Westminster Abbey. | |
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Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH attended on by the DUKES OF BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, 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, | 4 |
| Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, | |
| And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, | |
| That have consented unto Henry’s death! | |
| King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! | 8 |
| England ne’er lost a king of so much worth. | |
| Glo. England ne’er had a king until his time. | |
| Virtue he had, deserving to command: | |
| His brandish’d sword did blind men with his beams; | 12 |
| His arms spread wider than a dragon’s wings; | |
| His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, | |
| More dazzled and drove back his enemies | |
| Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. | 16 |
| What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: | |
| 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. | 20 |
| Upon a wooden coffin we attend, | |
| And death’s dishonourable victory | |
| We with our stately presence glorify, | |
| Like captives bound to a triumphant car. | 24 |
| What! shall we curse the planets of mishap | |
| That plotted thus our glory’s overthrow? | |
| Or shall we think the subtle-witted French | |
| Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, | 28 |
| By magic verses have contriv’d his end? | |
| Win. He was a king bless’d of the King of kings. | |
| Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day | |
| So dreadful will not be as was his sight. | 32 |
| 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: | 36 |
| None do you like but an effeminate prince, | |
| Whom like a school-boy you may over-awe. | |
| Win. Gloucester, whate’er we like thou art protector, | |
| And lookest to command the prince and realm. | 40 |
| 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, | 44 |
| 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, | 48 |
| 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, | 52 |
| 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! | 56 |
| A far more glorious star thy soul will make, | |
| Than Julius Cæsar, or bright— | |
| |
Enter a Messenger. | |
| Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all! | 60 |
| Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, | |
| Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: | |
| Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, | |
| Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. | 64 |
| Bed. What sayst thou, man, before dead Henry’s corse? | |
| Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns | |
| Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. | |
| Glo. Is Paris lost? is Roan yielded up? | 68 |
| If Henry were recall’d to life again | |
| These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. | |
| Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us’d? | |
| Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. | 72 |
| Among the soldiers this is muttered, | |
| That here you maintain several factions; | |
| And, whilst a field should be dispatch’d and fought, | |
| You are disputing of your generals. | 76 |
| One would have lingering wars with little cost; | |
| Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; | |
| A third thinks, without expense at all, | |
| By guileful fair words peace may be obtain’d. | 80 |
| Awake, awake, English nobility! | |
| Let not sloth dim your honours new-begot: | |
| Cropp’d are the flower-de-luces in your arms; | |
| Of England’s coat one half is cut away. | 84 |
| Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral | |
| These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. | |
| Bed. Me they concern; Regent I am of France. | |
| Give me my steeled coat: I’ll fight for France. | 88 |
| Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! | |
| Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, | |
| To weep their intermissive miseries. | |
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Enter another Messenger. | 92 |
| Sec. 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; | 96 |
| The Bastard of Orleans with him is join’d; | |
| Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; | |
| The Duke of Alençon flieth to his side. | |
| Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! | 100 |
| O! whither shall we fly from this reproach? | |
| Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies’ throats. | |
| Bedford, if thou be slack, I’ll fight it out. | |
| Bed. Gloucester, why doubt’st thou of my forwardness? | 104 |
| An army have I muster’d in my thoughts, | |
| Wherewith already France is overrun. | |
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Enter a third Messenger. | |
| Third Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, | 108 |
| 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? | 112 |
| Third 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, | |
| Retiring from the siege of Orleans, | 116 |
| Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, | |
| By three-and-twenty thousand of the French | |
| Was round encompassed and set upon. | |
| No leisure had he to enrank his men; | 120 |
| He wanted pikes to set before his archers; | |
| Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck’d out of hedges | |
| They pitched in the ground confusedly, | |
| To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. | 124 |
| More than three hours the fight continued; | |
| Where valiant Talbot above human thought | |
| Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. | |
| Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; | 128 |
| Here, there, and every where, enrag’d he flew: | |
| The French exclaim’d the devil was in arms; | |
| All the whole army stood agaz’d on him. | |
| His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, | 132 |
| A Talbot! A Talbot! cried out amain, | |
| And rush’d into the bowels of the battle. | |
| Here had the conquest fully been seal’d up, | |
| If Sir John Fastolfe had not play’d the coward. | 136 |
| He, being in the vaward,—plac’d behind, | |
| With purpose to relieve and follow them,— | |
| Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. | |
| Hence grew the general wrack and massacre; | 140 |
| Enclosed were they with their enemies. | |
| A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin’s grace, | |
| Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; | |
| Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, | 144 |
| 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 | |
| Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, | 148 |
| Unto his dastard foemen is betray’d. | |
| Third Mess. O no! he lives; but is took prisoner, | |
| And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford: | |
| Most of the rest slaughter’d or took likewise. | 152 |
| 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; | |
| Four of their lords I’ll change for one of ours. | 156 |
| Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; | |
| Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, | |
| To keep our great Saint George’s feast withal: | |
| Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, | 160 |
| Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. | |
| Third Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg’d; | |
| The English army is grown weak and faint; | |
| The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, | 164 |
| And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, | |
| Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. | |
| Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, | |
| Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, | 168 |
| Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. | |
| Bed. I do remember it; and here take my leave, | |
| To go about my preparation. [Exit. | |
| Glo. I’ll to the Tower with all the haste I can, | 172 |
| To view the artillery and munition; | |
| And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit. | |
| Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is, | |
| Being ordain’d his special governor; | 176 |
| And for his safety there I’ll best devise. [Exit. | |
| Win. Each hath his place and function to attend: | |
| I am left out; for me nothing remains. | |
| But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office. | 180 |
| The king from Eltham I intend to steal, | |
| And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exit. | |
