So help me God, as I dissemble not!
O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
How joyful am I made by this contract!
Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
We do exhibit to your majesty.
Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: for, sweet prince,
An if your grace mark every circumstance,
You have great reason to do Richard right;
Especially for those occasions
At Eltham Place I told your majesty.
And those occasions, uncle, were of force:
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
That Richard be restored to his blood.
Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father’s wrongs be recompensed.
If Richard will be true, not that alone
But all the whole inheritance I give
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.
Thy humble servant vows obedience
And humble service till the point of death.
Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:
Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
And rise created princely Duke of York.
And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty!
Now will it best avail your majesty
To cross the seas and to be crown’d in France:
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
As it disanimates his enemies.
When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
Ay, we may march in England or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
And will at last break out into a flame:
As fester’d members rot but by degree,
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy
Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe;
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
And Henry born at Windsor lose all:
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time. Exit.
Scene II
France. Before Rouen.
Enter La Pucelle disguised, with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs. | |
Pucelle |
These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, |
First Soldier |
Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, |
Watch | Within Qui est là? |
Pucelle |
Paysans, pauvres gens de France; |
Watch | Enter, go in; the market bell is rung. |
Pucelle | Now, Rouen, I’ll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. Exeunt. |
Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, Reignier, and forces. | |
Charles |
Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem! |
Bastard |
Here enter’d Pucelle and her practisants; |
Reignier |
By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; |
Enter La Pucelle on the top, thrusting out a torch burning. | |
Pucelle |
Behold, this is the happy wedding torch |
Bastard |
See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; |
Charles |
Now shine it like a comet of revenge, |
Reignier |
Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends: |
An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion. | |
Talbot |
France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, |
An alarum: excursions. Bedford, brought in sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and Burgundy without: within La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alençon, and Reignier, on the walls. | |
Pucelle |
Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread? |
Burgundy |
Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan! |
Charles | Your grace may starve perhaps before that time. |
Bedford | O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! |
Pucelle |
What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, |
Talbot |
Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, |
Pucelle |
Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; |