University of Virginia Library

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.