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KING Henry VI.

Duke of Gloucefter, Uncle to the King, and Protector.
Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent of France.
Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, and great Uncle`
to the King.

Duke of Exeter, Brother to King Henry IV.
Duke of Somerfet.
Earl of Warwick.
Earl of Salisbury.

Earl of Suffolk.
Lord Talbot.

Young Talbot, his Son.

Richard Plantagenet, afterwards Duke of York.
Mortimer, Earl of March.

Sir John Falftaff.

Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower.

Lord Mayor of London.

Vernon, of the White Rofe, or York Fallion.
Baffet, of the Red Rofe, or Lancaster Faction.
Sir Thomas Gargrave.

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and Titular King of Naples.
Duke of Burgundy,

Duke of Alanfon.

Baftard of Orleans.

An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle.

Margaret, Daughter to Reignier, and afterwards Queen to K. Henry.

Joan la Pucelle, a Maid pretending to be infpir'd from
Heaven, and fetting up for the Championess of France.
Countess of Auvergne.

Lords, Captains, Soldiers, Meffengers, and feveral
Attendants both on the English and French.

The SCENE is partly in England, and partly in France.

1 Uncle likewife





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 Winchefter and the Duke of Somerfet.



UNG be the heav'ns with black, yield day to

Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandifh your crifped treffes in the sky,
And with them fcourge the bad revolting stars

That have confented unto Henry's death!

Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er loft a King of fo much worth.
Glou. England ne'er had a King until his time:
Virtue he had, deferving to command.

His brandifh'd fword did blind men with its beams;
His arms fpread wider than a Dragon's wings;

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His fparkling eyes repleat with awful fire
More dazled and drove back his enemies
Than mid-day fun fierce bent against their faces.
What fhould I fay? 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 fhall revive:

Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's difhonourable victory.
We with our stately prefence glorifie,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? fhall we curfe the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or fhall we think the fubtle-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, bleft of the King of Kings.
Unto the French, the dreadful judgment-day

So dreadful will not be as was his fight.

The battels of the Lord of hofts he fought;

The church's pray'rs made him fo profperous. [pray'd,
Glou. The church? where is it? had not church-men

His thread of life had not fo foon decay'd.
None do you like but an effeminate Prince,
Whom like a school-boy you may over-awe.

Win. Glo'fter, whate'er we like, thou art Protector.
And lookeft to command the Prince and realm;
Thy wife is proud, fhe holdeth thee in awe,
More than God or religious church-men may.

Glou. Name not religion, for thou lov'ft the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes.


Bed. Ceafe, ceafe thefe jars, and reft your minds in Let's to the altar: heralds, wait, on us;

Inftead of gold we'll offer up our arms,

Pofterity await for wretched years,

Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.

When at their mothers moift eyes babes fhall fuck,


Our ifle be made a marish of falt tears,
And none but women left to 'wail the dead!
Henry the Fifth! thy ghoft I invocate;
Profper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious ftar thy foul will make
Than Julius Cæfar.`

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Me My honourable Lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of lofs, of flaughter, and difcomfiture;
Guienne, Champaign, and Rheims, and Orleans,
Paris, Guyfors, Poitiers, are all quite loft.

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[Coarfe? Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's Speak foftly, or the lofs of thofe great town's Will make him burst his lead, and rife from death. Glow: Is Paris loft, and +'Orléans yielded up?

If Henry were recall'd to life again,

Thefe news would cause him once more yield the ghoft.
Exe. How were they loft? what treachery was 'us'd?
Mell. No treachery, but want of men and mony.
Amongst the foldiers this is muttered,

That here you maintain fev'ral factions;
And whilft a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are difputing of your Generals.

One would have lingring wars with little coft
Another would fly fwift, 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,

3 Cæfar, or bright

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