And your great Uncle, Edward the black Prince,
Who on the French Ground play'd a Tragedy,
Making defeat on the full Power of France:
Whiles his moft Mighty Father on a Hill,
Stood fmiling, to behold his Lion's Whelp
Forage in Blood of French Nobility.
Onoble English, that could entertain,
With half their Forces, the full Pride of France
And let another half ftand laughing by,
And out of work, and cold for action.
Ely. Awake remembrance of thefe valiant dead,
And with your puiffant Arm renew their Feats;
You are their Heir, you fit upon their Throne:
The Blood and Courage that renowned them,
Runs in your Veins; and my thrice puiffant Liege
Is in the very May-Mora of his Youth,
Ripe for Exploits and mighty Enterprises.
Exe. Your Brother Kings and Monarchs of the Earth
Do all expect, that you should rouze your felf,
As did the former Lions of your Blood.
Weft. They know your Grace hath cause, and means; and s
So hath your Highness, never King of England
Had Nobles richer, and more loyal Subjects,
Whose Hearts have left their Bodies here in England,
And lye pavillion'd in the Field of France.
Cant. Olet their Bodies follow, my dear Liege, With Blood, and Sword, and Fire, to win your Right: In aid whereof, we of the Spirituality
Will raife your Highnefs fuch a mighty Sum,
As never did the Clergy, at one time,
Bring in to any of your Ancestors.
K. Henry. We must not only arm t'invade the French But lay down our Proportions, to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us,
Cant. They of thofe Marches, gracious Soveraign,
Shall be a Wall fufficient to defend
Our Inland from the pilfering Borderers.
K. Hepry. We do not mean the courfing Snatchers only But fear the main intendment of the Scot
Who hath been still a giddy Neighbour to us:
For you fhall read, that my great Grandfather
Never went with his Forces into France,
But that the Scot, on his unfurnisht Kingdom
Came pouring like a Tide into a Breach,
With ample and brim fulness of his Force,
Galling the gleaned Land with hot aflays,
Girding with grievous Siege, Caftles and Towns;
That England being empty of defence,
Hath fhook and trembled at th' ill Neighbourhood.
Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my
For hear her but exampled by her self,
When all her Chivalry hath been in France,
And the a mourning Widow of her Nobles,
She hath her felf not only well defended,
But taken and impounded as a Stray,
The King of Scots; whom he did fend to France,
To fill King Edward's Fame with Prifoner Kings,
And make his Chronicle as rich with praise,
As is the Ouzy bottom of the Sea
With funken Wrack, and fum-lefs Treafuries.
Ely. But there's a Saying very old and true,
If that you will France win, then with Scotland first begin.
For once the Eagle, England, being in prey,
To her unguarded Neft, the Weazel, Scot,
Comes fneaking, and fo fucks her Princely Eggs,
Playing the Moufe in abfence of the Cat,
To tear and havock more than fhe can eat.
Exe. It follows then, the Cat must stay at home:
Yet that it is but a crush'd neceffity;
Since we have Locks to fafeguard Neceffaries,
And pretty Traps to catch the petty Thieves.
While that the armed Hand doth fight abroad,
Th'advised Head defends it felf at home:
For Government, though high, and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one confent,
Congreeing in a full and natural clofe,
Cant. Therefore doth Heav'n divide; o The state of Man in divers Functions,
Setting Endeavour in continual Motion:
To which is fixed, as an Aim or Butt,
Obedience; for fo work the Honey Bees,
Creatures that, by a Rule in Nature, teach
The Act of Order to a peopled Kingdom.
They have a King, and Officers of forts,
Where fome like Magiftrates correct at home:
Others, like Merchants, venture Trade abroad:
Others, like Soldiers armed in their Stings,
Make boot upon the Summer's Velvet buds:
Which Pillage, they with merry march bring home
To the Tent-Royal of their Emperor:
Who bufied in his Majefty, furveys
The finging Mafon building Roofs of Gold,
The civil Citizens kneading up the Honey;
The poor Mechanick Porters, crowding in
Their heavy Burthens at his narrow Gate:
The fad-ey'd Juftice, with his furly hum,
Delivering o'er to Executors pale
The lazy yawning Drone. I this infer,
That many things having full reference
To one confent, may work contrariously:
As many Arrows loofed feveral ways
Come to one mark: as many ways meet in one Town,
As many fresh Streams meet in one falt Sea;
As many Lines clofe in the Dial's center;
So may a thousand Actions once a-foot,
And in one purpose, and be all well born
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my Liege;
Divide your happy England into four,
Whereof, take you one quarter into France,
And you withal fhall make all Gallia shake,
If we with thrice fuch Powers left at home,
Cannot defend our own Doors from the Dog,
Let us be worried, and our Nation lofe
The name of hardiness and policy.
K. Henry. Call in the Meffenges fent from the Dauphin Now are we well refolv'd, and by God's help And yours, the noble Sinews of our Power; France being ours, we'll bend it to our Awe,
Or break it all to pieces. Or there we'll fit,
Ruling in large and ample Empery,
O'er France, and all her, almoft, Kingly Dukedoms,
Or lay thefe Bones in an unworthy Urn,
Tombless, with no remembrance over them;
Either our Hiftory fhall with full Mouth
Speak freely of our Acts, or else our Grave,
Like Turkif Mute, fhall have a Tongueless Mouth,
Not worshipt with a waxen Epitaph.
Enter Ambaffadors of France.
Now are we well prepar'd to know the Pleasure
Of our fair Coufin Dauphin; for we hear,
Your Greeting is from him, not from the King.
Amb. May't pleafe your Majefty to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in Charge:
Or fhall we fparingly fhew you far off
The Dauphin's Meaning, and our Embaffie.
K. Henry. We are no Tyrant, but a Chriftian King,
Unto whofe Grace our Paffion is as fubject,
As are our Wretches fetter'd in our Prifons:
Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainess,
Tell us the Dauphin's Mind.
Your Highness, lately fending into France,
Did claim fome certain Dukedoms, in the right
Of your great Predeceffor, King Edward the Third,
In anfwer of which Claim, the Prince our Mafter
Says that you favour too much of your Youth,
And bids you be advis'd: There's nought in France
That can be with a nimble Galliard won;
You cannot level into Dukedoms there:
He therefore fends you, meeter for your Spirit,
This Tun of Treasure; and in lieu of this,
Defires you let the Dukedoms that
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.
K Henry. What Treasure, Uncle ?
Exe. Tennis-balls, my Liege.
K. Henry. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us. His Prefent, and your Pains we thank you for;
When we have match'd our Rackets to these Balls,
We will in France, by God's Grace, play a set
Shall ftrike his Father's Crown into the Hazard.
Tell him he hath made a match with fuch a Wrangler,
That all the Courts of France will be disturb'd
With Chaces. And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder Days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valu'd this poor Seat of England,
And therefore living hence, did give our felf
To barbarous Licence; as 'tis ever common,
That Men are merrieft when they are from home
But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my State,
Be like a King, and fhew my Sail of Greatness,
When I do rowse me in my Throne of France.
For that I have laid by my Majefty,
And plodded like a Man for working Days;
But I will rife there with fo full a Glory,
That I will dazzle all the Eyes of France,
Yea ftrike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleafant Prince, this Mock of his
Hath turn'd his Balls to Gun-ftones, and his Soul
Shall ftand fore charged, for the wasteful Vengeance
That fhall fly with them: For many a thousand Widows s
Shall this his Mock mock out of their dear Husbands;
Mock Mothers from their Sons, mock Caftles down:
And fome are yet ungotten and unborn,
That fhall have cause to curfe the Dauphin's Scorn.
But this lies all within the Will of God,
To whom I do appeal, and in whose Name
Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on,
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful Hand in a well hallow'd cause.
So get you hence in Peace, and tell the Dauphin
His Jeft will favour but of fhallow Wit,
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
Convey them with fafe Conduct. Fare ye well.
Exe. This was a merry Meffage.
K. Henry. We hope to make the Sender blush at it: Therefore, my Lords, omit no happy hour,
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