Henry VI, Part 1 By William Shakespeare

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Henry VI, Part 1

William Shakespeare

Published: 1590

Categorie(s): Non-Fiction, History, Fiction, Drama

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- King Lear (1606)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. Westminster Abbey.

> Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c

BEDFORD

> Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

> Comets, importing change of times and states,

> Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,

> And with them scourge the bad revolting stars

> That have consented unto Henry's death!

> King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!

> England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

GLOUCESTER

> England ne'er had a king until his time.

> Virtue he had, deserving to command:

> His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:

> His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;

> His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,

> More dazzled 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.

EXETER

> 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 presence glorify,

> Like captives bound to a triumphant car.

> What! shall we curse the planets of mishap

> That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?

> Or shall we think the subtle-witted French

> Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him

> By magic verses have contrived his end?

> BISHOP

OF WINCHESTER

> He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.

> Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day

> So dreadful will not be as was his sight.

> The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:

> The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

GLOUCESTER

> The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,

> His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:

> None do you like but an effeminate prince,

> Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

> BISHOP

OF WINCHESTER

> Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector

> And lookest to command the prince and realm.

> Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,

> More than God or religious churchmen may.

GLOUCESTER

> Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,

> And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st

> Except it be to pray against thy foes.

BEDFORD

> Cease, cease 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.

> Posterity, await for wretched years,

> When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,

> Our isle 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 Caesar or bright—

>

> Enter a Messenger

Messenger

> My honourable lords, health to you all!

> Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,

> Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:

> Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,

> Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

BEDFORD

> What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?

> Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns

> Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.

GLOUCESTER

> Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?

> If Henry were recall'd to life again,

> These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

EXETER

> How were they lost? what treachery was used?

Messenger

> No treachery; but want of men and money.

> Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,

> That here you maintain several factions,

> And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,

> You are disputing of your generals:

> One would have lingering wars with little cost;

> Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;

> A third thinks, without expense at all,

> By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.

> Awake, awake, English nobility!

> Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:

> Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;

> Of England's coat one half is cut away.

EXETER

> Were our tears wanting to this funeral,

> These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.

BEDFORD

> 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 will I lend the French instead of eyes,

> To weep their intermissive miseries.

>

> Enter to them another Messenger

Messenger

> Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.

> France is revolted from the English quite,

> Except some petty towns of no import:

> The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;

> The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;

> Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;

> The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.

EXETER

> The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!

> O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

GLOUCESTER

> We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.

> Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

BEDFORD

> Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?

> An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,

> Wherewith already France is overrun.

>

> Enter another Messenger

Messenger

> My gracious lords, to add to your laments,

> Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,

> I must inform you of a dismal fight

> Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

> BISHOP

OF WINCHESTER

> What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

Messenger

> O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:

> The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.

> The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,

> Retiring from the siege of Orleans,

> Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.

> By three and twenty thousand of the French

> Was round encompassed and set upon.

> No leisure had he to enrank his men;

> He wanted pikes to set before his archers;

> Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges

> They pitched in the ground confusedly,

> To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.

> More than three hours the fight continued;

> Where valiant Talbot above human thought

> Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:

> Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;

> Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:

> The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;

> All the whole army stood agazed on him:

> His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit

> A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain

> And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.

> Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,

> If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:

> He, being in the vaward, placed behind

> With purpose to relieve and follow them,

> Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.

> Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;

> Enclosed were they with their enemies:

> A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,

> Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,

> Whom all France with their chief assembled strength

> Durst not presume to look once in the face.

BEDFORD

> Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,

> For living idly here in pomp and ease,

> Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,

> Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.

Messenger

> O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,

> And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:

> Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.

BEDFORD

> His ransom there is none but I shall pay:

> I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:

> His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;

> Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.

> Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;

> Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,

> To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:

> Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,

> Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

Messenger

> So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;

> The English army is grown weak and faint:

> The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,

> And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,

> Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

EXETER

> Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,

> Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,

> Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

BEDFORD

> I do remember it; and here take my leave,

> To go about my preparation.

>

> Exit

GLOUCESTER

> I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,

> To view the artillery and munition;

> And then I will proclaim young Henry king.

>

> Exit

EXETER

> To Eltham will I, where the young king is,

> Being ordain'd his special governor,

> And for his safety there I'll best devise.

>

> Exit

>

> BISHOP

OF WINCHESTER

> Each hath his place and function to attend:

> I am left out; for me nothing remains.

> But long I will not be Jack out of office:

> The king from Eltham I intend to steal

> And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.

>

> Exeunt

SCENE II. France. Before Orleans.

> Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers

CHARLES

> Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens

> So in the earth, to this day is not known:

> Late did he shine upon the English side;

> Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.

> What towns of any moment but we have?

> At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;

> Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,

> Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

ALENCON

> They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:

> Either they must be dieted like mules

> And have their provender tied to their mouths

> Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

REIGNIER

> Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?

> Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:

> Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;

> And he may well in fretting spend his gall,

> Nor men nor money hath he to make war.

CHARLES

> Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.

> Now for the honour of the forlorn French!

> Him I forgive my death that killeth me

> When he sees me go back one foot or fly.

>

> Exeunt

>

> Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER

CHARLES

> Who ever saw the like? what men have I!

> Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,

> But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

REIGNIER

> Salisbury is a desperate homicide;

> He fighteth as one weary of his life.

> The other lords, like lions wanting food,

> Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

ALENCON

> Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,

> England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,

> During the time Edward the Third did reign.

> More truly now may this be verified;

> For none but Samsons and Goliases

> It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!

> Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose

> They had such courage and audacity?

CHARLES

> Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,

> And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:

> Of old I know them; rather with their teeth

> The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.

REIGNIER

> I think, by some odd gimmors or device

> Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;

> Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.

> By my consent, we'll even let them alone.

ALENCON

> Be it so.

>

> Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS

BASTARD OF ORLEANS

> Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

CHARLES

> Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

BASTARD OF ORLEANS

> Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:

> Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?

> Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:

> A holy maid hither with me I bring,

> Which by a vision sent to her from heaven

> Ordained is to raise this tedious siege

> And drive the English forth the bounds of France.

> The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,

> Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:

> What's past and what's to come she can descry.

> Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,

> For they are certain and unfallible.

CHARLES

> Go, call her in.

>

> Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS

>

> But first, to try her skill,

> Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:

> Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:

> By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

>

> Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE

REIGNIER

> Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

JOAN LA PUCELLE

> Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?

> Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;

> I know thee well, though never seen before.

> Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:

> In private will I talk with thee apart.

> Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

REIGNIER

> She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

JOAN LA PUCELLE

> Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,

> My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.

> Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased

> To shine on my contemptible estate:

> Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,

> And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,

> God's mother deigned to appear to me

> And in a vision full of majesty

> Will'd me to leave my base vocation

> And free my country from calamity:

> Her aid she promised and assured success:

> In complete glory she reveal'd herself;

> And, whereas I was black and swart before,

> With those clear rays which she infused on me

> That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.

> Ask me what question thou canst possible,

> And I will answer unpremeditated:

> My courage try by combat, if thou darest,

> And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.

> Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,

> If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

CHARLES

> Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:

> Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,

> In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,

> And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;

> Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

JOAN LA PUCELLE

> I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,

> Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;

> The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's

> churchyard,

> Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

CHARLES

> Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

JOAN LA PUCELLE

> And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

>

> Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes

CHARLES

> Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon

> And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

JOAN LA PUCELLE

> Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

CHARLES

> Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: