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 prosp'rous be!

Enter Chorus.

[Exeunt.

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,

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.

[Exeunt.