KING HENRY THE SIXTH.

DUKE OF GLOSTER, Uncle to the KING, and Protector.
DUKE OF BEDFORD, Uncle to the KING, and Regent of France.
THOMAS BEAUFORT, Duke of Exeter, Great-Uncle to the KING.
HENRY BEAUFORT, Great-Uncle to the KING, Bishop of
Winchester, and afterwards Cardinal.

JOHN BEAUFORT, Earl of Somerset, afterwards Duke. RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Eldest Son of RICHARD, late Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke of York.

EARL OF WARWICK.

EARL OF SALISBURY.

EARL OF SUFFOLK.

LORD TALBOT, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury.
JOHN TALBOT, his Son.

EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March.

MORTIMER'S Keepers.

A Lawyer.

SIR JOHN FASTOLFE.

SIR WILLIAM LUCY.

SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE.

SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE.

Mayor of London.

WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower.

VERNON, of the White-rose or York faction.

BASSET, of the Red-rose or Lancaster faction.

CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.

REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and Titular King of Naples.
DUKE OF BURGUNDY.

DUKE OF ALENÇON.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS.

Governor of Paris.

Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son.

General of the French Forces in Bordeaux.

A French Sergeant. A Porter.

An Old Shepherd, Father to JOAN LA PUCELLE.

MARGARET, Daughter to REIGNIER, afterwards married to KING HENRY.

COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE.

JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called JOAN Of Arc.

Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and several English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing to LA PUCELLE.

SCENE,-Partly in ENGLAND, and partly in FRANCE.

FIRST PART OF

KING HENRY VI.

ACT I

SCENE I.-Westminster Abbey.

Dead March. Corpse of KING HENRY THE FIFTH, in state, is brought in, attended on by the DUKES OF BEDFORD, GLOSTER, 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!
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.

Exce. 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 overawe.

Win. Gloster, 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 mother's moisten'd 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 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.
Glo. Is Paris lost? is Rouen 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 despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals:

One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man 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 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 will I lend the French, instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries.

Enter a second Messenger.

2 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.

Ece. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

forwardness?

Glo. 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 my
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is overrun.

Enter a third Messenger.

3 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?

3 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 everywhere, 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 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 slain? then I will slay myself, and ease,

For living idly here in pomp

Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,

Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

3 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.

3 Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;