To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,
That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel,
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant;
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be revenged sufficiently.
Now is it supper-time in Orleans:

Here through this gate, I can count every one,
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;

Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.-
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions,

Where is best place to make our battery next.

Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

[Shot from the Town. SALISBURY and Sir THOMAS GARGRAVE fall. Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath

cross'd us?

Speak Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand,
That hath contrived this woeful 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 Nero-like,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name.

[Thunder heard, afterwards an Alarum. What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My 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.
[SALISBURY groans.
Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan!
It irks his heart, he cannot be revenged.
Frenchmer, I'll be a Salisbury to you:-
Pucelle or puzzle, 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 dastard Frenchmen dare.
[Exeunt, bearing out the Bodies.

SCENE V.-Before one of the Gates of Orleans. Alarum. Skirmishings. TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him in: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT.

Tal. Where is my strength, my valor, and my forces?

Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
A woman, clad in armor, chaseth them.

Dirty wench.

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 serv'st.
Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace
thee.
[They fight.
Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage,
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,

Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be.

[PUCELLE enters the Town, with Soldiers. Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;

I know not where I am, nor what I do;
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
So bees will smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They call us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
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 timorous from the wolf,
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

[A short Alarum.

[Alarum. 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 entered 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.
[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt TALBOT and his
Forces, &c.

SCENE VI.-The same.

Enter on the Walls, PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENÇON, and Soldiers.

Puc. Advance our waving colors on the walls; Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves:Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. Char. Divinest creature, bright Astræa's daugh

ter,

How shall I honor thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,
That 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.

Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the town?

Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and
When they shall hear how we have play'd the

joy,

won;

For which, I will divide my crown with her:
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was:
In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius,
Transported shall be at high festivals
Before 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 royally,
After this golden day of victory.

Flourish. Exeunt.

The superstition of those times taught, that he who could draw a witch's blood was free from her power.

SCENE I.-The same.

Sentinels.

Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant: If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, Near to the walls, by some apparent sign, Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.' 1 Sent. Sergeant, 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.

Tal. Lord regent,-and redoubted Burgundy,— By whose approach, the regions of Atrois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous'd and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity; As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.

Bed. Coward of France!-how much he wrongs his fame,

Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
To join with witches, and the help of hell.
Bur. Traitors have never other company.-
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure?
Tal. A maid, they say.
Bed.

A maid! and be so martial?
Bur. Pray God, she proves not masculine ere long;
If underneath the standard of the French,
She carry armor, as she hath begun.

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:

God is our fortress; in whose conquering name,
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
Tal. Not 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.
Bed. Agreed; I'll to yon corner.
Bur.

And I to this.

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.

Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. [The English scale the walls, crying St. George! A Talbot! and all enter by the Town. Sent. [Within.] Arm, arm! the eneiny doth make assault!

The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENÇON, REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready.

Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so! Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,

Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.

Char. Duke of Alençon, this was your default; That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd. Bast. Mine was secure. Reig. And so was mine, my lord. Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels:

Then how, or which way, should they first break in! Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some

place

But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this,To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A Talbot! A Talbot! They fly, leaving their Clothes behind.

Sold. I'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.

Bed. The 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.
Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury;
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.-
Now I have paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to night.
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And 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;
Nor any of his false confederates.
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;

Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began,

Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
They did, amongst the troops of armed men,
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke, and dusky vapors of the night)

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?-
The same as guard room.

When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That 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.

Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely train

Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

So much applauded through the realm of France? Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with

him?

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown,

By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies;

That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars
Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.-
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of

men

Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd:-
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her.-
Will not your honors bear me company?

Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will:
And I have heard it said,-Unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]-You perceive my mind.

Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter the CoUNTESS and her Porter.

Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit, As Scythian Thomyris 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.

Mess. Madam,

According as your ladyship desired,

By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Mess. Madam, it is. Count.

Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad,
That 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 writhled1 shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count. What means he now-Go, ask him whither he goes.

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her, Talbot's here.

Re-enter Porter, with Keys.

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. Tal. Prisoner! to whom? Count. To 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 the 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 years, Wasted our country, slain our citizens, And sent our sons and husbands captivate. Tal. Ha, ha, ha!

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall

turn to moan.

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, Whereon to practise your severity.

Count. Why, art not thou the man?

Tal.

I am indeed.

Count. Then have I substance too. Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; For what you see, is but the smallest part ⚫Opinion. 1 Wrinkled.

And 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 it.

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal. That will I show you presently.

He winds a Horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of
Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers.
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded,
That 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.

Count. Victorious 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 reverence

I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done hath not offended me: No other satisfaction do I crave, But only (with your patience) that we may For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have;

Count. With all my heart: and think me honored To 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.

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence?

Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suf. within the Temple hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient.

Plan. Then say at once, If I maintain'd the truth; Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? Suf. 'Faith, 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.

Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be

tween us.

War. Between 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.

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som. And 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.
Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd and so loath
to speak,
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honor of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this briar pluck a white rose with me.
Som. Let 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.
War. I love no colors; and, without all color
Of base insinuating flattery,

I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset;
And say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen: and pluck no more,

Till you conclude-that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree,
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected;"
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

3 For a purpose.

2 Foolish.

Deceits; a play on the word.

Noised, reported. Proposed.

Plan. And I.

case,

I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som. Prick 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.

Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the side where still I am. Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? Law. 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. Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that, Shall die your white rose in a bloody red.

Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;

For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.

Som.
No, Plantagenet,
'Tis not for fear; but anger,-that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses;
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his
truth;

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. 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.
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him
and thee.

Suf. I'll turu my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. Wur. Now, 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 yoemen' from so deep a root?
Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,8
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my
words

On 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 restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan. My 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 Poole, and you yourself,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To scourge you for this apprehension:1
Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd.
Som. Ay, 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.
Plan. And, 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.
Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy am-
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit.
Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewell, ambi-
tious Richard.
[Exit.
Plan. How I am braved, and must perforce en-
dure it!

bition!

War. This blot, that they object against your house,

Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,

1i. e. Those who have no right to arms.

The Temple, being a religious house, was a sanctuary. Excluded. 1 Opinion.

I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
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 white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
Law. And so will I.

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,
This quarrel will drink blood another day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A Room in the Tower.

Enter MORTIMER, brought in a Chair by two
Keepers.

Mor. Kind 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 grey 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 burd'ning grief,
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine`
That 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?

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd, that he will come.
Mor. Enough; 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 obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honor 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 expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.

Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET.

1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is

come.

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend! Is he come?

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late-despised Richard comes.

Mor. Direct 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 despis'd? Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine

arm?

And, in that ease, 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 tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy sets 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 Plantagenet,
And for alliance' sake,-declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd

Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was: For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.

Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his cousin Richard, Edward's son,
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
During whose reign, the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,

Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne:
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,
Was-for that (young king Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body)

I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am

From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the Third, whereas he,
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but fourth of that heroic line.

But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt,
They 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 deriv'd,
From 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 redeem,
And half install'd me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.
Plan. Of which, my lord, your honor is the last.
Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue
have;

And that my fainting words do warrant death:

Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!

In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And, like a hermit, overpass'd thy days.-
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.—
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life.-

[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out MORTIMER.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:-
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offered to my house,-
I doubt not, but with honor to redress;
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood,

Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit.

SCENE I.-The Parliament House.

Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, GLOSTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOSTER offers to put up a Bill, CHESTER Snatches it, and tears it.

Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse,
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly;

As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,

Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonor'd me.
Think not, although in writing 1 preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forged, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
That very intants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer:
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession, and degree;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest;
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower?
Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, ambitious, or preverse,
As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance

Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissension, who preferreth peace
i. e. Articles of Accusation.

Thinking,

Glo.

As good?

Thou bastard of my grandfather!-
Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest?
Win. And am I not a prelate of the church?
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.
Win. Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.
Thou art reverent
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Win. This Rome shall remedy.
War.

Roam thither, then.
Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.
War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler;
It fitted not a prelate so to plead.

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king?

Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside.

K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, Civil dissension is a viperous worm,