King Henry VI, First Part

SALISBURYO Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!GARGRAVEO Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!TALBOTWhat chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?Speak, Salisbury: at least, if thou canst speak:How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!Accursed tower! accursed fatal handThat hath contrived this woful tragedy!In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it,Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,Thou shalt not die whiles —He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,Remember to avenge me on the French.'Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn;Wretched shall France be only in thy name.

[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens. ]

What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

[Enter a Messenger.]

MESSENGERMy lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head:The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,A holy prophetess new risen up,Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

[Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans.]

TALBOTHear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.Frenchmen, I 'll be a Salisbury to you:Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,Your hearts I 'll stamp out with my horse's heels,And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.Convey me Salisbury into his tent,And then we 'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

[Alarum. Exeunt.]

SCENE V. The same

[Here an alarum again: and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him: then enter Joan La Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them: then re-enter Talbot.]

TALBOTWhere is my strength, my valor, and my force?Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

[Re-enter La Pucelle.]

Here, here she comes. I 'll have a bout with thee;Devil or devil's dam, I 'll conjure thee:Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.PUCELLECome, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

[Here they fight.]

TALBOTHeavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?My breast I 'll burst with straining of my courage,And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

[They fight again.]

PUCELLETalbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

[A short alarum: then enter the town with soldiers.]

O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;Help Salisbury to make his testament:This day is ours, as many more shall be.

[Exit.]

TALBOTMy thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;I know not where I am, nor what I do;A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists.So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stenchAre from their hives and houses driven away.They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

[A short alarum.]

Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,Or tear the lions out of England's coat;Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,Or horse or oxen from the leopard,As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

[Alarum. Here another skirmish.]

It will not be: retire into your trenches:You all consented unto Salisbury's death,For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans,In spite of us or aught that we could do.O, would I were to die with Salisbury!The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

[Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat; flourish.]

SCENE VI. The Same

[Enter, on the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alencon, and Soldiers.]

PUCELLEAdvance our waving colours on the walls;Rescued is Orleans from the English:Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.CHARLESDivinest creature, Astraea's daughter,How shall I honour thee for this success?Thy promises are like Adonis' gardensThat one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!Recover'd is the town of Orleans.More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.REIGNIERWhy ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfiresAnd feast and banquet in the open streets,To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.ALENCONAll France will be replete with mirth and joy,When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.CHARLES'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;For which I will divide my crown with her;And all the priests and friars in my realmShall in procession sing her endless praise.A statelier pyramis to her I 'll rearThan Rhodope's of Memphis ever was;In memory of her when she is dead,Her ashes, in an urn more preciousThan the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius,Transported shall be at high festivalsBefore the kings and queens of France.No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.Come in, and let us banquet royallyAfter this golden day of victory.

[Flourish. Exeunt.]

ACT SECOND

SCENE I. Before Orleans

[Enter a Sergeant of a band, with two Sentinels.]

SERGEANTSirs, take your places and be vigilant:If any noise or soldier you perceiveNear to the walls, by some apparent signLet us have knowledge at the court of guard.FIRST SENTINELSergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.Thus are poor servitors,When others sleep upon their quiet beds,Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.

[Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march.]

TALBOTLord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,By whose approach the regions of Artois,Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,Having all day caroused and banqueted:Embrace we then this opportunity,As fitting best to quittance their deceitContriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.BEDFORDCoward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,To join with witches and the help of hell!BURGUNDYTraitors have never other company.But what 's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?TALBOTA maid, they say.BEDFORDA maid! and be so martial!BURGUNDYPray God she prove not masculine ere long,If underneath the standard of the FrenchShe carry armour as she hath begun.TALBOTWell, let them practice and converse with spirits:God is our fortress, in whose conquering nameLet us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.BEDFORDAscend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.TALBOTNot all together: better far, I guess,That we do make our entrance several ways;That, if it chance the one of us do fail,The other yet may rise against their force.BEDFORDAgreed: I 'll to yond corner.BURGUNDYAnd I to this.TALBOTAnd here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the rightOf English Henry, shall this night appearHow much in duty I am bound to both.SENTINELArm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!

[Cry: 'St George,' 'A Talbot.']

[The French leap over the walls in their shirts.

Enter, several ways, the Bastard of Orleans, Alencon, and

Reignier, half ready, and half unready.]

ALENCONHow now, my lords! what, all unready so?BASTARDUnready! aye, and glad we 'scap'd so well.REIGNIER'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.ALENCONOf all exploits since first I follow'd arms,Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterpriseMore venturous or desperate than this.BASTARDI think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.REIGNIERIf not of hell, the heavens, sure, favor him.ALENCONHere cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.BASTARDTut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

[Enter Charles and La Pucelle.]

CHARLESIs this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,Make us partakers of a little gain,That now our loss might be ten times so much?PUCELLEWherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?At all times will you have my power alike?Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.CHARLESDuke of Alencon, this was your default,That, being captain of the watch to-night,Did look no better to that weighty charge.ALENCONHad all your quarters been as safely keptAs that whereof I had the government,We had not been thus shamefully surprised.BASTARDMine was secure.REIGNIERAnd so was mine, my lord.CHARLESAnd, for myself, most part of all this night,Within her quarter and mine own precinctI was employ'd in passing to and fro,About relieving of the sentinels:Then how or which way should they first break in?PUCELLEQuestion, my lords, no further of the case,How or which way: 'tis sure they found some placeBut weakly guarded, where the breach was made.And now there rests no other shift but this;To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,And lay new platforms to endamage them.

[Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind.]

SOLDIERI 'll be so bold to take what they have left.The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;For I have loaden me with many spoils,Using no other weapon but his name.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town

[Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, and others.]

BEDFORDThe day begins to break, and night is fled,Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.

[Retreat sounded.]

TALBOTBring forth the body of old Salisbury,And here advance it in the market-place,The middle centre of this cursed town.Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;For every drop of blood was drawn from himThere hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.And that hereafter ages may beholdWhat ruin happen'd in revenge of him,Within their chiefest temple I 'll erectA tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd;Upon the which, that every one may read,Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,The treacherous manner of his mournful deathAnd what a terror he had been to France.But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,Nor any of his false confederates.BEDFORD'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,They did amongst the troops of armed menLeap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.BURGUNDYMyself, as far as I could well discernFor smoke and dusky vapors of the night,Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,Like to a pair of loving turtle-dovesThat could not live asunder day or night.After that things are set in order here,We'll follow them with all the power we have.

[Enter a Messenger.]

MESSENGERAll hail, my lords! Which of this princely trainCall ye the warlike Talbot, for his actsSo much applauded through the realm of France?TALBOTHere is the Talbot: who would speak with him?MESSENGERThe virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,With modesty admiring thy renown,By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafeTo visit her poor castle where she lies,That she may boast she hath beheld the manWhose glory fills the world with loud report.BURGUNDYIs it even so? Nay, then I see our warsWill turn into a peaceful comic sport,When ladies crave to be encount'red with.You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.TALBOTNe'er trust me then; for when a world of menCould not prevail with all their oratory,Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:And therefore tell her I return great thanks,And in submission will attend on her.Will not your honors bear me company?BEDFORDNo, truly; it is more than manners will:And I have heard it said, unbidden guestsAre often welcomest when they are gone.TALBOTWell then, alone, since there 's no remedy,I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.Come hither, Captain. [Whispers] You perceive my mind?CAPTAIN.I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess's castle

[Enter the Countess and her Porter.]

COUNTESSPorter, remember what I gave in charge;And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.PORTERMadam, I will.

[Exit.]

COUNTESSThe plot is laid: if all things fall out right,I shall as famous be by this exploitAs Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,And his achievements of no less account:Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,To give their censure of these rare reports.

[Enter Messenger and Talbot.]

MESSENGERMadam,according as your ladyship desired,By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.COUNTESSAnd he is welcome. What! is this the man?MESSENGERMadam, it is.COUNTESSIs this the scourge of France?Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroadThat with his name the mothers still their babes?I see report is fabulous and false:I thought I should have seen some Hercules,A second Hector, for his grim aspect,And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimpShould strike such terror to his enemies.TALBOTMadam, I have been bold to trouble you;But since your ladyship is not at leisure,I 'll sort some other time to visit you.COUNTESSWhat means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.MESSENGERStay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady cravesTo know the cause of your abrupt departure.TALBOTMarry, for that she's in a wrong belief,I go to certify her Talbot's here.

[Re-enter Porter with keys.]

COUNTESSIf thou be he, then art thou prisoner.TALBOTPrisoner! to whom?COUNTESSTo me, blood-thirsty lord;And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,For in my gallery thy picture hangs:But now the substance shall endure the like,And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,That hast by tyranny these many yearsWasted our country, slain our citizens,And sent our sons and husbands captivate.TALBOTHa, ha, ha!COUNTESSLaughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to moan.TALBOTI laugh to see your ladyship so fondTo think that you have aught but Talbot's shadowWhereon to practice your severity.COUNTESSWhy, art not thou the man?TALBOTI am indeed.COUNTESSThen have I substance too.TALBOTNo, no, I am but shadow of myself:You are deceived, my substance is not here;For what you see is but the smallest partAnd least proportion of humanity:I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.COUNTESSThis is a riddling merchant for the nonce;He will be here, and yet he is not here:How can these contrarieties agree?TALBOTThat will I show you presently.

[Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. Enter Soldiers.]

How say you, madam? are you now persuadedThat Talbot is but shadow of himself?These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,Razeth your cities and subverts your towns,And in a moment makes them desolate.COUNTESSVictorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;For I am sorry that with reverenceI did not entertain thee as thou art.TALBOTBe not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrueThe mind of Talbot, as you did mistakeThe outward composition of his body.What you have done hath not offended me;Nor other satisfaction do I crave,But only, with your patience, that we mayTaste of your wine and see what cates you have;For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.COUNTESSWith all my heart, and think me honoredTo feast so great a warrior in my house.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. London. The Temple-garden

[Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick;

Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer.]

PLANTAGENETGreat lords and gentlemen,what means this silence?Dare no man answer in a case of truth?SUFFOLKWithin the Temple-hall we were too loud;The garden here is more convenient.PLANTAGENETThen say at once if I maintain'd the truth;Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?SUFFOLKFaith, I have been a truant in the law,And never yet could frame my will to it;And therefore frame the law unto my will.SOMERSETJudge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.WARWICKBetween two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;Between two blades, which bears the better temper:Between two horses, which doth bear him best;Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment:But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.PLANTAGENETTut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:The truth appears so naked on my sideThat any purblind eye may find it out.SOMERSETAnd on my side it is so well apparell'd,So clear, so shining and so evident,That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.PLANTAGENETSince you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:Let him that is a true-born gentlemanAnd stands upon the honor of his birth,If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.SOMERSETLet him that is no coward nor no flatterer,But dare maintain the party of the truth,Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.WARWICKI love no colours, and without all colourOf base insinuating flatteryI pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.SUFFOLKI pluck this red rose with young Somerset,And say withal I think he held the right.VERNONStay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,Till you conclude that he, upon whose sideThe fewest roses are cropp'd from the treeShall yield the other in the right opinion.SOMERSETGood Master Vernon, it is well objected:If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.PLANTAGENETAnd I.VERNONThen for the truth and plainness of the case,I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,Giving my verdict on the white rose side.SOMERSETPrick not your finger as you pluck it off,Lest bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,And fall on my side so, against your will.VERNONIf I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurtAnd keep me on the side where still I am.SOMERSETWell, well, come on: who else?LAWYER.Unless my study and my books be false,The argument you held was wrong in you;

[To Somerset.]

In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.PLANTAGENETNow, Somerset, where is your argument?SOMERSETHere in my scabbard, meditating thatShall dye your white rose in a bloody red.PLANTAGENETMeantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;For pale they look with fear, as witnessingThe truth on our side.SOMERSETNo, Plantagenet,'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeksBlush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.PLANTAGENETHath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?SOMERSETHath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?PLANTAGENETAy, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.SOMERSET. Well, I 'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,That shall maintain what I have said is true,Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.PLANTAGENETNow, by this maiden blossom in my hand,I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.SUFFOLKTurn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.PLANTAGENETProud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.SUFFOLKI'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.SOMERSETAway, away, good William de la Pole!We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.WARWICKNow, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,Third son to the third Edward King of England:Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?PLANTAGENETHe bears him on the place's privilege,Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.SOMERSETBy Him that made me, I'll maintain my wordsOn any plot of ground in Christendom.Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,For treason executed in our late king's days?And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.PLANTAGENETMy father was attached, not attainted,Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.For your partaker Pole and you yourself,I'll note you in my book of memory,To scourge you for this apprehension:Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.SOMERSETAy, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;And know us by these colors for thy foes,For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.PLANTAGENETAnd, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,Will I for ever and my faction wear,Until it wither with me to my grave,Or flourish to the height of my degree.SUFFOLKGo forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!And so farewell until I meet thee next.

[Exit.]

SOMERSETHave with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

[Exit.]

PLANTAGENETHow I am braved and must perforce endure it!WARWICKThis blot that they object against your houseShall be wiped out in the next parliamentCall'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;And if thou be not then created York,I will not live to be accounted Warwick.Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,Against proud Somerset and William Pole,Will I upon thy party wear this rose:And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,Shall send between the red rose and the whiteA thousand souls to death and deadly night.PLANTAGENETGood Master Vernon, I am bound to you,That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.VERNONIn your behalf still will I wear the same.LAWYER.And so will I.PLANTAGENETThanks, gentle sir.Come, let us four to dinner: I dare sayThis quarrel will drink blood another day.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. The Tower of London

[Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Jailers.]

MORTIMERKind keepers of my weak decaying age,Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.Even like a man new haled from the rack,So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death,Nestor-like aged in an age of care,Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief,And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vineThat droops his sapless branches to the ground:Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,Unable to support this lump of clay,Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,As witting I no other comfort have.But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?FIRST JAILERRichard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;And answer was return'd that he will come.MORTIMEREnough: my soul shall then be satisfied.Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,Before whose glory I was great in arms,This loathsome sequestration have I had;And even since then hath Richard been obscured,Deprived of honour and inheritance.But now the arbitrator of despairs,Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries,With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:I would his troubles likewise were expired,That so he might recover what was lost.

[Enter Richard Plantagenet.]

FIRST JAILERMy lord, your loving nephew now is come.MORTIMERRichard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?PLANTAGENETAye, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.MORTIMERDirect mine arms I may embrace his neck,And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,Why didst thou say of late thou wert despised?PLANTAGENETFirst, lean thine aged back against mine arm;And, in that case, I'll tell thee my disease.This day, in argument upon a case,Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;Among which terms he used his lavish tongueAnd did upbraid me with my father's death:Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,Else with the like I had requited him.Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,In honor of a true PlantagenetAnd for alliance sake, declare the causeMy father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.MORTIMERThat cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd meAnd hath detain'd me all my flowering youthWithin a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,Was cursed instrument of his decease.PLANTAGENETDiscover more at large what cause that was,For I am ignorant and cannot guess.MORTIMERI will, if that my fading breath permit,And death approach not ere my tale be done.Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,The first-begotten and the lawful heirOf Edward king, the third of that descent;During whose reign the Percies of the north,Finding his usurpation most unjust,Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.The reason moved these warlike lords to thisWas, for that – young King Richard thus removed,Leaving no heir begotten of his body —I was the next by birth and parentage;For by my mother I derived amFrom Lionel Duke of Clarence, third sonTo King Edward the Third; whereas heFrom John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,Being but fourth of that heroic line.But mark: as in this haughty great attemptThey labored to plant the rightful heir,I lost my liberty and they their lives.Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derivedFrom famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,Marrying my sister that thy mother was,Again in pity of my hard distress.Levied an army, weening to redeemAnd have install'd me in the diadem:But, as the rest, so fell that noble earlAnd was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.PLANTAGENETOf which, my lord, your honor is the last.MORTIMERTrue; and thou seest that I no issue have,And that my fainting words do warrant death:Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:But yet be wary in thy studious care.PLANTAGENETThy grave admonishments prevail with me:But yet, methinks, my father's executionWas nothing less than bloody tyranny.MORTIMERWith silence, nephew, be thou politic:Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,And like a mountain not to be removed.But now thy uncle is removing hence;As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'dWith long continuance in a settled place.PLANTAGENETO, uncle, would some part of my young yearsMight but redeem the passage of your age!MORTIMERThou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer dothWhich giveth many wounds when one will kill.Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;Only give order for my funeral:And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes,And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

[Dies.]