wars within the realm of France? PUCELLE. Heres | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018777 | a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this. Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. LUCY. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmans only scourge, Your kingdoms terror and black Nemesis? O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turnd, That I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018778 | in rage might shoot them at your faces! O, that I could but call these dead to life! It were enough to fright the realm of France. Were but his picture left amongst you here, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence And give them burial as beseems their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018779 | worth. PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbots ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For Gods sake, let him have them; to keep them here, They would but stink and putrify the air. CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence. LUCY. Ill bear them hence; But from their ashes shall be reard A phoenix that shall make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018780 | all France afeard. CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou wilt. And now to Paris in this conquering vein. All will be ours, now bloody Talbots slain. [_Exeunt._] ACT V SCENE I. London. The Palace. Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester and Exeter. KING HENRY. Have you perused the letters from the Pope, The Emperor, and the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018781 | Earl of Armagnac? GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this: They humbly sue unto your Excellence To have a godly peace concluded of Between the realms of England and of France. KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion? GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018782 | And stablish quietness on every side. KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle, for I always thought It was both impious and unnatural That such immanity and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith. GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect And surer bind this knot of amity, The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, A man of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018783 | great authority in France, Proffers his only daughter to your Grace In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young! And fitter is my study and my books Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Yet call th ambassadors; and, as you please, So let them have their answers every one. I shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018784 | be well content with any choice Tends to Gods glory and my countrys weal. Enter Winchester in Cardinals habit, a Legate and two Ambassadors. EXETER. What, is my Lord of Winchester installd And calld unto a cardinals degree? Then I perceive that will be verified Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy: If once he come to be a cardinal, Hell | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018785 | make his cap co-equal with the crown. KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits Have been considerd and debated on. Your purpose is both good and reasonable; And therefore are we certainly resolved To draw conditions of a friendly peace, Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean Shall be transported presently to France. GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018786 | of my lord your master, I have informd his Highness so at large, As liking of the ladys virtuous gifts, Her beauty and the value of her dower, He doth intend she shall be Englands Queen. KING HENRY. In argument and proof of which contract, Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. And so, my Lord Protector, see them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018787 | guarded And safely brought to Dover; where inshippd, Commit them to the fortune of the sea. [_Exeunt all but Winchester and Legate._] WINCHESTER. Stay my lord legate; you shall first receive The sum of money which I promised Should be deliverd to his Holiness For clothing me in these grave ornaments. LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordships leisure. WINCHESTER. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018788 | [_Aside_.] Now Winchester will not submit, I trow, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive That neither in birth or for authority, The Bishop will be overborne by thee. Ill either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018789 | Charles, Burgundy, Alenon, Bastard, Reignier, La Pucelle and forces. CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits: Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt And turn again unto the warlike French. ALENON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, And keep not back your powers in dalliance. PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018790 | Else ruin combat with their palaces! Enter Scout. SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices! CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak. SCOUT. The English army, that divided was Into two parties, is now conjoind in one, And means to give you battle presently. CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; But we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018791 | will presently provide for them. BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there. Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. PUCELLE. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed. Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; Let Henry fret and all the world repine. CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! [_Exeunt._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018792 | SCENE III. Before Angiers. Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. PUCELLE. The Regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; And ye choice spirits that admonish me, And give me signs of future accidents. [_Thunder_] You speedy helpers, that are substitutes Under the lordly monarch of the north, Appear and aid me in this enterprise. Enter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018793 | Fiends. This speed and quick appearance argues proof Of your accustomd diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits that are culld Out of the powerful regions under earth, Help me this once, that France may get the field. [_They walk and speak not._] O, hold me not with silence over-long! Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018794 | Ill lop a member off and give it you In earnest of a further benefit, So you do condescend to help me now. [_They hang their heads._] No hope to have redress? My body shall Pay recompense if you will grant my suit. [_They shake their heads._] Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Then take | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018795 | my soul; my body, soul and all, Before that England give the French the foil. [_They depart._] See, they forsake me. Now the time is come That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest And let her head fall into Englands lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with. Now, France, thy glory | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018796 | droopeth to the dust. [_Exit._] Excursions. Burgundy and York fight hand to hand. The French fly. La Pucelle is taken. YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast. Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty. A goodly prize, fit for the devils grace! See, how the ugly witch doth bend | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018797 | her brows, As if with Circe she would change my shape! PUCELLE. Changd to a worser shape thou canst not be. YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; No shape but his can please your dainty eye. PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee! And may ye both be suddenly surprised By bloody hands, in sleeping | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018798 | on your beds! YORK. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue! PUCELLE. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile. YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comst to the stake. [_Exeunt._] Alarum. Enter Suffolk with Margaret in his hand. SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [_Gazes on her._] O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly! For I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018799 | will touch thee but with reverent hands, I kiss these fingers for eternal peace, And lay them gently on thy tender side. Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee. MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, The King of Naples, whosoeer thou art. SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I calld. Be not offended, | 60 | gutenberg |
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