France. Wee have consented to all tearmes of reason.
England. Is't so, my Lords of England?
West. The King hath graunted every Article:
His Daughter first; and in sequele, all,
According to their firme proposed natures.
Exet. Onely he hath not yet subscribed this :
Where your Majestie demands, That the King of France having any occasion to write for matter of Graunt, shall name your Highnesse in this forme, and with this addition, in French: Nostre trescher filz Henry Roy d'Angleterre Heretere de Fraunce: and thus in Latine: Præclarissimus Filius noster Henricus Rex Anglia Heres Francia.
France. Nor this I have not Brother so deny'd,
But your request shall make me let it passe.
England. I pray you then, in love and deare allyance,
Let that one Article ranke with the rest,
And thereupon give me your Daughter.
France. Take her faire Sonne, and from her blood rayse up
Issue to me, that the contending Kingdomes
Of France and England, whose very shoares looke pale,
With envy of each others happinesse,
May cease their hatred; and this deare Conjunction
Plant Neighbour-hood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet Bosomes: that never Warre advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and faire France.
Lords. Amen.
King. Now welcome Kate: and beare me witnesse all
That here I kisse her as my Soveraigne Queene.
Quee. God, the best maker of all Marriages,
Combine your hearts in one, your Realmes in one:
As Man and Wife being two, are one in love,
So be there 'twixt your Kingdomes such a Spousall,
That never may ill Office, or fell Jealousie,
Which troubles oft the Bed of blessed Marriage,
Thrust in betweene the Pation of these Kingdomes,
To make divorce of their incorporate League:
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other. God speake this Amen.
All. Amen.
King. Prepare we for our Marriage: on which day,
My Lord of Burgundy wee'le take your Oath
And all the Peeres, for suretie of our Leagues.
Then shall I sweare to Kate, and you to me,
And may our Oathes well kept and prosp❜rous be.
Thus farre with rough, and all-unable Pen,
Our bending Author hath pursu'd the Story,
In little roome confining mightie men,
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time but in that small, most greatly lived
This Starre of England. Fortune made his Sword;
By which, the Worlds best Garden he atchieved:
And of it left his Sonne Imperiall Lord.
Henry the Sixt, in Infant Bands crown'd King
Of France and England, did this King succeed:
Whose State so many had the managing,
That they lost France, and made his England bleed:
Which oft our Stage hath showne; and for their sake,
your faire minds let this acceptance take.
The first Part of Henry the Sixt.
Actus Primus. Scana Prima.
Enter the Funerall of King Henry the Fift, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloster, Protector; the Duke of Exeter Warwicke, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerset.
Ung be the heavens with black, yield day to night;
Comets importing change of Times and States,
Brandish your crystall Tresses in the Skie,
And with them scourge the bad revolting Stars,
That have consented unto Henries death:
King Henry the Fift, too famous to live long,
England ne're lost a King of so much worth.
Glost. England ne're had a King untill his time:
Vertue he had, deserving to command,
His brandisht Sword did blinde men with his beames,
His Armes spred wider then a Dragons Wings:
His sparkling Eyes, repleat with wrathfull fire,
More dazled and drove back his Enemies,
Then mid-day Sunne, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his Deeds exceed all speech:
He ne're lift up his Hand, but conquered.
Exe. We mourne in black, why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a Woodden Coffin we attend ;
And Deaths dishonourable Victorie,
We with our stately presence glorifie,
Like Captives bound to a Triumphant Carre.
What? shall we curse the Planets of Mishap,
That plotted thus our Glories overthrow ?
Or shall we thinke the subtle-witted French,
Conjurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him,
By Magick Verses have contriv'd his end.
Winch. He was a King, blest of the King of Kings.
Unto the French, the dreadfull Judgement-Day
So dreadfull will not be, as was his sight.
The Battailes of the Lord of Hosts he fought:
The Churches Prayers made him so prosperous.
Glost. The Church? where is it?
Had not Church-men pray'd,
His thred of Life had not so soone decay'd.
None doe you like, but an effeminate Prince,
Whom like a Schoole-boy you may over-awe.
Winch. Gloster, what ere we like, thou art Protector,
And lookest to command the Prince and Realme:
Thy Wife is prowd, she holdeth thee in awe,
More then God or Religious Church-men may.
Glost. Name not Religion, for thou lov'st the Flesh,
And ne're throughout the yeere to Church thou go❜st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Bed. Cease, cease these Jarres, & rest your minds in Let's to the Altar: Heralds wayt on us;
In stead of Gold, wee'le offer up our Armes,
Since Armes avayle not, now that Henry's dead,
Posteritie await for wretched yeeres,
When at their Mothers moistned eyes, Babes shall suck.
Our Ile be made a Nourish of salt Teares,
And none but Women left to wayle the dead.
Henry the Fift, thy Ghost I invocate:
Prosper this Realme, keepe it from Civill Broyles,
Combat with adverse Planets in the Heavens ;
A farre more glorious Starre thy Soul will make,
Than Julius Casar, or bright-
Mess. My honourable Lords, health to you
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of losse, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guyen, Champaigne, Rheimes, Orleance,
Paris, Guysors, Poitiers, are all quite lost.
Bedf. What say'st thou man, before dead Henry's Coarse? Speake softly, or the losse of those great Townes
Will make him burst his Lead, and rise from death.
Glost. Is Paris lost? is Roan yeelded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life againe,
These news would cause him once more yeeld the Ghost.
Exe. How were they lost? what trecherie was us’d?
Mess. No trecherie, but want of Men and Money.
Amongst the Souldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintaine severall Factions:
And whil'st a Field should be dispatcht and fought,
You are disputing of your Generals.
One would have lingring Warres, with little cost;
Another would flye swift, but wanteth Wings;
A third thinkes, without expence at all,
By guilefull faire words, Peace may be obtayn'd.
Awake, awake, English Nobilitie,
Let not slouth dimme your Honors, new begot;
Cropt are the Flower-de-Luces in your Armes
Of Englands Coat, one halfe is cut away.
Exe. Were our Teares wanting to this Funerall,
These Tidings would call forth her flowing Tides.
Bedf. Me they concerne, Regent I am of France.
Give me my steeled Coat, Ile fight for France.
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