ACT II. SCENE 1.  Before Orleans  Enter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS    SERGEANT. 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.   FIRST SENTINEL. 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    TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,     By whose approach the regions of Artois,     Wallon, 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.   BEDFORD. 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!   BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.     But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?   TALBOT. A maid, they say.   BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!   BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,     If underneath the standard of the French     She carry armour as she hath begun.   TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:     God is our fortress, in whose conquering name     Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.   BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.   TALBOT. 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.   BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.   BURGUNDY. And I to this.   TALBOT. 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 and cry 'Saint George!                                                      a Talbot!']     SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault.             The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts.            Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER,                      half ready and half unready    ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?   BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.   REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,     Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.   ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms     Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise     More venturous or desperate than this.   BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.   REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him   ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.                      Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE    BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.   CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?     Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,     Make us partakers of a little gain     That now our loss might be ten times so much?   PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his 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?     Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good     This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.   CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default     That, being captain of the watch to-night,     Did look no better to that weighty charge.   ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept     As that whereof I had the government,     We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd.   BASTARD. Mine was secure.   REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.   CHARLES. 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?   PUCELLE. 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    SOLDIER. 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                                  SCENE 2.                        ORLEANS. Within the town              Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN,                            and others    BEDFORD. 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]   TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury     And here advance it in the market-place,     The middle centre of this cursed town.     Now have I 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 happened 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,     His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,     Nor any of his false confederates.   BEDFORD. '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.   BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern     For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,     Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull,     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    MESSENGER. 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?   TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?   MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,     With modesty admiring thy renown,     By me entreats, great 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.   BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars     Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,     When ladies crave to be encount'red with.     You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.   TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men     Could not prevail with all their oratory,     Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd;     And therefore tell her I return great thanks     And in submission will attend on her.     Will not your honours bear me company?   BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will;     And I have heard it said unbidden guests     Are often welcomest when they are gone.   TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,     I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.     Come hither, Captain.  [Whispers]   You perceive my mind?   CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.           Exeunt                                  SCENE 3.                        AUVERGNE. The Castle                 Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER    COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;     And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.   PORTER. Madam, I will.   COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,     I shall as famous be by this exploit.     As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.     Great is the rumour 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.    MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd,     By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come.   COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?   MESSENGER. Madam, it is.   COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France?     Is this 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 writhled shrimp     Should strike such terror to his enemies.   TALBOT. 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.              [Going]   COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he     goes.   MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves     To know the cause of your abrupt departure.   TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,     I go to certify her Talbot's here.                        Re-enter PORTER With keys    COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.   TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?   COUNTESS. 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 thy 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.   TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha!   COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to     moan.   TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond     To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow     Whereon to practise your severity.   COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?   TALBOT. I am indeed.   COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.   TALBOT. 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     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 't.   COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;     He will be here, and yet he is not here.     How can these contrarieties agree?   TALBOT. That will I show you presently.                     Winds his horn; drums strike up;                   a peal of ordnance. 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.   COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.     I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,     And more than may be gathered 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.   TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster     The mind of Talbot as you did mistake     The outward composition of his body.     What you have done hath not offended me.     Nor other satisfaction do I crave     But only, with your patience, that we may     Taste of your wine and see what cates you have,     For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.   COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured     To feast so great a warrior in my house.              Exeunt                                 SCENE 4.                     London. The Temple garden           Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;            RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER    PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this     silence?     Dare no man answer in a case of truth?   SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;     The garden here is more convenient.   PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;     Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?   SUFFOLK. 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.   SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.   WARWICK. 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.   PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:     The truth appears so naked on my side     That any purblind eye may find it out.   SOMERSET. 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.   PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,     In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.     Let him that is a true-born gentleman     And stands upon the honour of his birth,     If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,     From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.   SOMERSET. 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.   WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour     Of base insinuating flattery,     I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.   SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset,     And say withal I think he held the right.   VERNON. 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.   SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;     If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.   PLANTAGENET. And I.   VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,     I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,     Giving my verdict on the white rose side.   SOMERSET. 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.   VERNON. 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.   SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else?   LAWYER.  [To Somerset]  Unless my study and my books be     false,     The argument you held was wrong in you;     In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.   PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?   SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that     Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.   PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our     roses;     For pale they look with fear, as witnessing     The truth on our side.   SOMERSET. 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.   PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?   SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?   PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;     Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.   SOMERSET. 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.   PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,     I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.   SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.   PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and     thee.   SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.   SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole!     We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.   WARWICK. 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 yeomen from so deep a root?   PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege,     Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.   SOMERSET. 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.   PLANTAGENET. 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 ripened to my will.     For your partaker Pole, and you yourself,     I'll note you in my book of memory     To scourge you for this apprehension.     Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.   SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;     And know us by these colours for thy foes     For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.   PLANTAGENET. 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.   SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!     And so farewell until I meet thee next.                 Exit   SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious     Richard.                                                Exit   PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure     it!   WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house     Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament,     Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;     And if thou be not then created York,     I will not live to be accounted Warwick.     Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,     Against proud Somerset and William Pole,     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.   PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you     That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.   VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.   LAWYER. And so will I.   PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir.     Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say     This quarrel will drink blood another day.            Exeunt                                  SCENE 5.                         The Tower of London           Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS    MORTIMER. 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 burdening grief,     And pithless arms, like to a withered 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?   FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.     We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;     And answer was return'd that he will come.   MORTIMER. 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 honour 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    FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.   MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?   PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,     Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.   MORTIMER. 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?   PLANTAGENET. 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 us'd his lavish tongue     And did upbraid me with my father's death;     Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,     Else with the like I had requited him.     Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,     In honour of a true Plantagenet,     And for alliance sake, declare the cause     My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.   MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me     And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth     Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,     Was cursed instrument of his decease.   PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was,     For I am ignorant and cannot guess.   MORTIMER. 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 nephew 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,     Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.     The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this     Was, for that-young 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, 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 laboured 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 have 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.   PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.   MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,     And that my fainting words do warrant death.     Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;     But yet be wary in thy studious care.   PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.     But yet methinks my father's execution     Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.   MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;     Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster     And like a mountain not to be remov'd.     But now thy uncle is removing hence,     As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd     With long continuance in a settled place.   PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years     Might but redeem the passage of your age!   MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer     doth     Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.     Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;     Only give order for my funeral.     And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,     And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!          [Dies]   PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall 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 GAOLERS, hearing out the body of 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 offer'd to my house,     I doubt not but with honour to redress;     And therefore haste I to the Parliament,     Either to be restored to my blood,     Or make my ill th' advantage of my good.                Exit