Shakespeare's First Folio Part 344

Exet. Onely he hath not yet subscribed this: Where your Maiestie demands, That the King of France hauing any occasion to write for matter of Graunt, shall name your Highnesse in this forme, and with this addition, in French: Nostre trescher filz Henry Roy d' Angleterre Heretere de Fraunce: and thus in Latine; Praeclarissimus Filius noster Henricus Rex Angliae & Heres Franciae

France. Nor this I haue not Brother so deny'd, But your request shall make me let it pa.s.se

England. I pray you then, in loue and deare allyance, Let that one Article ranke with the rest, And thereupon giue me your Daughter

France. Take her faire Sonne, and from her blood rayse vp Issue to me, that the contending Kingdomes Of France and England, whose very sh.o.a.res looke pale, With enuy of each others happinesse, May cease their hatred; and this deare Coniunction Plant Neighbour-hood and Christian-like accord In their sweet Bosomes: that neuer Warre aduance His bleeding Sword 'twixt England and faire France

Lords. Amen

King. Now welcome Kate: and beare me witnesse all, That here I kisse her as my Soueraigne Queene.

Flourish.

Quee. G.o.d, the best maker of all Marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your Realmes in one: As Man and Wife being two, are one in loue, So be there 'twixt your Kingdomes such a Spousall, That neuer may ill Office, or fell Iealousie, Which troubles oft the Bed of blessed Marriage, Thrust in betweene the Paction of these Kingdomes, To make diuorce of their incorporate League: That English may as French, French Englishmen, Receiue each other. G.o.d speake this Amen

All. Amen

King. Prepare we for our Marriage: on which day, My Lord of Burgundy wee'le take your Oath And all the Peeres, for suretie of our Leagues.

Then shall I sweare to Kate, and you to me, And may our Oathes well kept and prosp'rous be.

Senet. Exeunt.

Enter Chorus.

Thus farre with rough, and all-vnable Pen, Our bending Author hath pursu'd the Story, In little roome confining mightie men, Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.

Small time: but in that small, most greatly liued This Starre of England. Fortune made his Sword; By which, the Worlds best Garden he atchieued: And of it left his Sonne Imperiall Lord.

Henry the Sixt, in Infant Bands crown'd King Of France and England, did this King succeed: Whose State so many had the managing, That they lost France, and made his England bleed: Which oft our Stage hath showne; and for their sake, In your faire minds let this acceptance take.

FINIS. The Life of Henry the Fift.

The first Part of Henry the Sixt

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Dead March.

Enter the Funerall of King Henry the Fift, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloster, Protector; the Duke of Exeter Warwicke, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerset.

Bedford. Hung be y heauens with black, yield day to night; Comets importing change of Times and States, Brandish your crystall Tresses in the Skie, And with them scourge the bad reuolting Stars, That haue consented vnto Henries death: King Henry the Fift, too famous to liue long, England ne're lost a King of so much worth

Glost. England ne're had a King vntill his time: Vertue he had, deseruing to command, His brandisht Sword did blinde men with his beames, His Armes spred wider then a Dragons Wings: His sparkling Eyes, repleat with wrathfull fire, More dazled and droue back his Enemies, Then mid-day Sunne, fierce bent against their faces.

What should I say? his Deeds exceed all speech: He ne're lift vp his Hand, but conquered

Exe. We mourne in black, why mourn we not in blood?

Henry is dead, and neuer shall reuiue: Vpon a Woodden Coffin we attend; And Deaths dishonourable Victorie, We with our stately presence glorifie, Like Captiues bound to a Triumphant Carre.

What? shall we curse the Planets of Mishap, That plotted thus our Glories ouerthrow?

Or shall we thinke the subtile-witted French, Coniurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him, By Magick Verses haue contriu'd his end

Winch. He was a King, blest of the King of Kings.

Vnto the French, the dreadfull Iudgement-Day So dreadfull will not be, as was his sight.

The Battailes of the Lord of Hosts he fought: The Churches Prayers made him so prosperous

Glost. The Church? where is it?

Had not Church-men pray'd, His thred of Life had not so soone decay'd.

None doe you like, but an effeminate Prince, Whom like a Schoole-boy you may ouer-awe

Winch. Gloster, what ere we like, thou art Protector, And lookest to command the Prince and Realme.

Thy Wife is prowd, she holdeth thee in awe, More then G.o.d or Religious Church-men may

Glost. Name not Religion, for thou lou'st the Flesh, And ne're throughout the yeere to Church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes

Bed. Cease, cease these Iarres, & rest your minds in peace: Let's to the Altar: Heralds wayt on vs; In stead of Gold, wee'le offer vp our Armes, Since Armes auayle not, now that Henry's dead, Posteritie await for wretched yeeres, When at their Mothers moistned eyes, Babes shall suck, Our Ile be made a Nourish of salt Teares, And none but Women left to wayle the dead.

Henry the Fift, thy Ghost I inuocate: Prosper this Realme, keepe it from Ciuill Broyles, Combat with aduerse Planets in the Heauens; A farre more glorious Starre thy Soule will make, Then Iulius Caesar, or bright- Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My honourable Lords, health to you all: Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of losse, of slaughter, and discomfiture: Guyen, Champaigne, Rheimes, Orleance, Paris Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost

Bedf. What say'st thou man, before dead Henry's Coa.r.s.e?

Speake softly, or the losse of those great Townes Will make him burst his Lead, and rise from death

Glost. Is Paris lost? is Roan yeelded vp?

If Henry were recall'd to life againe, These news would cause him once more yeeld the Ghost

Exe. How were they lost? what trecherie was vs'd?

Mess. No trecherie, but want of Men and Money.

Amongst the Souldiers this is muttered, That here you maintaine seuerall Factions: And whil'st a Field should be dispatcht and fought, You are disputing of your Generals.

One would haue lingring Warres, with little cost; Another would flye swift, but wanteth Wings: A third thinkes, without expence at all, By guilefull faire words, Peace may be obtayn'd.

Awake, awake, English n.o.bilitie, Let not slouth dimme your Honors, new begot; Cropt are the Flower-de-Luces in your Armes Of Englands Coat, one halfe is cut away

Exe. Were our Teares wanting to this Funerall, These Tidings would call forth her flowing Tides

Bedf. Me they concerne, Regent I am of France: Giue me my steeled Coat, Ile fight for France.

Away with these disgracefull wayling Robes; Wounds will I lend the French, in stead of Eyes, To weepe their intermissiue Miseries.

Enter to them another Messenger.

Mess. Lords view these Letters, full of bad mischance.

France is reuolted from the English quite, Except some petty Townes, of no import.

The Dolphin Charles is crowned King in Rheimes: The b.a.s.t.a.r.d of Orleance with him is ioyn'd: Reynold, Duke of Aniou, doth take his part, The Duke of Alanson flyeth to his side.

Enter.

Exe. The Dolphin crown'd King? all flye to him?

O whither shall we flye from this reproach?

Glost. We will not flye, but to our enemies throats.

Bedford, if thou be slacke, Ile fight it out

Bed. Gloster, why doubtst thou of my forwardnesse?

An Army haue I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is ouer-run.

Enter another Messenger.