Count. With all my heart: and think me honored To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. The Temple Garden. Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer. Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that, Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing No, Plantagenet, Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means "Tis not for fear; but anger,-that thy cheeks this silence? Dare no man answer in a case of truth? Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient. Plan. Then say at once, If I maintain❜d the truth; Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law; And never yet could frame my will to it; And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be tween us. War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch, Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: more, Till you conclude that he, upon whose side Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected; Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the side where still I am. Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? Law. Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held, was wrong in you; [To SOMERSET. In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Deceits; a play on the word. • Proposed. Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, Third son to the third Edward king of England; Spring crestless yeomen' from so deep a root? Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, On any plot of ground in Christendom: Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still: And know us, by these colors, for thy foes; For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for ever, and my faction wear; Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree. Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-A Room in the Tower. And did upbraid me with my father's death; And for alliance' sake,-declare the cause me, And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, And death approach not ere my tale be done. Enter MORTIMER, brought in a Chair by two Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Keepers. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend! Is he come? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late-despised Richard comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me, when my lips do touch his checks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, Why didst thou say-of late thou wert despis'd? Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm? And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. • Pursuivants are officers who attend upon heralds. Depos'd his cousin Richard, Edward's son, I was the next by birth and parentage; From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt, Plan. Of which, my lord, your honor is the last. Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have; And that my fainting words do warrant death: Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care. Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: But yet, methinks, my father's execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. But now thy uncle is removing hence; As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd With long continuance in a settled place. Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young And, like a hermit, overpass'd thy days.- [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out MORTIMER. Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:- Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit. ACT III. Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonor'd me. Glo. Thou bastard of my grandfather! As good? Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne? Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest? Glo. Win. This Rome shall remedy. War. Roam thither, then. Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. And know the office that belongs to such. Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious, War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king? Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, Civil dissension is a viperous worm, That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.[A noise within; Down with the tawny coats!] What tumult's this? War. An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the bishop's men. [A noise again; Stones! Stones!] Enter the Mayor of London, attended. May. O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry, Pity the city of London, pity us! The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones; And, banding themselves in contráry parts, Do pelt so fast at one another's pate, That many have their giddy brains knock'd out. Our windows are broke down in every street, And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER and WINCHESTER, with bloody pates. K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace. Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 1 Serv. Nay, if we be Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again. Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none but to his majesty: And ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, And have our bodies slaughter'd by our foes. 1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again. Glo. Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience, And, in reguerdon of that duty done, I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet; Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold War. My lord protector, yield;-yield, Winches- Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. That malice was a great and grievous sin: War. Sweet king!-the bishop hath a kindly gird." Glo. Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. Win. So help me God, as I intend it not. [Aside. Glo. Well urged, my lord of Warwick;-for, An if your grace mark every circumstance, At Eltham-place I told your majesty. K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force: War. Let Richard be restored to his blood; Feels an emotion of kindness. And rise created princely duke of York. Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may And as my duty springs, so perish they Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York! Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty, K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Hen- For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. SCENE II.-France. Before Rouen. Enter LA PUCELLE disguised, and Soldiers dressed like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their backs. Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, [Knocks Guard. [Within.] Qui est là? Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem! • Recompense. • Confederates in stratagems. you That we are here. Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; | God be wi' you my lord! we came, sir, but to tell Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is,No way to that,' for weakness, which she enter'd. Enter LA PUCELLE on a Battlement; holding out a Torch burning. Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen; But burning fatal to the Talbotites. [Exeunt La PUCELLE, &c. from the Walls. Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house, (Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France,) Either to get the town again, or die: Bast. See, noble Charles! the beacon of our And I,-as sure as English Henry lives, friend, The burning torch in yonder turret stands. Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes! Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends; If Talbot but survive thy treachery.- [Exeunt to the Town. Alarum; Excursions. Enter from the Town BEDFORD, brought in sick, in a Chair, with TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the English Forces. Then enter, on the Walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, Bastard, ALENÇON, and others. And as his father here was conqueror; Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me: Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, And will be partner of your weal, or woe. Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read, Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!- Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, bread? I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, Before he'll buy again at such a rate: Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless cour- I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, And run a tilt at death within a chair? Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours! Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, And twit with cowardice a man half dead? Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. Puc. Are you so hot, sir?—Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. [TALBOT, and the rest, consult together. God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker? Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field? Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours, or no. Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecaté, Tal. Signior, hang!-base muleteers of France! Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls; And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the walls; For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.1 i. e. No way equal to that. But gather we our forces out of hand, [Exeunt BURGUNDY, TALBOT, and Forces, Alarums: Excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE, and a Captain. Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such haste? Fast. Whither away? to save myself by flight; We are like to have the overthrow again. Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? Fast. Ay, All the Talbots in the world to save my life. [Exit. Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! [Exit. Retreat: Excursions. Enter from the Town, La PUCELLE, ALENÇON, CHARLES, &c., and exeunt, flying. Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please; For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish men? They, that of late were daring with their scoffs, Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [Dies, and is carried off in his Chair. Alarum: Enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and others. Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again! This is a double honor, Burgundy: Yet, heavens have glory for this victory! Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects Thy noble deeds, as valor's monument. Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now? I think, her old familiar is asleep: Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his |