Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim? And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done
Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me
King. What is that wrong whereof you both complain ?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, Upbraided me about the rose I wear; Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, When stubbornly he did repugn the truth About a certain question in the law Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him; With other vile and ignominious terms: In confutation of which rude reproach And in defence of my lord's worthiness, I crave the benefit of law of arms.
Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: For though he seem with forged quaint conceit To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him; And he first took exceptions at this badge, Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? Som. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
King. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,
102. forged quaint conceit, ingenious fabrication.
When for so slight and frivolous a cause Such factious emulations shall arise! Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, And then your highness shall command a peace. Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. 120 Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. Glou. Confirm it so!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the king and us? And you, my lords, methinks you do not well To bear with their perverse objections; Much less to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves: Let me persuade you take a better course. Exe. It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.
King. Come hither, you that would be combatants :
Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. And you, my lords, remember where we are; In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: If they perceive dissension in our looks And that within ourselves we disagree, How will their grudging stomachs be provoked To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
Beside, what infamy will there arise, When foreign princes shall be certified That for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henry's peers and chief nobility Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of
O, think upon the conquest of my father, My tender years, and let us not forego That for a trifle that was bought with blood! Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
[Putting on a red rose. That any one should therefore be suspicious I more incline to Somerset than York: Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both: As well they may upbraid me with my crown, Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. But your discretions better can persuade Than I am able to instruct or teach: And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let us still continue peace and love. Cousin of York, we institute your grace To be our regent in these parts of France: And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, Go cheerfully together and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
After some respite will return to Calais ;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alençon and that traitorous rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick,
War. My Lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
York. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York. An if I wist he did,-but let it rest; 180 Other affairs must now be managed.
[Exeunt all but Exeter. Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This shouldering of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites, But that it doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands; But more when envy breeds unkind division; There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
SCENE II. Before Bourdeaux.
Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum.
Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter;
Summon their general unto the wall.
180. An if I wist he did; if I wish he did.'
Capell's emendation of Ff 'and
Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, Servant in arms to Harry King of England; And thus he would: Open your city gates; Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient subjects; And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power: But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire Who in a moment even with the earth Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, If you forsake the offer of their love.
Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge ! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death; For, I protest, we are well fortified
And strong enough to issue out and fight: If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, But death doth front thee with apparent spoil And pale destruction meets thee in the face. Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
This is the latest glory of thy praise
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
26. apparent spoil, inevitable 29. rive, discharge.
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