« AnteriorContinua »
ING Henry VI. Duke of Gloucefter, Unkle to the King, and Protector. Duke of Bedford, Unkle to the King, and Regent of France. Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchefter, and Unkle likewife to the King. Duke of Exeter. Duke of Somerset. Earl of Warwick, Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Suffolk.
Richard Platagenet, afterwards Duke of York
Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Vernon, of the White Rofe, or York Faction.
Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle.
Margaret, Daughter to Reignier, and afterwards Queen to. King Henry.
Joan la Pucelle, a Maid pretending to be infpir'd from Heaven, and fetting up for the Championess of France. Countess of Auvergne.
Lords, Captains, Soldiers, Meffengers, and several Attendants, both on the English and French.
The SCENE is partly in England, and partly in France.
The First PART of
King HENRY VI
Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloucefter, Protector; the Duke of Exeter, and the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerfer.
UNG be the Heavens with black, yield
And with them fcourge the bad re volting Stars, That have confented unto Henry's Death: King Henry the Fifth, too Famous to live long, England ne'er loft a King of so much Worth.
Glo. England ne'er had a King until his time: Virtue he had, deferving to Command.
His brandifh'd Sword did blind Men with his Beams,
Than mid-day Sun fierce bent against their Faces.
Exe. We mourn in Black, why mourn we not in Blood? Henry is dead, and never fhall revive: Upon a wooden Coffin we attend; And Death's dishonourable Victory, We with our ftately Prefence glorifie, Like Captives bound to a Triumphant Car What? fhall we curse the Planets of Mishap, That plotted thus our Glory's overthrow? Or fhall we think the fubtile-witted French, Conjurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him, By Magick Verfe have thus contriv'd his End? Wm. He was a King, bleft of the King of Kings, Unto the French, the dreadful Judgment-day So dreadful will not be, as was his fight. The Battels of the Lord of Hofts he fought; The Churches Prayers made him fo profperous. Glo. The Church? Where is it?
Had not Church-men pray'd,
His thread of Life had not fo foon decay'd.
Win. Glofter, whate'er we like, thou art Protector,
Glo. Name not Religion, for thou lov'ft the Flesh,
Bed. Ceafe, ceafe thefe Jars, and reft your Minds in peace Let's to the Altar: Heralds wait on us; Inftead of Gold, we'll offer up our Arms, Since Arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. Pofterity await for wretched Years,
When at their Mothers moift Eyes Bábes fhall fuck,
Meff My Honourable Lords, health to you all ;
Bed. What fay'ft thou, Man, before dead Henry's Coarfe?
These News would cause him once more yield the Ghoft.
Let not Sloth dim your Honours, new begot ;
Exe. Were our Tears wanting to this Funeral,
Bed. Me they concern, Regent Iam of France; Give me my feeled Coat, I'll fight for France. Away with thefe difgraceful wailing Robes;