The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  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 Alençon, this was your default,

  That, being captain of the watch tonight,

  Did look no better to that weighty charge.

  ALENÇON

  Had all your quarters been as safely kept

  As that whereof I had the government,

  We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

  BASTARD

  Mine was secure.

  RENÉ 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 employed in passing to and fro

  About relieving of the sentinels.

  Then how or which way should they first break in?

  JOAN

  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, scattered and dispersed,

  And lay new platforms to endamage them.

  Alarum. Enter an English Soldier

  ENGLISH SOLDIER A Talbot! A Talbot!

  The French fly, leaving their clothes behind

  ENGLISH 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 with spoils

  2.2 Enter Lord Talbot, the Dukes of Bedford and Burgundy, a Captain, ⌈and soldiers⌉

  BEDFORD

  The day begins to break and night is fled,

  Whose pitchy mantle overveiled the earth.

  Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.

  Retreat is sounded

  TALBOT

  Bring forth the body of old Salisbury

  And here advance it in the market place,

  The middle centre of this cursed town.

  ⌈Exit one or more⌉

  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 tonight.

  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 interred—

  Upon the which, that everyone may read,

  Shall be engraved the sack of Orléans,

  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,

  Roused 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 scared 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 unto a peaceful comic sport,

  When ladies crave to be encountered 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 overruled.—

  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, atone—since there’s no remedy—

  I mean to prove this lady’s courtesy.

  Come hither, captain.

  He whispers

  You perceive my mind?

  CAPTAIN

  I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

  Exeunt ⌈severally⌉

  2.3 Enter the Countess of Auvergne 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. Exit

  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 Lord Talbot

  MESSENGER

  Madam, according as your ladyship desired,

  By message craved, 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 the Talbot, so much feared 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 seely 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.

  He is going

  COUNTESS (to Messenger)

  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.

  Enter Porter with keys

  COUNTESS

  If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

  TALBOT

  Prisoner? To whom?

  COUNTESS To me, bloodthirsty lord;

  And for that cause I trained thee to my h
ouse.

  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 deceived; 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.

  He winds his horn. Within, drums strike up; a peal of ordnance. Enter English 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 dismayed, 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

  2.4 A rose brier. Enter Richard Plantagenet, the Earl of Warwick, the Duke of Somerset, William de la Pole (the Earl of Suffolk), Vernon, and a Lawyer

  RICHARD 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.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  Then say at once if I maintained 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 judgement;

  But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,

  Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

  RICHARD 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 apparelled,

  So clear, so shining, and so evident,

  That it will glimmer through a blind man’s eye.

  RICHARD 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 briar pluck a white rose with me.

  He plucks a white rose

  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.

  He plucks a red rose

  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 from the tree are cropped

  Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

  SOMERSET

  Good Master Vernon, it is well objected.

  If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

  RICHARD 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

  Unless my study and my books be false,

  The argument you held was wrong in law;

  In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  Now Somerset, where is your argument?

  SOMERSET

  Here in my scabbard, meditating that

  Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

  RICHARD 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.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

  SOMERSET

  Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

  RICHARD 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.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,

  I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

  SUFFOL
K

  Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

  RICHARD 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?

  RICHARD 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 restored thou art a yeoman.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  My father was attached, not attainted;

  Condemned 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 warned.

  SOMERSET

  Ah, 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.

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,

  As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,

  Will I forever, 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 choked with thy ambition.

  And so farewell until I meet thee next. Exit

  SOMERSET

  Have with thee, Pole.—Farewell, ambitious Richard.

  Exit

  RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  How I am braved, and must perforce endure it!

  WARWICK