SCENE I.-Paris. A Room of State. Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, EXETER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WINCHESTER, WARWICK, TALBOT, the Governor of Paris, and others. Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth !

Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,-
[Governor kneels.

That you elect no other king but him:
Esteem none friends but such as are his friends;
And none your foes but such as shall pretend
Malicious practices against his state :
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
[Exeunt Gov. and his Train.

Enter Sir JOHN FASTOLFE.

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,

To haste unto your coronation,

a Pretend-intend.

A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy.
Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy, and
thee!

I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,

[Plucking it off.

(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest :
This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside,
Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.

Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous

Such factious emulations shall arise:
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

York. Let this dissention first be tried by fight, And then your highness shall command a peace. Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. Glo. Confirm it so ? Confounded be your strife! And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd, With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the king and us? And you, my lords,―methinks you do not well, To bear with their perverse objections; Much less to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; Let me persuade you, take a better course. Exe. It grieves his highness :-Good my lords, be friends.

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatants :

Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause.
And you, my lords, remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
If they perceive dissension in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree,
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, what infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certified
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers and chief nobility
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of
France!

O, think upon the conquest of my father,
My tender years; and let us not forego

That for a trifle that was bought with blood!
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

[Putting on a red rose.
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade
Than I am able to instruct or teach:
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love.
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France:

And good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go cheerfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais ;
From thence to England, where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt KING HENRY, Glo.,
SOM., WIN., SUF., and BASSET.
War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not;

I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. York. And, if I wist he did,-But let it rest; Other affairs must now be managed.

[Exeunt YORK, WARWICK, and VERNON. Ere. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:

For had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,

This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands:
But more, when envy breeds unkind division;
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.

[Exit.

SCENE II.-France. Before Bourdeaux. Enter TALBOT with his Forces. Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter : Summon their general unto the wall.

Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls,

the General of the French Forces, and others. English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, Servant in arms to Harry king of England; And thus he would,-Open your city gates ; Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient subjects; And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:

But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,

You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;

Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of our a love.

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge!
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death:
For, I protest, we are well fortified,

And strong enough to issue out and fight :
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
For ere the glass that now begins to run
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning
bell,

Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul,
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exeunt General, &c., from the walls. Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy ;Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.

O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood:"
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's right!

Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

SCENE III-Plains in Gascony.

Enter YORK, with Forces; to him a Messenger. York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,

That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? Mess. They are return'd, my lord: and give

it out

That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along,
By your espials were discovered

Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led; Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux.

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, That thus delays my promised supply

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am lowted by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in this necessity!
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,

Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux,
York!

Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

York. O God! that Somerset, who in proud heart

Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman,
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.

Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd
lord!

Fork. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word:

We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;

All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul!

And on his son, young John; whom, two hours

since,

I met in travel toward his warlike father!

a Lowled Malone explains this, I am treated with contempt like a lowt.

This seven years did not Talbot see his son; And now they meet where both their lives are done.

York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have, To bid his young son welcome to his grave? Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,

'Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

[Exit.

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory, Henry the fifth-Whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-Other Plains of Gascony.

Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces; an Officer of TALBOT'S with him.

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted; all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: York set him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the

name.

Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY.

Som. How now? sir William, whither were you sent ?

Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot ;

Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's
honour,

Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away

The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,

Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York set him on, York should have sent
him aid.

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ex-
claims;

Swearing that you withhold his levied horse,
Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies; he might have sent and had
the horse;

I owe him little duty and less love;

And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of
France,

Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som. Come go; I will despatch the horse-
men straight:

Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en, or slain:

For fly he could not, if he would have fled; And fly. would Talbot never, though he might. Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-The English Camp near Bourdeaux.

Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son.

Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee,

To tutor thee in stratagems of war;

That Talbot's name might be in thee revived,
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But,-O malignant and ill-boding stars!-
Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest
horse;

And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone.
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your

son?

And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,

To make a bastard, and a slave of me:
The world will say,-He is not Talbot's blood,
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood.

a Horse. The original reads hoast. The correction was Hanmer's, and is fully borne out by what follows.