SCENE-A Room in the French King's Palace at these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme

Troyes.

themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is

The Princess Katharine of France, Ladies in at- but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good

tendance.

Enter King Henry V.

K. Hen.
Fair Katharine, and most fair!
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms,
Such as will enter at a lady's ear,
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I can-
not speak your England.

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?

Kath. Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is like me.

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate: and you are like an angel. I am glad thou canst speak no better English: for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say-I love you: then, if you urge me further than to say-Do you in faith? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer: i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain: How say you, lady?

Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well.

K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure; and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife: but, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee-that I shall die, is true; but-for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for

leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and never changes but keeps his course truly. If thou wouldst have such a one, take me And take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: And what sayest thou, then, to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?

K. Hen. No it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. And therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say-Harry of England, I am thine: which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal but I will tell thee aloud-England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music, and thy English broken: therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?

Kath. Dat is as it shall please de roy mon pere. K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate: it shall please him, Kate.

Kath. Den it shall also content me.

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez ; ma foy, je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre grandeur, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne serviteure; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur.

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Kath. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre baissées devant leur nopces, il n'est pas le coûtume de France.

K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids of France to kiss before they are married. O Kate,

France.

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so
denied,

But your request shall make me let it pass.
K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear
alliance,

nice customs curt'sy to great kings. Dear Kate, cher filz Henry, roy d'Angleterre, heritier de you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion; we are the makers of manners, Kate: and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouths of all find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.

Enter the French KING and QUEEN, BURGUNDY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, WESTMORELAND and other French and English Lords.

Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you our princess English?

K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is good English. Bur. Is she not apt?

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz; and my condition is not smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness. You may, some of you, thank love for my blindness; who cannot see many a fair French city, for one fair French maid that stands in my way. Shall Kate be my wife? Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of

reason.

K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England? West. The king hath granted every article; His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all, According to their firm proposed natures.

Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this:Where your majesty demands,-That the King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your highness in this form, and with this addition, in French,-Notre tres

Let that one article rank with the rest:
And, thereupon, give me your daughter.
Fr. King. Take her, fair son; and from her
blood rise up

Issue to me: that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look
pale

With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.
All. Amen!

K, Hen. Now welcome, Kate :-and bear me
witness all,

That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.

[Flourish.

Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other!-God speak this Amen!
All. Amen!

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage ;-on
which day,

My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!
[Exeunt.

The Play of Henry VI., being comparatively devoid of interest, has been omitted.

Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and These nails should rend that beauty from my

reigns;

When they are gone then I must count my gains. [Exit.

SCENE.-A Street in London.

Enter the corpse of King HENRY THE SIXTH, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady ANNE as mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down, your honourable
load,-

If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,-
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these
wounds!

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
[The bearers take up the corpse and advance.
Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it
down.
[fiend,
Anne. What black magician conjures up this
To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint
Paul,

I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com-
mand:

Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by St. Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
[The bearers set down the coffin.
Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou cans't not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor

man;

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no
beast.

Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry!
Vonchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed crimes to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.
Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
wrack;

You should not blemish it if I stood by:
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death
thy life!

Glo. Curse not thyself,fair creature, thou art both. Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee
dead!

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears;

Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,
No, when my father York and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him,
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with
weeping.

I never sued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing
word;

But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
speak. [She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee,

[He lays his breast open; she offers

at it with his sword.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young

Edward; [She again offers at his breast.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets fall the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy
death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

Glo.
That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with the word,
This hand which for thy love did kill thy love,
Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glo. "Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.

Glo. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say, then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.

[She puts on the ring.
Glo. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these
designs

To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby House:
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monastery, this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you:
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you
Grant me this boon.

sad

Clar. Methought I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And in my company my brother Gloster:
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches; there we look'd toward En-
gland,

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too And cited up a thousand heavy times,
To see you are become so penitent.
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewell.
Anne.
'Tis more than you deserve:
But, since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.
[Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKLEY.
Glo. Take up the corse, sirs.
Gent.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord
Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my
coming. [Exeunt the rest with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won ?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against

me,

And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing!
Ha!

Hath she so forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months'
since,

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,

Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,

During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown,
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wracks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon ;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy botton of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
Stopt in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,*
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awak'd you not in this sore agony?
Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after
life;

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, O, then began the tempest to my soul!'

The spacious world cannot again afford
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime:

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,*
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man,
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;

* A small French coin.

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood
With that sour ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who spake aloud,-"What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?"
And so he vanish'd: Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair,
Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,-
* Bulk means body.

N