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With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction
K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate:-and bear me witness all,
Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages,
K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage:-on which day,
Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen,
Our bending* author hath pursued the story,
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
That they lost France, and made his England bleed: Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, your fair minds let this acceptance take.
*I.e. unequal to the weight of the subject.
KING HENRY VI.
KING HENRY THE SIXTH.
RICHARD PLANTAGENET, eldest
MORTIMER'S KEEPER, and a
SIR JOHN FASTOLFE.
SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE.
VERNON, of the White Rose, or
BASSET, of the Red Rose, or Lan-
REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and
GENERAL OF THE FRENCH
A FRENCH SERGEANT.
AN OLD SHEPHERD, Father to
MARGARET, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards married to King Henry.
COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE. JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called Joan of Arc.
FIENDS appearing to La Pucelle,
SCENE; partly in England, and partly in France.
SCENE I-Westminster Abbey.
Dead march. Corpse of KING HENRY the Fifth discovered, lying in state; attended on by the Dukes of BEDFORD, GLOSTER, and EXETER; the Earl of WARWICK, the Bishop of WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c.
Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.
Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of Kings.
So dreadful will not be, as was his fight.
The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
Glo. The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom, like a school-boy, you may overawe.
Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector; And lookest to command the prince, and realm,
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God, or religious churchmen, may.
Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh!
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go❜st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace!
Let's to the altar-Heralds, wait on us :
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry 's dead.
Posterity, await for wretched years,
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck⚫
Our isle be made a marish* of salt tears,
And none but women left to wail the dead.
Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
Enter a MESSENGER.
Mess. Right honourable lords, health to
Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
That here you maintain several factions;
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
One would have lingering wars, with little cost;
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot:
Ere. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
Enter another MESSENGER.
2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mischance, France is revolted from the English quite;
Except some petty towns of no import:
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The duke of Alençon flieth to his side.
Ere. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
0, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats:
+ Having only short intermissions.
Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is over-run.
Enter a third MESSENGER.
3 Mess. My gracious lords,-to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,I must inform you of a dismal fight,
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.
Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? 3 Mess. O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,
Having scarce six thousand in his troop,
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,
Durst not presume to look once in the face.
Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease,
3 Mess. Ono, he lives; but is took prisoner, And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise.
Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne, His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;