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Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee,
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole ! We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.
War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st 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?
Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain words my On any plot of ground in Christendom : Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king's days? And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.
Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, I'll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension : Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd.
Som. Ay, 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. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for ever, and my faction, wear; Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree.
Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. Som. Have with thee, Poole.
Farewell, ambitious Richard. [Exit. Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it!
War. This blot, that they object against your house, Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster : And, if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose: And here I prophecy, This brawl to-day, Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden, Shall send, between the red rose and the white, A thousands souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Law. And so will I.
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,
SCENE V. - The same. A Room in the Tower.
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
like lamps whose wasting oil is
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; And answer was return'd, that he will come.
Mor. 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 obscur'd, Depriv'd of honour and inheritance : But now, the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence; I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd, That so he might recover what was lost.
Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET.
1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come?
Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd? Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me, And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Plan. Discover more at large what cause tnat was; For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.
Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his nephew Richard; Edward's son,
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.
Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me.
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politick;
Might but redeem the passage of your age!
Mor. Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaught'rer 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 be thy life, in peace, and war!
Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul ! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, And like a hermit overpass'd 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 than his life.
[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out MORTIMER. Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort :And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, I doubt not, but with honour to redress : And therefore haste I to the parliament; Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit.
And for thy treachery, What's more manifest?
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne?
Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest?
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
Thou art reverent,
War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king?
Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Else would I have a fling at Winchester
K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye, should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, Civil dissention is a viperous worm, That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. [A noise within; Down with the tawny coats! What tumult's this? War. An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the bishop's men. [A noise again; Stones! Stones ! Enter the Mayor of London, attended.
May. O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry,—
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones;
Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER and WINCHESTER, with bloody pates.
K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace. Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.
1 Serv. Nay, if we be
Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again. Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a
2 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
[Skirmish again. Stay, stay, I say! And, if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear a while.
K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,
Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest Should ever get that privilege of me.
War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: Why look you still so stern, and tragical?
Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin
War. Sweet king! -the bishop hath a kindly gird.
For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent;
Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee; Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.
Glo. Aye; 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!
Win. So help me God, as I intend it not !
K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, How joyful am I made by this contráct! Away, my masters! trouble us no more; But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 1 Serv. Content; I'll to the surgeon's. 2 Serv. And so will I. 3 Serv. And I will see what physick the tavern affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, &c.
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sove
War. Let Richard be restored to his blood; So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.
Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, But all the whole inheritance I give, That doth belong unto the house of York, From whence you spring by lineal descent.
Guard. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung. [Opens the gates.
Puc. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [PUCELLE, &c. enter the city
Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience, And humble service, till the point of death. K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against
And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, so perish they
Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York! [Aside.
Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty,
K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king
Not seeing what is likely to ensue :
SCENE II.. France. Before Rouen. Enter LA PUCELLE disguised, and Soldiers dressed like Countrymen, with sacks upon their backs.
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, Through which our policy must make a breach: Take heed, be wary how you place your words; Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men, That come to gather money for their corn. If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,) And that we find the slothful watch but weak, I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the
city, And we be lords and rulers over Roüen; Therefore we'll knock.
Guard. [Within.] Qui est là?
Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens de France: Foor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.
Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen; But burning fatal to the Talbotites.
Bast. See, noble Charles! the beacon of our friend, The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends; Enter, and cry The Dauphin! - presently, And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. Alarums. Enter TALBOT, and certain English.
Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 'Twas full of darnel; Do you like the taste?
Bur. 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.
Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.
Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, And run a tilt at death within a chair?
Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Puc. Are you so hot, sir? - Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. -
Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours, or no.
Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecaté,
Tal. Signior, hang! base muleteers of France!
Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the walls; For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. God be wi' you, my lord! we came, sir, but to tell
you That we are here.
[Exeunt LA PUCELLE, &c. from the walls. Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame! Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, (Prick'd on by publick wrongs, sustain'd in France,) Either to get the town again, or die : And I, as sure as English Henry lives, And as his father here was conqueror; As sure as in this late-betrayed town Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried; So sure I swear, to get the town, or die. Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, The valiant duke of Bedford : Come, my lord, We will bestow you in some better place, Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.
Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me: Here will I sit before the walls of Roüen, And will be partner of your weal, or woe. Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read,
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick,
Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! -
[Exeunt BURGUNDY, TALBOT, and Forces, leaving BEDFORD, and others. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir JOHN FASTOLFE, and a Captain.
Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such
Fast. Whither away? to save myself by flight; We are like to have the overthrow again.
Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? Fast. Ay, All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit. Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! [Exit.
Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the town, LA PUCELLE, ALENÇON, CHARLES, &c. and exeunt flying.
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please; For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? They, that of late were daring with their scoffs, Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [Dies, and is carried off in his chair.
Alarum: Enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and others.
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.
Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
I think, her old familiar is asleep :
Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief, That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town,
[Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. The Plains near the City. Enter CHARLES, the Bastard, ALENÇON, LA PUCELLE, and Forces.
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy cunning had no diffidence; One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, And we will make thee famous through the world. Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint; Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, We will entice the duke of Burgundy To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.
Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, France were no place for Henry's warriors; Nor should that nation boast it so with us, But be extirped from our provinces.
Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from France,