Dead march. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth discovered, lying in state; attended on by the Dukes of BEDFORD, GLOSTER, and ExETER; the Earl of WARWICK; the Bishop of Winchester, Heralds, &c. Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, 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; Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and never shall revive: Win. He was a King bless'd of the King of Unto the French the dreadful judgement day His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: 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. Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes. Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace! Heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms; When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck;/ Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils! Enter a Messenger. Mess. My honourable Lords, you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. Glo, Is Paris lost? is Roüen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd? Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. Among the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions; And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals. One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost; Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot: Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. / Bed. 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 I will lend the French, instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter another Messenger. 2. Mess. Lords, view these letter, full of bad mischance, France is revolted from the English quite; Exe. The Dauphin crowned King! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats: Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Enter a third Messenger. 3. Mess. 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. Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? 5, Mess. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. Having full scarce six thousand of the French He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges, They pitched in the ground confusedly, |