King Henry VI, Part 1

Scanner's Notes:

What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.

Enter the Funerall of King Henry the Fift, attended on by the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke of Gloster, Protector; the Duke of Exeter Warwicke, the Bishop of Winchester, and the Duke of Somerset.

Bedford. Hung be y heauens with black, yield day to night; Comets importing change of Times and States, Brandish your crystall Tresses in the Skie, And with them scourge the bad reuolting Stars, That haue consented vnto Henries death: King Henry the Fift, too famous to liue long, England ne're lost a King of so much worth

Glost. England ne're had a King vntill his time: Vertue he had, deseruing to command, His brandisht Sword did blinde men with his beames, His Armes spred wider then a Dragons Wings: His sparkling Eyes, repleat with wrathfull fire, More dazled and droue back his Enemies, Then mid-day Sunne, fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his Deeds exceed all speech: He ne're lift vp his Hand, but conquered

Exe. We mourne in black, why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and neuer shall reuiue: Vpon a Woodden Coffin we attend; And Deaths dishonourable Victorie, We with our stately presence glorifie, Like Captiues bound to a Triumphant Carre. What? shall we curse the Planets of Mishap, That plotted thus our Glories ouerthrow? Or shall we thinke the subtile-witted French, Coniurers and Sorcerers, that afraid of him, By Magick Verses haue contriu'd his end

Winch. He was a King, blest of the King of Kings. Vnto the French, the dreadfull Iudgement-Day So dreadfull will not be, as was his sight. The Battailes of the Lord of Hosts he fought: The Churches Prayers made him so prosperous

Glost. The Church? where is it? Had not Church-men pray'd, His thred of Life had not so soone decay'd. None doe you like, but an effeminate Prince, Whom like a Schoole-boy you may ouer-awe

Winch. Gloster, what ere we like, thou art Protector, And lookest to command the Prince and Realme. Thy Wife is prowd, she holdeth thee in awe, More then God or Religious Church-men may

Glost. Name not Religion, for thou lou'st the Flesh, And ne're throughout the yeere to Church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes

Bed. Cease, cease these Iarres, & rest your minds in peace: Let's to the Altar: Heralds wayt on vs; In stead of Gold, wee'le offer vp our Armes, Since Armes auayle not, now that Henry's dead, Posteritie await for wretched yeeres, When at their Mothers moistned eyes, Babes shall suck, Our Ile be made a Nourish of salt Teares, And none but Women left to wayle the dead. Henry the Fift, thy Ghost I inuocate: Prosper this Realme, keepe it from Ciuill Broyles, Combat with aduerse Planets in the Heauens; A farre more glorious Starre thy Soule will make, Then Iulius CÊsar, or bright- Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My honourable Lords, health to you all: Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of losse, of slaughter, and discomfiture: Guyen, Champaigne, Rheimes, Orleance, Paris Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost

Bedf. What say'st thou man, before dead Henry's Coarse? Speake softly, or the losse of those great Townes Will make him burst his Lead, and rise from death

Glost. Is Paris lost? is Roan yeelded vp? If Henry were recall'd to life againe, These news would cause him once more yeeld the Ghost

Exe. How were they lost? what trecherie was vs'd? Mess. No trecherie, but want of Men and Money. Amongst the Souldiers this is muttered, That here you maintaine seuerall Factions: And whil'st a Field should be dispatcht and fought, You are disputing of your Generals. One would haue lingring Warres, with little cost; Another would flye swift, but wanteth Wings: A third thinkes, without expence at all, By guilefull faire words, Peace may be obtayn'd. Awake, awake, English Nobilitie, Let not slouth dimme your Honors, new begot; Cropt are the Flower-de-Luces in your Armes Of Englands Coat, one halfe is cut away

Exe. Were our Teares wanting to this Funerall, These Tidings would call forth her flowing Tides

Bedf. Me they concerne, Regent I am of France: Giue me my steeled Coat, Ile fight for France. Away with these disgracefull wayling Robes; Wounds will I lend the French, in stead of Eyes, To weepe their intermissiue Miseries. Enter to them another Messenger.

Mess. Lords view these Letters, full of bad mischance. France is reuolted from the English quite, Except some petty Townes, of no import. The Dolphin Charles is crowned King in Rheimes: The Bastard of Orleance with him is ioyn'd: Reynold, Duke of Aniou, doth take his part, The Duke of Alanson flyeth to his side. Enter.

Exe. The Dolphin crown'd King? all flye to him? O whither shall we flye from this reproach? Glost. We will not flye, but to our enemies throats. Bedford, if thou be slacke, Ile fight it out

Bed. Gloster, why doubtst thou of my forwardnesse? An Army haue I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is ouer-run. Enter another Messenger.

Mes. My gracious Lords, to adde to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henries hearse, I must informe you of a dismall fight, Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot, and the French

Win. What? wherein Talbot ouercame, is't so? 3.Mes. O no: wherein Lord Talbot was o'rethrown: The circumstance Ile tell you more at large. The tenth of August last, this dreadfull Lord, Retyring from the Siege of Orleance, Hauing full scarce six thousand in his troupe, By three and twentie thousand of the French Was round incompassed, and set vpon: No leysure had he to enranke his men. He wanted Pikes to set before his Archers: In stead whereof, sharpe Stakes pluckt out of Hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keepe the Horsemen off, from breaking in. More then three houres the fight continued: Where valiant Talbot, aboue humane thought, Enacted wonders with his Sword and Lance. Hundreds he sent to Hell, and none durst stand him: Here, there, and euery where enrag'd, he slew. The French exclaym'd, the Deuill was in Armes, All the whole Army stood agaz'd on him. His Souldiers spying his vndaunted Spirit, A Talbot, a Talbot, cry'd out amaine, And rusht into the Bowels of the Battaile. Here had the Conquest fully been seal'd vp, If Sir Iohn Falstaffe had not play'd the Coward. He being in the Vauward, plac't behinde, With purpose to relieue and follow them, Cowardly fled, not hauing struck one stroake. Hence grew the generall wrack and massacre: Enclosed were they with their Enemies. A base Wallon, to win the Dolphins grace, Thrust Talbot with a Speare into the Back, Whom all France, with their chiefe assembled strength, Durst not presume to looke once in the face

Bedf. Is Talbot slaine then? I will slay my selfe, For liuing idly here, in pompe and ease, Whil'st such a worthy Leader, wanting ayd, Vnto his dastard foe-men is betray'd

3.Mess. O no, he liues, but is tooke Prisoner, And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd, or tooke likewise

Bedf. His Ransome there is none but I shall pay. Ile hale the Dolphin headlong from his Throne, His Crowne shall be the Ransome of my friend: Foure of their Lords Ile change for one of ours. Farwell my Masters, to my Taske will I, Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keepe our great Saint Georges Feast withall. Ten thousand Souldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake

3.Mess. So you had need, for Orleance is besieg'd, The English Army is growne weake and faint: The Earle of Salisbury craueth supply, And hardly keepes his men from mutinie, Since they so few, watch such a multitude

Exe. Remember Lords your Oathes to Henry sworne: Eyther to quell the Dolphin vtterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoake

Bedf. I doe remember it, and here take my leaue, To goe about my preparation.

Exit Bedford.

Glost. Ile to the Tower with all the hast I can, To view th' Artillerie and Munition, And then I will proclayme young Henry King.