The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

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 marketplace, 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 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 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 trueborn 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?