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Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry the Fifth,
attended on by the Duke of Bedford Regent of France, the
Duke of Gloucester Protector, the Duke of Exeter, and the
Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of
UNG be the heav'ns with black, yield day to
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crisped tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry's death!
Henry the fifth, too famous to live long !
England ne'er loft a king of so much worth.
Glou. England ne'er had a king until his time :
Virtue he had, deserving to command.
His brandish'd sword bid blind men with its beams;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire,
More dazled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech :
He never lifted up his hand but conquer’d.
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
Conj’rers and forc’rers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verse have thus contriv'd his end?
Win. He was a king, blest 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 pray’rs made him so prosperous.
Glou. The church? where is it had not churchmen pray'd, .
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd.
like but an effeminate prince, Whom like a schoolboy you may over-awe.
Win. Glofter, 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.
Glou. 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 marilh of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead! Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Enter a Messenger.
Mel. My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of Naughter, and discomfiture;
Guienne, Champaign, and Rheims, and Orleans,
Paris, Guyfors, Poistiers, are all quite loft.
Bed. What say'st 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.
Glou. Is Paris lost, and Orleans 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?
Mel. No treachery, but want of men and money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintain sev’ral factions ;
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals,
One would have ling’ring wars with little cost;
Another would Ay swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man thinks, without expence at all
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not floth dim your honours, new begot:
Crop'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 her 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 I will lend the French, instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries.
· SCENE III.
Enter another Messenger. 2 Mel. 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 Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier duke of Anjou takes his part; The duke of Alanson flies to his side.
Exe. The dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we Ay from this reproach?
Glou. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats.
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.
Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of
forwardness? An army have I muster’d in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun.
Enter a Third Messenger.
3 Mell. 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. Mej. 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 fiege of Orleans,
Having scarce full fix 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 durft stand him;
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he few.
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 ! Talbot ! cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been seald up,
*If fir John Falstaff had not play'd the coward :
He being in the rereward, (plac'd behind
With purpose to relieve and follow them)
Cowardly Aed, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the gen’ral wreck 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 sain then? I will say myself,
For living idly here in pomp and ease;
Whilft such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his daftard foemen is betray’d.
3Mes. O, no, he lives, but is took prisoner, And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford;
a See the note on the fifth scene of ac? 3. VOL. IV.