The Works of William Shakespeare, Complete

And on his son, young John; whom, two hours That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd,

since,

I met in travel toward his warlike father.
These 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, honors, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit.

SCENE IV.-Other Plains of Gascony.

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,
Dishonor not her honorable 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.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
My worth unknown, no less is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.

Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces; an Officer of Flight cannot stain the honor you have won;

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 honor,
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'er-match'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 about1 with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honorable 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 honor,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succors that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Soin. 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 horsemen
straight:

Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain:
For tly he could not, if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

you.

Sem. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The English Camp near Bourdeaux. Enter TALBOT, and JOHN his Son.

But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say-it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's

womb.

Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go.
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.
John. No part of him, but will be shame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not

lose it.

John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight abuse it?

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from

die?

My age was never tainted with such shame.

John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be severed from your side,
That can yourself yourself in twain divide:
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
For live I will not, if my father die.

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
[Exeunt.

SCENE VI-A Field of Battle.

Alarum: Excursion, wherein TALBOT's Son is
hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him.
Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers,
fight:

The regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France's sword.
Where is John Talbot?-pause, and take thy breath;
I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death.
John. O twice my father! twice am I thy son:
The life thou gav'st me first, was lost and done;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.
Tal. When from the dauphin's crest thy sword

struck fire,

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans-that drew blood
From thee, my boy; and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight-I soon encountered;
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace,

Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee, Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war;

1 Encircled.

2 For unavoidable.

3 Your care of your own safety.

4 Ended

And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine,
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave
boy:-

Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
Art not thou weary, John? How dost thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
By me they nothing gain, an if I stay,
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day:
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's
fame.

All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay;
All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smait,

These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:

On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,)
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die:
And likes me to the peasant boys of France;
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won,
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:

Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;

If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-Another Part of the same. Alarum: Excursions. Enter TALBOT wounded, supported by a Servant.

Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is

gone;

O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?-
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity!
Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee:-
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
And, like a hungry lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of noue,
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart,
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French:
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His overmounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Enter Soldiers, bearing the Body of JOHN TALBOT. Serv. O, my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne!

Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to

Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the two Bodies. Enter CHARLES, ALENÇON, BURGUNDY, Bastard, LA PUCELLE, and Forces.'

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,

We should have found a bloody day of this.
Bust. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging
wood,s

Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!
Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said,
Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:
But--with a proud, majestical, high scorn-
He answer'd thus: Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench:

So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight:

Sec, where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones

asunder;

Sheffield,

The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge;
Knight of the noble order of saint George,
Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece;
Great mareshal to Henry the Sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France?
Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.-
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles,
Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.
Lucy. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only

Scourge,

Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
0, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left among you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies that I may bear them
hence.

And give them burial as beseems their worth.

Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here,

They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
Char. Go, take their bodies hence.
Lucy.
I'll bear them hence:
But from their ashes shall be rear'd

A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what
thou wilt.

And now to Paris, in this conquering vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.

Raving mad.

[Exeunt.

• Wanton.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and EXETER.
K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the

pope,

The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac?

Glo. I have, my lord; and their intent is this,They humbly sue unto your excellence, To have a godly peace concluded of, Between the realms of England and of France.

K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion? Glo. Well, my good lord; and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood, And 'stablish quietness on every side.

K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought, It was both impious and unnatural, That such immanity 1 and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith.

Glo. Beside, my lord,-the sooner to effect,

And surer bind, this knot of amity,

The earl of Armagnac-near knit to Charles,
A man of great authority in France,-
Proffers his only daughter to your grace

In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are

young;

And fitter is my study and my books,

Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one:
I shall be well content with any choice,
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal.
Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, with WIN-
CHESTER, in a Cardinal's Habit.

Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester install'd,
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
Then, I perceive, that will be verified,
Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,-
If once he come to be a cardinal,
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.

K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several

suits

Have been consider'd and debated on.
Your purpose is both good and reasonable:
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd
To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean
Shall be transported presently to France.
Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master,-
I have inform'd his highness so at large,
As-liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
Her beauty, and the value of her dower,-
He doth intend she shall be England's queen.
K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract,
Bear her this jewel, [To the Amb.] pledge of my

affection.

And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, And safely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd, Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

[Exeunt KING HENRY and Train; GLOSTER, EXETER, and Ambassadors. Win. Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive The sum of money, which I promised Should be deliver'd to his holiness

For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, That neither in birth, or for authority, The bishop will be overborne by thee: I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-France. Plains in Anjou. Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENÇON, LA PUCelle, and Forces, marching.

Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits:

1 Inhumanity.

'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt,
And turn again unto the warlike French.
Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of
France,

And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us
Else, ruin combat with their palaces!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices!

Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee,

speak.

Mess. The English army, that divided was
Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one;
And means to give you battle presently.

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; But we will presently provide for them.

Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there; Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd:Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. Char. Then on, my lords; And France be fortunate! [Exeunt.

SCENE III-Before Angiers.

Alurums: Excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE.
Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen
fly.-
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts;2
And ye
choice spirits that admonish me,
And give me signs of future accidents! [Thunder
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north,
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize!-
Enter Fiends.

This speedy quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd dilligence to me.
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
Out of the powerful regions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field.
[They walk about, and speak not.
O, hold me not with silence over-long!
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off, and give it you,
In earnest of a further benefit;
So you do condescend to help me now.—

[They hang their heads.
No hope to have redress?-My body shall
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.
[They shake their heads.
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice,
Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all,
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Before that England give the French the foil.

[They depart.

See! they forsake me. Now the time is come,
And let her head fall into England's lap.
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest,
My ancient incantations are too weak,

And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.

[Exit. Alarums. Enter French and English fighting. La PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand. LA PUCELLE is taken. The French fly.

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast: Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty.A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace! See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. Puc. Changed to a worser shape thou caust not

be.

York. O, Charles the dauphin is a proper man: No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

2 Charms worn about the person.

The north was supposed to be the particular habita tion of bad spirits. 6 Lower.

Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
[Guzes on her.

O fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly;
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.

I kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.] for eternal peace:

Who art thou? say, that I may honor thee.

Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king, The king of Naples, whoso'er thou art.

Suf An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.

Be not offended, nature's miracle,

Thou art alotted to be ta'en by me:

So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings.
Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend.

[She turns away as going.
O, stay!-I have no power to let her pass;
My hand would free her, but my heart says―no.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
Twinkling another counterfeited beam,

So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak;
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind:
Fye, De la Poole! disable not thyself;
Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such,
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough.
Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk,-if thy name be so,-
What ransom must I pay before I pass?
For I perceive, I am thy prisoner.

Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, Before thou make a trial of her love!

[Aside.

Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?

Suf. She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd: She is a woman; therefore to be won. [Aside.

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no? Suf. Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife; Then how can Margaret be thy paramour! [Aside. Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card. Mar. He talks at random; sure the man is mad. Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. Mar. And yet I would that you would answer

me.

སྙ

Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom? Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing." Mar. He talks of wood: It is some carpenter. Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, And peace established between these realms. But there remains a scruple in that too: For though her father be the king of Naples, Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. Mar. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure? Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much; Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.Madam I have a secret to reveal.

[Aside.

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,

And will not any way dishonor me.

[Aside.

Suf Reig.

To me.

Suffolk, what remedy?

I am a soldier; and unapt to weep,
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
Consent, (and for thy honor, give consent,)
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
And this her easy-held imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.
Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?
Suf
Fair Margaret knows,
That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.
Reig. Upon the princely warrant, I descend,
To give thee answer of thy just demand.

[Exit from the Walls. Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. Trumpets sounded. Enter REIGNIER, below. Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories; Command in Anjou what your honor pleases. Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child. Fit to be made companion with a king: What answer makes your grace unto my suit? Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth,

To be the princely pride of such a lord;
Upon condition I may quietly
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou,
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war,
My daughter shall be Henry's if he please.

Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her;
And those two counties I will undertake,
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

Reig. And I again-in Henry's royal name, As deputy unto that gracious king, Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Because this is in trathic of a king: And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case. I'll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemniz'd; So, farewell, Reignier! Set this diamond safe In golden palaces, as it becomes.

[Aside.

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.
Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise,
and prayers,

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French;
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.
Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause-
Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now.

[Aside.

Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so?
Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.

[Going

Suf. Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you,
Margaret;

No princely commendations to my king?
Mar. Such commendatfons as become a maid,
A virgin, and his servant, say to him.

Suf. Words sweetly placed, and modestly directed.
But, madam, I must trouble you again,-
No loving token to his majesty.

Play the hypocrite.

Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure, unspotted heart,
Never yet taint with love, I send the king.
Suf. And this withal.
[Kisses her.
Mar. That for thyself;-I will not so presume,
To send such peevish1 tokens to a king.

[Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET.
Suf. O, wert thou for myself!-But, Suffolk, stay;
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk.
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise:
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount;
Ma 1,2 natural graces that extinguish art;
Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,
Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou.

Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others.

York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.

Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd.
Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart out-
right!

Have I sought every country far and near,
And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?

Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!
Puc. Decrepid miser! base ignoble wretch!

I am descended of a gentler blood;

Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine.

Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.
Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?—
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity;
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.-
I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.

York. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with
child?

War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

York. She and the dauphin have been juggling;
I did imagine what would be her refuge.
War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live;
Especially since Charles must father it.
Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his;
It was Alençon that enjoy'd my love.

York. Alençon! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you; 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

War. A married man! that's most intolerable.
York. Why, here's a girl! I think, she knows not
well,

There was so many, whom she may accuse.
War. It's sign, she hath been libéral and free.

York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure!-
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

Puc. Then lead me hence;-with whom I leave my curse:

Shep. Out, out!-My lords, an please you, 'tis May never glorious sun reflex his beams

And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.

Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you; till mischief, and despair,
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves!
[Exit, guarded.
York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes,
Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended.
Char. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.

Puc. Peasant, avaunt!-You have suborn'd this For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,

man,

On purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest,
The morn that I was wedded to her mother.-
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk

Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her
breast,

Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good. [Exit.
York. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con-
demn'd:

Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
But issu'd from the progeny of kings;
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above,
By inspiration of celestial grace,
To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits:
But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,--
Because you want the grace that others have,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders, but by help of devils.
No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
York. Ay, ay-away with her to execution.
War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
Spare for no faggots, let there be enough:

Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils,
Have earnestly impior'd a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
And here at hand the dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matter.

York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
After the slaughter of so many peers,
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,
That in this quarrel have been overthrown,
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered?-
O. Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
The utter loss of all the realm of France.

War. Be patient, York; if we conclude a peace,
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants,
As little shall the Frenchinen gain thereby.
Enter CHARLES, attended; ALENÇON, Bastard, REIG-
NIER, and others.

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed,
That peaceful truce should be proclaim'd in France,
We come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.
York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler
chokes

The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
By sight of these our baleful enemies.

Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
That-in regard king Henry gives consent,
Of mere compassion, and of lenity,

To ease your country of distressful war,
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace-
You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself,
Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

Alen. Must he be then a shadow of himself?
Adorn his temple with a coronet;s

7 Compassion. 8 Coronet is here used for crown.

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The Works of William Shakespeare, Complete: Accurately Printed from the Text ...