University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE, The French Camp.
King of France, Dauphin, Duke of Orleans, as in Councell.
French King.
Cousin of Orleans, is their March confirm'd?

Orl.
'Tis certain they have pass'd the River Soam,
And Fear may teach us, from our late Examples,
That we can never be too provident;
For England her Approaches makes, as fierce,
As Currents to the sucking of a Gulph.

Dau.
That we so timely arm'd was well advis'd,
For Peace itself shou'd never sleep so soundly,
Tho' no fear'd War, or Quarrel, were in Question,
But that Defence, and warlike Preparation,
Shou'd, at due Distance, awe the Eye of Boldness:
The present Cause, however, gives no Fear,
For Harebrain'd England is so idly King'd,
Her Scepter so fantastically borne,
By a vain, giddy, shallow, homourous, Youth,
That Danger dwells not in her Menaces.

Orl.
I doubt, Prince Dauphin! we mistake this King;
Question your Grace the late Embassadors,
With what grave State he heard, and answer'd them:
How well supply'd with noble Councellours,
How cautious in Exception; but, withal,
How terrible in constant Resolution!
And You shall find, his youthful Vanities
But cloath'd Discretion with a Coat of Folly;
As skilful Gard'ners thickest earth the Plants,
Which shou'd, first, shoot, and rise most delicate.

Dau.
Well! 'tis scarce so, my Lord of Orleans!
But let us think it so, it is no matter!
In Causes of Defence, 'tis best to weigh
The Enemy, more mighty, than he seems.

Fr. King.
Be it as 'twill; think we King Harry strong;
And, Princes! look, ye strongly arm, to meet him;
The Kindred of Him have been flesh'd upon us;
And He is bred out of that bloody Strain,
That haunted us in our familiar Paths:
Witness our much too memorable Shame,
When mangled France groan'd loud, at Cressy's Field,
And Horror, circling thence, o'ershadow'd All.

Enter Duke of Bourbon.
Bour.
The Duke of Exeter, from England's King,
Asks Audience of Your Majesty.

Fr. King.
Say, Cousin Bourbon, how near our Camp they lie?

Bour.
So near, that Exeter this Morning left 'em.

Fr. King.
You see, this Chace is hotly follow'd, Friends!

Dau.
Turn Head, and stop Pursuit then—Coward Dogs
Most spend their Mouths when, what they threaten, runs
Farthest before them—Good my Sovereign!
Take up the English short, and let them know
Of what a Monarchy You are the Head;
Self-Love was never half so vile a Sin,
As Self-neglecting;—If they be not fought withall,
Let us not live in France; Let us quit All,
And give our Vineyards to a barbarous People.

Fr. King.
'Tis strange, methinks, that a few Sprays of us,
Our Syens on a wild, and savage Stock,
Shou'd shoot thus suddenly into the Clouds,
And overtop their Grafters.

Bour.
Bastard Normans!
Death to the Fame of France, if they march on,
And are not met, and fought, I'll sell my Dukedom.

Fr. King.
Admit the Duke: We'll give him present Audience.

[Exit Bourbon.
Dau.
Shame of Arms!
Whence is it that these English have their Mettle?
Is not their Climate foggy, raw, and dull?
Does not the Sun, in spite, look pale upon them?
Can their boil'd Water, muddy Barley Broth,
Inspire their Blood with such a warlike Heat?
And shall ours, spirited with Wine, be frosty?
Oh! for the Honour of our blushing Country!
Let us not hang like roping Isicles,
Fix'd to our House's Thatch, while this cold People
Sweat in our Sun, and fatten on our Shame.

Fr. King.
Be not too rash—a Kingdom's Care requires
Sedate Advice, and cool Resolves, in Danger.

Dau.
Your Pardon, Royal Sir! by Faith, and Honour,
Our Madams mock us, and, in plain Terms, say,
Our Mettle is worn out; and that these English,
Men of more promising, and active Mould,
Must new-store France with bastard Warriours;
They bid us to the English dancing Schools,
And teach la Valta's high, and swift Curranto's:
For all our Grace, they say, is in our Heels,
And that we are most lofty Runaways!

Enter Duke of Exeter, conducted by Bourbon, attended by Harriet, and other English.
Fr. King.
What would our Brother of England?

Exe.
He greets You, Sir;
And wills You to divest your borrow'd Glories;
Namely the Crown, and all the wide-stretch'd Honours,
Annex'd by Custom, and the Growth of Time,
To the fam'd Throne of France, with all her Dukedoms;
And that you may not stile it an old Claim,
From the dry Dust of dark Oblivion rak'd,
He sends you this most memorable Line;
There, when you have o'erlook'd his Pedigree,
From the Third Edward evenly deriv'd,
He, from your Justice, hopes the Resignation
Of your large Kingdom, indirectly held
From Him, the Native, and True Challenger:
This is His Claim, and here my Purpose ends,
Unless the Dauphin be in Presence—To Him
I bring a separate Greeting.

Dau.
For the Dauphin
I stand to answer;—What to Him from England?

Exe.
Defiance, slight Regard, Contempt, or any Thing,
Which may not misbecome the mighty Sender;
If, by the Grant of all Demands at large,
You not attone your late presumptuous Insult,
He'll call You to so hot an Answer of it,
That France shall tremble for Her Prince's Folly.

Dau.
Tell the too Proud Invader, that our Arms
Cou'd, at lost Harfleur's Gate, have check'd his Rashness;
But 'tis held wise to wait an Injury's Ripeness—
And then to bruise it—Harry's a Man of Health,
But his poor Realm will sicken at this War,
And his Exchequer die of a Consumption,
Catch'd, in repaying France her little Losses.

Exe.
There let it rest—our King in Person comes.
Act as you speak, and he'll forgive you all.

Fr. King.
We will in Counsell weigh th'important Message,
And you shall be dispatch'd with fair Conditions.

[Exeunt Omnes, but the Dauphin, and Harriet.
Dau.
What new Discovery makes the friendly Scroop,
That brings my little Hermes back so suddenly?

Har.
Great Prince, your English Friends commend them to you:
The Gold, your Bounty's Pledge, they have receiv'd,
And, with due Thanks, accept the Princely Favour;
Warmly inspir'd with Zeal for Peace, and You:
Their earnest Care is bless'd, by full Detection
Of a base Plot, to shake your Country's Quiet,
With the deceitful Hand of feign'd Accord.

Dau.
Come to my Arms, thou more than manly Spirit!
Dress'd in a Woman's Softness! why, Thou Charmer!
Thou Angel of a Traitor! what a Treasure
Of Honour and Reward does All France owe Thee!
Say, my Endymion! my Adonis! tell me,
What wou'd thy Country do?—Can Englishmen
Be Plotters?—Policy, and They, of old,
Convers'd, like Strangers; Good, rough, heavy Meanings,
Plain Truths, and sturdy Blows, were what they dealt in;
If they turn Statesmen, 'twill, indeed, concern us.

Har.
I am to urge your Highness's Consent,
That you wou'd hear my Message in the Presence
Of your illustrious Sister.

Dau.
My Sister? Does it then concern the Marriage?

Har.
It does surprizingly.

Dau.
By Heaven, it pleases me; I'll bring Thee to Her.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the Princess's Pavilion.
The Princess, and Charlot.
Prin.
No, no, my Charlot! I disdain the Motive;
Love is a Flame, too bright, too clear, to burn
As Interests bids it;—What imports it me,
That coward France can shake at sudden Danger?
What are my Father's Fears to my Affections?
Shall I, because this hotbrain'd King of England
Sweeps o'er our Land with War, and Devastation,
Shall I, for That, grow fond of the Destroyer?
Smile at the Waste of his unpunish'd Insolence,
Throw myself Headlong into hostile Arms,
And sell my Peace of Mind, to save my Country?
Rather shall Death possess me, than this Harry.

Char.
O! who can blame you for so just an Anger!
How could your Royal Father think such Ruin?
Such Blasts to nip your Joy?—what! cross the Ocean,
To waste your lovely Youth in a cold Island,
Cloudy, and dull! cut off from all Mankind,
Stormy, and various, as the People's Temper!
While the wide Continent is fill'd with Kings,
Who court your Beauty, and wou'd die to please you.

Prin.
Am I, because they call my Father Sovereign,
To be the Slave, the Property, of France?
Can nothing buy their Peace, but my Undoing?
How nobler were it to quell Rage with Fury!
In Arms to check the bold Invader's Pride,
Meet Storm with Storm, and buckle in a Whirlwind?
Then, if the dire Event swept me away,
My Ruin, tho' 'twere dreadful, would be glorious:
But to hold out a Proffer of my Person,
Poorly, and at a Distance! Hang me out,
Like a shook Flagg of Truce!—oh! 'tis a Meanness,
That shames Ambition, and makes Pride look pale!
Where is the boasted Strength of Manhood, now?
Sooner than stoop to This, were mine the Scepter,
I wou'd turn Amazon;—My Softness hid
In glittering Steel, and my plum'd Helmet nodding
With terrible Adornment, I wou'd meet
This Henry with a Flame more fierce than Love:

Enter Dauphin and Harriet.
Dau.
How's this, my Sister? Fir'd with Rage, and Menace?
What hapless Object has inspir'd this Transport?

Prin.
The Kingdom, Brother; Is it then a wonder,
That I, with due Disdain, receive the News,
That I am doom'd your Victim?

Dau.
You have Reason,
'Tis on that Subject, I would gladly speak,
And wish your private Ear.

[Exit Charlot.
Dau.
This gentle Youth,
Th'experienc'd Friend of France, brings some Discovery,
Which nearly touching your lov'd Interest, moves me
To hear th'important Message in your Presence.

Har.
Oh! matchless Pattern of imperial Beauty!
That Heaven, that gave you Charms, protects 'em strongly:
Your Royal Father, the known Friend of Peace,
Still nobly anxious for his Country's Safety,
Sent a late Embassy, and offer'd You:
You, fam'd for Beauty! You, much more a Princess
By your distinguish'd Charms, than by your Birth.

Prin.
'Tis well, young Orator! Flattery, I find,
Is of your Island's Growth; so warm a Vice
Cou'd not, I thought, have brook'd so raw a Climate.

Dau.
On with thy Tale;—If Flattery is a Sin,
Her Mercy has been taught to give it Pardon.

Har.
I need not tell you how our stubborn Monarch,
Safe in blind Distance, and a Stranger yet
To those all-conquering Eyes, refus'd the Offer;
Refus'd a Gem, whose countless Value, known,
Will make Refusal its own Punishment:
Yet 'twas refus'd.—But when th'Ambassadors
Were, with severe Defiance, sent away,
Henry a sudden Council call'd together;
In which, forgetful of his boasted Plainness,
That open, honest, Heart, he would lay Claim to:
He told his Lords, and gain'd their joint Concurrence,
That, when advanc'd still farther into France,
When Fire, and Sword shou'd spread his Fame before Him,
Means wou'd be found to close with courted Peace,
And wed the Princess with improv'd Conditions;
'Tis true, he cry'd, I hate Her, for her Race,
But what has Love to do in Prince's Weddings?
The Match will serve to lull their Arms asleep;
And, when that fair Occasion smiles upon me,
I'll seize th'unguarded Kingdom—

Dau.
Why, 'tis well!
Forewarn'd by this Intelligence, we'll match Him
With Treasons, which become a Man's Designing:
He weaves the Web too course; not every Will
Is fram'd for Mischief—Policy requires
Spirit, and Thought! mere Blood and Bone can't reach it.

Prin.
You, Brother, may content yourself with That;
But I not brook so well the Shame design'd me;
I am, on Both Sides, then, the Toy of State!
One King's Condition, and the other's Engine!
The Tool, which Harry's Treason is to work with!
Whence shall I borrow Rage to speak my Anger?
O! aid me, all ye Stings of Indignation!
Lend me thy Gall, thou bitter-hearted Jealousy!
And every Fury, that can lash, assist me!
What will my Peacefull Father say to this?
Yes! He has chosen nobly for his Daughter!
Charles has a generous Son-in-Law in Harry:
O France! what lazy Frost has chill'd your Blood?
Where is that Pride of Arms, that boasted Courage,
Which your vain Tongues are swell'd with?—Where's the Soul,
That, in the warlike, Gauls, your glorious Ancestors!
Shook the proud World, and sham'd the Roman Cæsars?
If there remains the Shadow of past Glory,
If any Spark yet glimmers in your Breasts,
Of your once furious Fire, Go, down upon Him;
Scatter his Army, like the Wind-driven Sands,
Seize him alive, and bring him me a Prisoner.

Dauph.
Prithee, no more of this vain, Woman's, Raving;
What we can do, we will:—But, for the Marriage;
Spite of this new-given Argument, I fear,
My Father's Love of Peace will force it forward.

Prin.
Sooner shall the two Kingdoms join their Cliffs,
And, rushing with a sudden Bound, together,
Dash the dividing Sea, to wash the Clouds.

Har.
What I have said, Your Highnesses will hold
As a fair Proof, however else unwelcome,
That you have watchful Agents;—well they know
The faithless Henry's Love of Change, and Roving;
And, when they thought, with Pity, on the Crowds,
The countless Crowds, of Beautys, He has ruin'd,
Then scorn'd, and left, for new ones, they grew sad,
And, sighing, told each other, 'twere a Shame,
The lovely Princess shou'd be match'd so ill!

Enter Duke of Bourbon.
Bour.
Prince Dauphin! our Designs miscarry widely;
Your needful Presence, only, can support us:
The King, hem'd in with cringing Parasites,
Debates, what Answer shou'd be sent to Henry:
And seems determin'd to propose an Interview
With England's King, a shameful Interview!
To urge this Match!

Har.
O, Madam, strive to cross it;
Or you are lost for ever!—Henry's Eye,
Shou'd he once see You, will reform his Will,
And he'll forego the Crown, to conquer You.

Dauph.
Tarry, till I return, with swift Instruction,
What Answer you shall bear our English Friends.

[Exeunt Dauphin and Bourbon.
Prin.
—What! and no more, than so? gone thus, and left me
Distracted, unassur'd, and torn with Terrors?
O! perish all the wily Aims of Policy!
These Statesmen's Craft confounds the tortur'd World:
And Truth, and Innocence, are hunted by them.
O! hard Condition ours! twin-born with Greatness!
What infinite Heart's Ease does high Birth lose,
That the low World enjoys!—and what boast we,
Save Ceremony, which low Life has not too?
And, what art Thou? thou, Idol Ceremony?
What else, but Place? Degree? and empty Form?
What drink'st thou of, instead of Homage sweet,
But poison'd Flattery?—O! be sick, vain Greatness,
And bid thy Ceremony give thee Cure?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the Beggar's Knee,
Command the Health of it?—No, thou proud Dream!
Laid in thy high-rais'd, and majestick Bed,
Thou sleep'st less soundly, than the wretched Slave;
Who, with full Body, and a vacant Mind,
Gets him to Rest, cram'd with distressful Bread,
Never sees horrid Night, that Child of Hell!
But sweats in the Sun's Eye, from Rise to Set,
And follows so the ever-rolling Year,
With profitable Labour to his Grave!
And, but for Ceremony, such a Wretch,
Winding up Days with Toil, and Nights with Sleep,
Has greatly the Advantage of a King!
But I neglect the Stranger—Gentle Youth!
Forgive me, that my Sorrows, breaking o'er me,
Half drown'd Remembrance of the Thanks, I owe You;
Why look you sad?—does any Grief oppress you?

Har.
Alas! great Princess! Grief, and I, have, long,
Too long! been join'd—Perhaps, 'twou'd tire your Ear,
To amuse you with a Tale of private Woe;
Else, I cou'd melt your Pity into Tears,
And force some Sighs, to honour my Distresses:
I have a Sister—Ah! no—I had a Sister!
Whom flattering Lovers call'd her Sex's Wonder!
Deceitfull Henry saw, and, seeing, lov'd Her:
He knelt—he swore—he pray'd—he sigh'd—he threatned—
Like Heaven, he promis'd Joys, beyond expressing:
My Sister, long resisting, felt, at last,
The rising Passion swell her struggling Soul;
The kindled Fire grew stronger by Resistance,
And warm'd her slow Desire to yielding Ruin:
There broke the Charm—the fancied Treasure vanish'd,
And bitter Penitence, and conscious Guilt,
Became the gnawing Vultures of her Bosom;
The treacherous Prince no longer vow'd a Passion,
But basely shun'd the Wretchedness, he caus'd.

Prin.
See if the tender Creature does not weep!
Alas! thy mournful Story fills my Heart,
With Grief, almost as powerfull as thy own;
Trust me, 'twas base in Henry, thus to leave Her.

Har.
O, Princess! He's a general, known, Deceiver!
Far may your Fate divide you from his Wiles!
I cou'd swell Time, and wear away the Sun,
In dismal Stories of his perjur'd Loves.

Re-enter the Dauphin.
Dau.
Curses unnumber'd blast the cank'ry Breath
Of yon vile Sycophants!—I came too late;
The mean Resolve was past;—My Arts prevail'd not:
The two Kings meet, and all my Hopes are Air.

Har.
Something must be resolv'd, that may prevent
This dangerous Treaty, or you're lost for ever.

Dau.