Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
THE ACTORS NAMES.
Rich. Of which, my Lord, your Honor is the last Mort. True; and thou seest, that I no Issue haue, And that my fainting words doe warrant death: Thou art my Heire; the rest, I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care Rich. Thy graue admonishments preuayle with me: But yet me thinkes, my Fathers execution Was nothing lesse then bloody Tyranny Mort. With silence, Nephew, be thou pollitick, Strong fixed is the House of Lancaster, And like a Mountaine, not to be remou'd. But now thy Vnckle is remouing hence, As Princes doe their Courts, when they are cloy'd With long continuance in a setled place Rich. O Vnckle, would some part of my young yeeres Might but redeeme the passage of your Age Mort. Thou do'st then wrong me, as y slaughterer doth, Which giueth many Wounds, when one will kill. Mourne not, except thou sorrow for my good, Onely giue order for my Funerall. And so farewell, and faire be all thy hopes, And prosperous be thy Life in Peace and Warre. Dyes. Rich. And Peace, no Warre, befall thy parting Soule. In Prison hast thou spent a Pilgrimage, And like a Hermite ouer-past thy dayes. Well, I will locke his Councell in my Brest, And what I doe imagine, let that rest. Keepers conuey him hence, and I my selfe Will see his Buryall better then his Life. Enter.
Warw. Me thinkes his Lordship should be humbler, It fitteth not a Prelate so to plead Som. Yes, when his holy State is toucht so neere Warw. State holy, or vnhallow'd, what of that? Is not his Grace Protector to the King? Rich. Plantagenet I see must hold his tongue, Least it be said, Speake Sirrha when you should: Must your bold Verdict enter talke with Lords? Else would I haue a fling at Winchester King. Vnckles of Gloster, and of Winchester, The speciall Watch-men of our English Weale, I would preuayle, if Prayers might preuayle, To ioyne your hearts in loue and amitie. Oh, what a Scandall is it to our Crowne, That two such Noble Peeres as ye should iarre? Beleeue me, Lords, my tender yeeres can tell, Ciuill dissention is a viperous Worme, That gnawes the Bowels of the Common-wealth. A noyse within, Downe with the Tawny-Coats. King. What tumult's this? Warw. An Vprore, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the Bishops men. A noyse againe, Stones, Stones. Enter Maior. Maior. Oh my good Lords, and vertuous Henry, Pitty the Citie of London, pitty vs: The Bishop, and the Duke of Glosters men, Forbidden late to carry any Weapon, Haue fill'd their Pockets full of peeble stones; And banding themselues in contrary parts, Doe pelt so fast at one anothers Pate, That many haue their giddy braynes knockt out: Our Windowes are broke downe in euery Street, And we, for feare, compell'd to shut our Shops. Enter in skirmish with bloody Pates.
Souldier. Our Sacks shall be a meane to sack the City, And we be Lords and Rulers ouer Roan, Therefore wee'le knock. Knock. Watch. Che la Pucell. Peasauns la pouure gens de Fraunce, Poore Market folkes that come to sell their Corne Watch. Enter, goe in, the Market Bell is rung Pucell. Now Roan, Ile shake thy Bulwarkes to the ground. Exeunt. Enter Charles, Bastard, Alanson. Charles. Saint Dennis blesse this happy Stratageme, And once againe wee'le sleepe secure in Roan Bastard. Here entred Pucell, and her Practisants: Now she is there, how will she specifie? Here is the best and safest passage in Reig. By thrusting out a Torch from yonder Tower, Which once discern'd, shewes that her meaning is, No way to that (for weaknesse) which she entred. Enter Pucell on the top, thrusting out a Torch burning. Pucell. Behold, this is the happy Wedding Torch, That ioyneth Roan vnto her Countreymen, But burning fatall to the Talbonites Bastard. See Noble Charles the Beacon of our friend, The burning Torch in yonder Turret stands Charles. Now shine it like a Commet of Reuenge, A Prophet to the fall of all our Foes Reig. Deferre no time, delayes haue dangerous ends, Enter and cry, the Dolphin, presently, And then doe execution on the Watch. Alarum. An Alarum. Talbot in an Excursion.
Talb. France, thou shalt rue this Treason with thy teares, If Talbot but suruiue thy Trecherie. Pucell that Witch, that damned Sorceresse, Hath wrought this Hellish Mischiefe vnawares, That hardly we escap't the Pride of France. Enter. An Alarum: Excursions. Bedford brought in sicke in a Chayre. Enter Talbot and Burgonie without: within, Pucell, Charles, Bastard, and Reigneir on the Walls. Pucell. God morrow Gallants, want ye Corn for Bread? I thinke the Duke of Burgonie will fast, Before hee'le buy againe at such a rate. 'Twas full of Darnell: doe you like the taste? Burg. Scoffe on vile Fiend, and shamelesse Curtizan, I trust ere long to choake thee with thine owne, And make thee curse the Haruest of that Corne Charles. Your Grace may starue (perhaps) before that time Bedf. Oh let no words, but deedes, reuenge this Treason Pucell. What will you doe, good gray-beard? Breake a Launce, and runne a-Tilt at Death, Within a Chayre Talb. Foule Fiend of France, and Hag of all despight, Incompass'd with thy lustfull Paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant Age, And twit with Cowardise a man halfe dead? Damsell, Ile haue a bowt with you againe, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame Pucell. Are ye so hot, Sir: yet Pucell hold thy peace, If Talbot doe but Thunder, Raine will follow.
Bedf. Lord Talbot, doe not so dishonour me: Here will I sit, before the Walls of Roan, And will be partner of your weale or woe Burg. Couragious Bedford, let vs now perswade you Bedf. Not to be gone from hence: for once I read, That stout Pendragon, in his Litter sick, Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. Me thinkes I should reuiue the Souldiors hearts, Because I euer found them as my selfe Talb. Vndaunted spirit in a dying breast, Then be it so: Heauens keepe old Bedford safe. And now no more adoe, braue Burgonie, But gather we our Forces out of hand, And set vpon our boasting Enemie. Enter. An Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir Iohn Falstaffe, and a Captaine. Capt. Whither away Sir Iohn Falstaffe, in such haste? Falst. Whither away? to saue my selfe by flight, We are like to haue the ouerthrow againe Capt. What? will you flye, and leaue Lord Talbot? Falst. I, all the Talbots in the World, to saue my life. Enter. Capt. Cowardly Knight, ill fortune follow thee. Enter. Retreat. Excursions. Pucell, Alanson, and Charles flye. Bedf. Now quiet Soule, depart when Heauen please, For I haue seene our Enemies ouerthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? They that of late were daring with their scoffes, Are glad and faine by flight to saue themselues.
Charles. We haue been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy Cunning had no diffidence, One sudden Foyle shall neuer breed distrust Bastard. Search out thy wit for secret pollicies, And we will make thee famous through the World Alans. Wee'le set thy Statue in some holy place, And haue thee reuerenc't like a blessed Saint. Employ thee then, sweet Virgin, for our good Pucell. Then thus it must be, this doth Ioane deuise: By faire perswasions, mixt with sugred words, We will entice the Duke of Burgonie To leaue the Talbot, and to follow vs Charles. I marry Sweeting, if we could doe that, France were no place for Henryes Warriors, Nor should that Nation boast it so with vs, But be extirped from our Prouinces Alans. For euer should they be expuls'd from France, And not haue Title of an Earledome here Pucell. Your Honors shall perceiue how I will worke, To bring this matter to the wished end. Drumme sounds a farre off. Hearke, by the sound of Drumme you may perceiue Their Powers are marching vnto Paris-ward. Here sound an English March. There goes the Talbot with his Colours spred, And all the Troupes of English after him. French March. Now in the Rereward comes the Duke and his: Fortune in fauor makes him lagge behinde. Summon a Parley, we will talke with him.
Alans. Pucell hath brauely play'd her part in this, And doth deserue a Coronet of Gold Charles. Now let vs on, my Lords, And ioyne our Powers, And seeke how we may preiudice the Foe. Exeunt. Scoena Quarta. Enter the King, Gloucester, Winchester, Yorke, Suffolke, Somerset, Warwicke, Exeter: To them, with his Souldiors, Talbot. Talb. My gracious Prince, and honorable Peeres, Hearing of your arriuall in this Realme, I haue a while giuen Truce vnto my Warres, To doe my dutie to my Soueraigne. In signe whereof, this Arme, that hath reclaym'd To your obedience, fiftie Fortresses, Twelue Cities, and seuen walled Townes of strength, Beside fiue hundred Prisoners of esteeme; Lets fall his Sword before your Highnesse feet: And with submissiue loyaltie of heart Ascribes the Glory of his Conquest got, First to my God, and next vnto your Grace King. Is this the Lord Talbot, Vnckle Gloucester, That hath so long beene resident in France? Glost. Yes, if it please your Maiestie, my Liege King. Welcome braue Captaine, and victorious Lord. When I was young (as yet I am not old) I doe remember how my Father said, A stouter Champion neuer handled Sword. Long since we were resolued of your truth, Your faithfull seruice, and your toyle in Warre: Yet neuer haue you tasted our Reward, Or beene reguerdon'd with so much as Thanks, Because till now, we neuer saw your face. Therefore stand vp, and for these good deserts, We here create you Earle of Shrewsbury, And in our Coronation take your place.
Senet. Flourish. Exeunt. Manet Vernon and Basset. Vern. Now Sir, to you that were so hot at Sea, Disgracing of these Colours that I weare, In honor of my Noble Lord of Yorke Dar'st thou maintaine the former words thou spak'st? Bass. Yes Sir, as well as you dare patronage The enuious barking of your sawcie Tongue, Against my Lord the Duke of Somerset Vern. Sirrha, thy Lord I honour as he is Bass. Why, what is he? as good a man as Yorke Vern. Hearke ye: not so: in witnesse take ye that. Strikes him. Bass. Villaine, thou knowest The Law of Armes is such, That who so drawes a Sword, 'tis present death, Or else this Blow should broach thy dearest Bloud. But Ile vnto his Maiestie, and craue, I may haue libertie to venge this Wrong, When thou shalt see, Ile meet thee to thy cost Vern. Well miscreant, Ile be there as soone as you, And after meete you, sooner then you would. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter King, Glocester, Winchester, Yorke, Suffolke, Somerset, Warwicke, Talbot, and Gouernor Exeter. Glo. Lord Bishop set the Crowne vpon his head Win. God saue King Henry of that name the sixt Glo. Now Gouernour of Paris take your oath, That you elect no other King but him; Esteeme none Friends, but such as are his Friends, And none your Foes, but such as shall pretend Malicious practises against his State: This shall ye do, so helpe you righteous God. Enter Falstaffe.
King. Come hither you that would be Combatants: Henceforth I charge you, as you loue our fauour, Quite to forget this Quarrell, and the cause. And you my Lords: Remember where we are, In France, amongst a fickle wauering Nation: If they perceyue dissention in our lookes, And that within our selues we disagree; How will their grudging stomackes be prouok'd To wilfull Disobedience, and Rebell? Beside, What infamy will there arise, When Forraigne Princes shall be certified, That for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henries Peeres, and cheefe Nobility, Destroy'd themselues, and lost the Realme of France? Oh thinke vpon the Conquest of my Father, My tender yeares, and let vs not forgoe That for a trifle, that was bought with blood. Let me be Vmper in this doubtfull strife: I see no reason if I weare this Rose, That any one should therefore be suspitious I more incline to Somerset, than Yorke: Both are my kinsmen, and I loue them both. As well they may vpbray'd me with my Crowne, Because (forsooth) the King of Scots is Crown'd. But your discretions better can perswade, Then I am able to instruct or teach: And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let vs still continue peace, and loue. Cosin of Yorke, we institute your Grace To be our Regent in these parts of France: And good my Lord of Somerset, vnite Your Troopes of horsemen, with his Bands of foote, And like true Subiects, sonnes of your Progenitors, Go cheerefully together, and digest Your angry Choller on your Enemies. Our Selfe, my Lord Protector, and the rest, After some respit, will returne to Calice; From thence to England, where I hope ere long To be presented by your Victories, With Charles, Alanson, and that Traiterous rout.
2.Mes. Thou Princely Leader of our English strength, Neuer so needfull on the earth of France, Spurre to the rescue of the Noble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waste of Iron, And hem'd about with grim destruction: To Burdeaux warlike Duke, to Burdeaux Yorke, Else farwell Talbot, France, and Englands honor Yorke. O God, that Somerset who in proud heart Doth stop my Cornets, were in Talbots place, So should wee saue a valiant Gentleman, By forfeyting a Traitor, and a Coward: Mad ire, and wrathfull fury makes me weepe, That thus we dye, while remisse Traitors sleepe Mes. O send some succour to the distrest Lord Yorke. He dies, we loose: I breake my warlike word: We mourne, France smiles: We loose, they dayly get, All long of this vile Traitor Somerset Mes. Then God take mercy on braue Talbots soule, And on his Sonne yong Iohn, who two houres since, I met in trauaile toward his warlike Father; This seuen yeeres did not Talbot see his sonne, And now they meete where both their liues are done Yorke. Alas, what ioy shall noble Talbot haue, To bid his yong sonne welcome to his Graue: Away, vexation almost stoppes my breath, That sundred friends greete in the houre of death. Lucie farewell, no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot ayde the man. Maine, Bloys, Poytiers, and Toures, are wonne away, Long all of Somerset, and his delay.
Iohn. The Sword of Orleance hath not made me smart, These words of yours draw Life-blood from my Heart. On that aduantage, bought with such a shame, To saue a paltry Life, and slay bright Fame, Before young Talbot from old Talbot flye, The Coward Horse that beares me, fall and dye: And like me to the pesant Boyes of France, To be Shames scorne, and subiect of Mischance. Surely, by all the Glorie you haue wonne, And if I flye, I am not Talbots Sonne. Then talke no more of flight, it is no boot, If Sonne to Talbot, dye at Talbots foot Talb. Then follow thou thy desp'rate Syre of Creet, Thou Icarus, thy Life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy Fathers side, And commendable prou'd, let's dye in pride. Enter. Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Talbot led. Talb. Where is my other Life? mine owne is gone. O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant Iohn? Triumphant Death, smear'd with Captiuitie, Young Talbots Valour makes me smile at thee. When he perceiu'd me shrinke, and on my Knee, His bloodie Sword he brandisht ouer mee, And like a hungry Lyon did commence Rough deeds of Rage, and sterne Impatience: But when my angry Guardant stood alone, Tendring my ruine, and assayl'd of none, Dizzie-ey'd Furie, and great rage of Heart, Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustring Battaile of the French: And in that Sea of Blood, my Boy did drench His ouer-mounting Spirit; and there di'de My Icarus, my Blossome, in his pride. Enter with Iohn Talbot, borne.
Puc. Heere's a silly stately stile indeede: The Turke that two and fiftie Kingdomes hath, Writes not so tedious a Stile as this. Him that thou magnifi'st with all these Titles, Stinking and fly-blowne lyes heere at our feete Lucy. Is Talbot slaine, the Frenchmens only Scourge, Your Kingdomes terror, and blacke Nemesis? Oh were mine eye-balles into Bullets turn'd, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces. Oh, that I could but call these dead to life, It were enough to fright the Realme of France. Were but his Picture left amongst you here, It would amaze the prowdest of you all. Giue me their Bodyes, that I may beare them hence, And giue them Buriall, as beseemes their worth Pucel. I thinke this vpstart is old Talbots Ghost, He speakes with such a proud commanding spirit: For Gods sake let him haue him, to keepe them here, They would but stinke, and putrifie the ayre Char. Go take their bodies hence Lucy. Ile beare them hence: but from their ashes shal be reard A Phoenix that shall make all France affear'd Char. So we be rid of them, do with him what y wilt. And now to Paris in this conquering vaine, All will be ours, now bloody Talbots slaine. Enter. Scena secunda.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.