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ING Henry VI.

Duke of Gloucefter, 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, Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Suffolk. Lord Talbot.

Young Talbot, his son.




Richard Platagenet, afterwards Duke of York
Mortimer, Earl of March.

Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower.

Lord Mayor of London.

Vernon, of the White Rofe, or York Faction.
Baflet, of the Red Rose, or Lancafter Faction.

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and Titular King of Naples,
Duke of Burgundy.

Duke of Alenfon.

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 infpir'd from Heaven, and fetting up for the Championess of France.

Countess of Auvergne.

Lords, Captains, Soldiers. Meffengers, and feveral Attendants, both on the English and French.

The SCENE is partly in England, and partly in France.

The First PART of



Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloucefter, Protector; the Duke of Exeter, and the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerfer.



UNG be the Heavens with black, yield
Day to Night; -

Comets importing change of Times
and States,

Brandifh your Crystal Treffes in the

And with them fcourge the bad re-
volting Stars,

That have confented 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 time:
Virtue he had, deferving to Command.

His brandish'd Sword did blind Men with his Beams,
His Arms fpread wider than a Dragon's Wings;
His fparkling Eyes, repleat with awful Fire,
More dazled and drove back his Enemies,
Than mid-day Sun fierce bent against their Faces.
What fhould I fay? 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 ftately Prefence glorifie,
Like Captives bound to a Triumphant Car.
What? fhall we curfe the Planets of Mishap,
That plotted thus our Glory's overthrow?
Or fhall we think the fubtile-witted French,
Conjurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him,
By Magick Verse have thus contriv'd his End?
Wm. He was a King, bleft 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 Hofts he fought;
The Churches Prayers made him fo profperous..
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. Glofter, whate'er we like, thou art Protector,
And lookeft to command the Prince and Realm;
Thy Wife is proud, the holdeth thee in awe,
More than God or Religious Church-men may.
Glo. Name not Religion, for thou lov'ft the Flesh,
And ne'er throughout the Year to Church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray againft thy Foes.

Bed. Ceafe, ceafe thefe Jars, and reft your Minds in peace Let's to the Altar: Heralds wait on us;

Inftead of Gold, we'll offer up our Arms,

Since Arms avail not, now that Henry's dead..

Pofterity await for wretched Years,


When at their Mothers moift Eyes Bábes fhall fuck;
Our Ifle be made a nourish of falt Tears,
And none but Women left to 'wail the dead.
Henry the Fifth, thy Ghoft I invocate;
Profper this Realm, keep it from Civil Broils,
Combat with adverse Planets in the Heavens;
A far more glorious Star thy Soul will maks,
Than Julius Cefar, or bright-

Enter a Meffenger.

Meff My Honourable Lords, health to you all ;
Sad Tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of Lofs, of Slaughter, and Discomfiture;
Guyenne, Champaign, Rheims, Orleans,

Paris, Guyfors, Poitiers, are all quite loft.

Bed. What fay'ft thou, Man, before dead Henry's Coarfe? Speak foftly, or the lofs of thofe great Towns Will make him burst bis Lead, and rise from Death. Glo. Is Paris loft, and is Roan yielded up?

If Henry were recall'd to Life again,

Thefe News would cause him once more yield the Ghost.
Exe. How were they loft? What Treachery was us'd?
Meff. No Treachery, but want of Men and Mony.
Amongst the Soldiers this is muttered,

That here you maintain feveral Factions ;
And whilft a Field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are difputing of your Generals.

One would have lingring Wars with little Coft;
Another would Яy fwift, 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,
Thefe Tidings would call forth her flowing Tides.
Bed. Me they concern, Regent Iam of France;
Give me my feeled Coat, I'll fight for France.
Away with thefe difgraceful wailing Robes;


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