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, |
| 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! |
| 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; |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| Upon a wooden coffin we attend, |
| And death's dishonourable victory |
| We with our stately presence glorify, |
| Like captives bound to a triumphant car. |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| 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 over-awe. |
| Win. Gloucester, 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! |
| 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! |
| 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. |
| 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? |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! |
| Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, |
| To weep their intermissive miseries. |
| |
Enter another Messenger. |
| 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; |
| 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! |
| 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? |
| An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, |
| Wherewith already France is overrun. |
| |
Enter a third Messenger. |
| Third 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? |
| 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, |
| 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; |
| 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. |
| 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; |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| 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; |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| 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. |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| 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; |
| 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. |
| The king from Eltham I intend to steal, |
| And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exit. |
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