Imatges de pÓgina
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PROBLEIA

ING Henry VI.

Duke of Gloucester, Unkle to the King, and Protector. Duke of Bedford, Unkle to the King, and Regent of France. Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, and Unkle likewise

to the King
Duke of Exeter.
Duke of Somerset.
Earl of Warwick

11.4.1898
Earl of Salisbury.
Earl of Suffolk.
Lon Talbot.
Tomg Talbot, his son.
Richard Platagettet, afterwards Duke of Portal
Mortimer, Earl of March.
Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Lord Mayor of London,
Vernon, of the White Rose, on York Fattiche
Ballet, of the Red Rose, or Lancafter Faction.

LIE

ERARY

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Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and Toula King of Naples,
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of Alenson.
Baftard of Orleans.
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 inspir’d from Heaven,

and setting 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.

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Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry

the Fiftb, attended on by the Duke of Bedford,
Regent of France; tbe Duke of Gloucefter,
Protector; the Duke of Exeter, and the Earl of
Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, and the."
Duke of Somerser.

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H

BEDFORD,
UNG be the Heavens with black, yield

Day to Night;
Comets importing change of Times

and States,
Brandith your Crystal Treffes in the

Sky,
And with them fcourge the bad re-

volting Stars,
That have consented 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 cime:
Virtue be bad, delerying to Command.

His brandish'd Sword did blind Men with his Beamson
His Arms spread wider than a Dragon's Wings;
His sparkling Eyes, repleat with awful Fire,
More dazled 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.

Exe. 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 Preseoce glorific,
Like Captives bound to a Triumphant Car.
What? Thall we curse the Planets of Mishap,
That plotted thus our Glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtile-witted French,
Conjurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him,
By Magick Verse have thus contriy'd his End?

Win. He was a King, blest 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 Hosts he fought;
The Churches Prayers made him so prosperous. :

Glo. The Church? Where is it?
Had not Church-men pray'd,
His thread of Life had not fo foon decay'd.
None do you like, but an effeminate Prince,
Whom like a School-boy you may over-aw.

Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art Protector,
And lookeft to command the Prince and Realm;
Thy Wife is proud, she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God or Religious Church-men 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 againft thy Foes.

Bed. Cease, ceafé 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.. Pofterity await for wretched Years,

When

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When at their Mothers moist Eyes Babes fhäll fuck,
Our Ille 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 Cefar, or bright

Enter a Messenger.
Mej. My Honourable Lords, health to you all ;
Sad Tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of Loss, of Slaughter, and Discomfiture ;
Guyenne, Champaign, Rheims, Orleans,
Paris, Guyførs, Poidiers, are all quite loft.

Bed. What say'st thou, Man, before dead Henry's Coarse?
Speak Softly, or the loss of those great Towns
Will make him burft bis Lead, and rise from Death.

Glo. Is Paris loft, and is Roar yielded up ? If Henry were recallid to Life again, These News would cause him once more yield the Ghoft.

Exe. How were they lost ? What Treachery was us’d?

Mel. No Treachery, but want of Men and Mony.
Amongst the Soldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintain several Factions ;.
And whilft'a Field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your Generals, .
One would have lingring Wars with little Coft ;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth Wings ::
A third Man thinks, without expence at all,
By guileful fair Words, Peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English Nobility,
Let not Sloth dim your Honours, new begot ;
Crop'd are the Flower-de-Luces in your Arms
Of England's Coat, one half is cut away,

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

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