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Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe!

As looks the mother on her lowly babe,
When ath 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 woful 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!

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

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,

Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation,
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
Who then, but English Henry, will be lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, — and mark but this, for proof;
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free, without his ransome paid,
In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.
Bur. I am vanquished; these haughty words of

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in thi And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join o

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

Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again!

Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

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Tal. My gracious prince, and honourabl -
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign:

In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,

Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Besides 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.

K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, That hath so long been resident in France?

Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.
K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious

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

[Exeunt KING HENRY, GLOSTER, TALBOT, and Nobles.

Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, Disgracing of these colours that I wear In honour of my noble lord of York, — Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? Bas. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage The envious barking of your saucy tongue Against my lord, the duke of Somerset.

Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as York. Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness take ye that. [Strikes him. Bas. Villain, thou know'st, 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.

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



SCENE I. The same. A Room of State. Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, EXETER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WINCHESTER, WARWICK, TALBOT, the Governor of Paris, and others.

Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth !

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Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from

To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands,

Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgunay.

Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee! I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,

[Plucking it off.

(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men ;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside,
Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.

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

Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extremes.
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort,
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
Profaning this most honourable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge,)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st
thy doom:



Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight; Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. [Exit FASTOLFE. And now, my lord protector, view the letter Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd his style? [Viewing the superscription.

No more but, plain and bluntly, To the king?
Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will?
What's here?
I have, upon especial cause, —


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Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
Together with the pitiful complaints

Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
Forsaken your pernicious faction,
And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of France.
O monstrous treachery! Can this be so;
That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
There should be found such false dissembling guile?
K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?
Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe.
K. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain ?
Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk
with him,

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And give him chastisement for this abuse: ---
My lord, how say you? are you not content?

Tal. Content, my liege? Yes; but that I am prevented,

I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto
him straight:
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason;
And what offence it is, to flout his friends.

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


Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign! Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too! York. This is my servant; Hear him, noble prince!

Som. And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favour him! K. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak. Say, gentlemen, What makes you thus exclaim? And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.

Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.

K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both complain?

First let me know, and then I'll answer you.


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

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, To set a gloss upon his bold intent,

Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;

And he first took exceptions at this badge,
Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.

York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will


Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

K. Hen. Good Lord! what madness rules in Prettily, methought, did play the orator. brain-sick men ;

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

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.

War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him

York. Let this dissention first be tried by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.

I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York. And, if I wist, he did,- But let it rest;
Other affairs must now be managed.

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

[Exeunt YORK, WARWICK, and VERNON. Ere. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:

York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.
Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd,
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.
Ere. It grieves his highness; — Good my lords;
be friends.
K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com-


batants :

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 dissention in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree,

How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, What infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certified,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France?
O, think upon the conquest of my father,
My tender years; and let us not forego
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 any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset, than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both :
As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade,
Than I am able to instruct or teach:
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love.
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France: -
And good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go cheerfully together, and digest

Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,

After some respite, will return to Calais ;
From thence to England, where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,

With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout.

[Flourish. Ereunt KING HENRY, GLO. SOM. WIN. SUF. and BASSET.

War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king

For had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broits,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.

But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,

This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much, when scepters are in children's hands:
But more, when envy breeds unkind division ;
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.


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Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls, th
General of the French Forces, and others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry king of England;
And thus he would, Open your city gates,
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient subjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love.

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge !
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death:
For, I protest, we are well fortified,
And strong enough to issue out and fight:
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

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Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible unconquered spirit:

This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy timorous soul,
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exeunt General, &c. from the walls.
Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy;-
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood :
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay :
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's

Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

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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 lowted by a traitor villain, And cannot help the noble chevalier : God comfort him in this necessity! If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.


Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,

Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's ho-


York. O God! that Somerset ·

Doth stop my cornets - were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman,
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.

who in proud

Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep, That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord! York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word:

We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul !

And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since,

I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ;
And now they meet where both their lives are done.
York Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. -
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit.

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.


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Other Plains of Gascony.

SCENE IV.Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces; an Officer of TALBOT'S with him.

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York, and Talbot, Too rashly plotted; all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: York set him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the

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Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'er match'd forces forth for aid.


Som How now, sir William? whither were you sent?

Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot;

Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's ho-


Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away

The levied succours that should lend him aid,
Whiles he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds :
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som. York set him on, York should have sent him aid.

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;

Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
Collected for this expedition.

Som. Y k 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

Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife

Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen

Within six hours they will be at his aid.

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

Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu!
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in

SCENE V. - The English Camp near Bourdeaux.
Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son.

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

John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son ?
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,

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To make a bastard, and a slave of me :
The world will say, He is not Talbot's blood,
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood.

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's

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Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die?

My age was never tainted with such shame.

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

Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go.
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.
John. No part of him, but will be shame in me.
Tal. Thou never had'st renown, nor canst not

lose it.

Tal. 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.



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

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me

These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:

John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight | On that advantage, bought with such a shame, abuse it? (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die. And like me to the peasant boys of France; To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.

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

SCENE VI.-A Field of Battle.

Alarum: Ercursions, wherein TALBOT's Son is hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him.

Tal. Saint George and victory fight, soldiers,

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 rescu'd thee from death.

John. O twice my father! twice am I thy son:
The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.

Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword
struck fire,

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