SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD 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!
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER 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 sparking 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. EXETER 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 contrived his end?
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgement-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. GLOUCESTER 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 over-awe.
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, 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. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD 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 mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish 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 Caesar or bright--Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD 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. GLOUCESTER 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. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals:
One would have lingering wars with little cost;Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD 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 to them another Messenger Messenger 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 of Rheims;The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies'
throats.
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun.
Enter another Messenger Messenger 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.
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger 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 every where, enraged he flew:
The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;All the whole army stood agazed on him:
