Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively: the cities turned into a maid, for they are all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never entered.

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife?

K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities you talk of, may wait on her; so the maid, that stood in the way for my wish, shall show me the way to my will.

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of reason.
K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England?
West. The king hath granted every article:
His daughter, first; and in sequel, all,
According to their firm proposed natures.

Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this.
Where your majesty demands,

that the king of France, having

any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your highness in this form, and with this addition, in French, - Notre très cher filz Henry roy d'Angleterre, heretier de France; and thus in Latin, · Præclarissimus filius noster Henricus, rex Angliæ, et hæres Franciæ.

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, But your request shall make me let it pass.

K. Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance

Let that one article rank with the rest;

And, thereupon, give me your daughter.

Fr. King. Take her, fair son; and from her blood raise up Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms

Of France and England, whose very shores look pale,

With envy of each other's happiness,

May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction

Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord

In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance

His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.

K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate: - and bear me witness all,

That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.

Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages,

[Flourish.

Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other! God speak this Amen!

All. Amen!

-

on which day,

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage :
My lord of Burgundy, we 'll take your oath,
And all the peers' for surety of our leagues.
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!
Enter CHORUS.

Thus far, with rough and all unable pen,
Our bending author hath pursu'd the story;
In little room confining mighty men,

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time, but in that small most greatly liv'd
This star of England. Fortune made his sword,
By which the world's best garden he achiev’d,
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king

Of France and England, did this king succeed;
Whose state so many had the managing,

[Exeunt.

That they lost France, and made his England bleed;
Which oft our stage hath shown, and for their sake,
In your fair minds let this acceptance take.

[Exit.

FIRST PART

OF

KING HENRY VI.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants both on the English and French.

SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Westminster Abbey.

Dead March. The Corpse of King HENRY the Fifth is discovered, lying in state; attended on by the Dukes of BEdford, GlosTER, and EXETER; the Earl of WARWICK, the Bishop of Winchester, Heralds, &c.

Bed. 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.

Glo. 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 sparkling 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.

Exe. We mourn in black: why mourn me 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
Conjurors and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magic verses have contriv'd his end?

Win. He was a king, bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day

So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.