Cho. Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:
Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse;
Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
With wingéd heels, as English Mercuries;
For now sits expectation in the air.
O England!—model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,—
What might’st thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills1
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,—
One, Richard earl of Cambridge;2 and the second,
Henry lord Scroop of Masham,3 and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,—
Have, for the gilt of France4 (O guilt, indeed!),
Confirm’d conspiracy with fearful France;(AA)
And by their hands this grace of kings5 must die,
(If hell and treason hold their promises,)
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
The back scene opens and discovers a tableau, representing the three conspirators receiving the bribe from the emissaries of France.
Linger your patience on; and well digest
The abuse of distance, while we force a play.6
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
The king is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton,—
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
We’ll not offend one stomach7 with our play.
But, till the king come forth, and not till then,8
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.
Exit.
Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland, discovered.
Bed. ’Fore Heaven, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.
West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves!
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.
Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,(A)
Whom he hath cloy’d and grac’d with princely favours,—
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign’s life to death and treachery!
Distant Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge, Grey, Lords and Attendants, U.E.L.H.
K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
My lord of Cambridge,—and my kind lord of Masham,—
And you, my gentle knight,—give me your thoughts:
Think you not, that the powers we bear with us
Will cut their passage through the force of France?
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
K. Hen. I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded
We carry not a heart with us from hence
That grows not in a fair consent with ours,1
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.
Cam. (R.) Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’d
Than is your majesty: there’s not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.
Grey. (R.) Even those that were your father’s enemies
Have steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you
With hearts create2 of duty and of zeal.
K.Hen. (C.) We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;
And shall forget the office of our hand,
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit
According to the weight and worthiness.
Uncle of Exeter, R.
Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
That rail’d against our person: we consider
It was excess of wine that set him on;
And, on his more advice,3 we pardon him.
Scroop. (R.) That’s mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punish’d, sovereign; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful.
Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too.
Grey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life,
After the taste of much correction.
K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch!4
If little faults, proceeding on distemper,5
Shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye6
When capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested,
Appear before us?—We’ll yet enlarge that man,
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey,—in their dear care
And tender preservation of our person,—
Would have him punish’d. And now to our French causes:
All take their places at Council table.
Who are the late Commissioners?7
Cam. R. of table. I one, my lord:
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.
Scroop. R. of table. So did you me, my liege.
Grey. R. of table. And me, my royal sovereign.
K. Hen. Then, Richard earl of Cambridge, there is yours;—
There yours, lord Scroop of Masham;—and, sir knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:—
Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.—
My lord of Westmoreland,—and uncle Exeter,—
L. of table.
We will aboard to-night. Conspirators start from their places.
Why, how now, gentlemen!
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion?—look ye, how they change!
Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there,
That hath so cowarded and chas’d your blood
Out of appearance?
Cam.
I do confess my fault;
And do submit me to your highness’ mercy.
Falling on his knees.
|
Grey. Scroop. |
To which we all appeal. Kneeling. |
K. Hen. rising; all the Lords rise with the King. The mercy that was quick8 in us but late,
By your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d:
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy.
See you, my princes and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here,—
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d,
And sworn unto the practises of France,
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is,—hath likewise sworn.—But, O,
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop? thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!
Thou that did’st bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew’st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost might’st have coin’d me into gold,
May it be possible, that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange,
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross9
As black from white,10 my eye will scarcely see it;
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man.—Their faults are open:
Arrest them to the answer of the law;—
Exeter goes to door U.E.L.H, and calls on the Guard.
And Heaven acquit them of their practises!
Exe. comes down, R.C. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry lord Scroop of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.
Scroop. R., kneeling. Our purposes Heaven justly hath discover’d;
And I repent my fault more than my death.
Cam. R., kneeling. For me,—the gold of France did not seduce;(B)
Although I did admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended:
But Heaven be thanked for prevention;
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,11
Beseeching Heaven and you to pardon me.
Grey. R. kneeling. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason
Than I do at this hour joy o’er myself,
Prevented from a damned enterprize:
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
K. Hen. (C.) Heaven quit you in its mercy! Hear your sentence.
You have conspir’d against our royal person,
Join’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers
Receiv’d the golden earnest of our death;
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
His princes and his peers to servitude,
His subjects to oppression and contempt,
And his whole kingdom into desolation.
Touching our person, seek we no revenge;(C)
But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender,12
Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Get you, therefore, hence,
Poor miserable wretches, to your death:
The taste whereof, Heaven of its mercy give you
Patience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dear offences!13—Bear them hence.
Conspirators rise and exeunt guarded, with Exeter.
Now, Lords, for France; the enterprize whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
Since Heaven so graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way.
Then, forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver
Our puissance14 into the hand of Heaven,
Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:(D)
No king of England, if not king of France.
Exeunt, U.E.L.H.
Trumpets sound.
Enter the French King,15 attended; the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and Others,(E) L.H.
Fr. King. (C.) Thus come the English with full power upon us;
And more than carefully it us concerns16
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Bretagne,
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,—
And you, Prince Dauphin,—with all swift despatch,
To line and new repair our towns of war
With men of courage and with means defendant.
Dau. (R.C.)
My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe:
And let us do it with no show of fear;
No, with no more than if we heard that England
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance:
For, my good liege, she is so idly king’d,
Her sceptre so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not.
Con. (L.C.)
O peace, prince Dauphin
You are too much mistaken in this king:
With what great state he heard our embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception,17 and withal
How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities fore-spent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
Dau. Well, ’tis not so, my lord high constable;
But though we think it so, it is no matter:
In cases of defence ’tis best to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he seems:
So the proportions of defence are fill’d.
Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong;
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.
The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us;
And he is bred out of that bloody strain18
That haunted us19 in our familiar paths:
Witness our too much memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck,
And all our princes captiv’d by the hand
Of that black name, Edward, black prince of Wales;
Whiles that his mountain sire,—on mountain standing,
Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,—20
Saw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him
Mangle the work of nature, and deface
The patterns that by Heaven and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him.21
Enter Montjoy,22 L.H., and kneels C. to the King.
Mont. Ambassadors from Henry King of England
Do crave admittance to your majesty.
Fr. King. We’ll give them present audience. Montjoy rises from his knee. Go, and bring them.
Exeunt Montjoy, and certain Lords, L.H.
You see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends.
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs
Most spend their mouths,23 when what they seem to threaten
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
Take up the English short; and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head:
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.
French King takes his seat on Throne, R.
Re-enter Montjoy, Lords, with Exeter and Train, L.H.
Fr. King.
From our brother England?
Exe. (L.C.) From him; and thus he greets your majesty.
He wills you, in the awful name of Heaven,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrow’d glories, that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, ’long
To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown,
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain,
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may know
’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,
Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d,
He sends you this most memorable line,24
Gives a paper to Montjoy, who delivers it kneeling to the King.
In every branch truly demonstrative;
Willing you overlook this pedigree:
And when you find him evenly deriv’d
From his most fam’d of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him the native and true challenger.
Fr. King. Or else what follows?
Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove.
(That, if requiring fail, he will compel):
This is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message;
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further:
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.
Montjoy rises, and retires to R.
Dau. R. of throne. For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him: What to him from England?
Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king: an if your father’s highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,
He’ll call you to so hot an answer for it,
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass,25 and return your mock
In second accent of his ordnance.
Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply,
It is against my will; for I desire
Nothing but odds with England: to that end,
As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with those Paris balls.
Exe. He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it:
And, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference
Between the promise of his greener days
And these he masters now: now he weighs time,
Even to the utmost grain: which you shall read26
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay;
For he is footed in this land already.
Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch’d with fair conditions:
Montjoy crosses to the English party.
A night is but small breath and little pause
To answer matters of this consequence.
English party exit, with Montjoy and others, L.H. French Lords group round the King.
Trumpets sound.
(AA)
These corrupted men,——
One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second,
Henry lord Scroop of Masham; and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland,—
Have for the guilt of France (O, guilt, indeed!)
Confirm’d conspiracy with fearful France.
About the end of July, Henry’s ambitious designs received a momentary check from the discovery of a treasonable conspiracy against his person and government, by Richard, Earl of Cambridge, brother of the Duke of York; Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham, the Lord Treasurer; and Sir Thomas Grey, of Heton, knight. The king’s command for the investigation of the affair, was dated on the 21st of that month, and a writ was issued to the Sheriff of Southampton, to assemble a jury for their trial; and which on Friday, the 2nd of August, found that on the 20th of July, Richard, Earl of Cambridge, and Thomas Grey, of Heton, in the County of Northumberland, knight, had falsely and traitorously conspired to collect a body of armed men, to conduct Edmund, Earl of March,* to the frontiers of Wales, and to proclaim him the rightful heir to the crown, in case Richard II. was actually dead; but they had solicited Thomas Frumpyngton, who personated King Richard, Henry Percy, and many others from Scotland to invade the realm, that they had intended to destroy the King, the Duke of Clarence, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Gloucester, with other lords and great men; and that Henry, Lord Scroop, of Masham, consented to the said treasonable purposes, and concealed the knowledge of them from the king. On the same day the accused were reported by Sir John Popham, Constable of the Castle of Southampton, to whose custody they had been committed, to have confessed the justice of the charges brought against them, and that they threw themselves on the king’s mercy; but Scroop endeavoured to extenuate his conduct, by asserting that his intentions were innocent, and that he appeared only to acquiesce in their designs to be enabled to defeat them. The Earl and Lord Scroop having claimed the privilege of being tried by the peers, were remanded to prison, but sentence of death in the usual manner was pronounced against Grey, and he was immediately executed; though, in consequence of Henry having dispensed with his being drawn and hung, he was allowed to walk from the Watergate to the Northgate of the town of Southampton, where he was beheaded. A commission was soon afterwards issued, addressed to the Duke of Clarence, for the trial of the Earl of Cambridge and Lord Scroop: this court unanimously declared the prisoners guilty, and sentence of death having been denounced against them, they paid the forfeit of their lives on Monday, the 5th of August. In consideration of the earl being of the blood royal, he was merely beheaded; but to mark the perfidy and ingratitude of Scroop, who had enjoyed the king’s utmost confidence and friendship, and had even shared his bed, he commanded that he should be drawn to the place of execution, and that his head should be affixed on one of the gates of the city of York. —Nicolas’s History of the Battle of Agincourt.
(A) ——the man that was his bedfellow,] So, Holinshed: “The said Lord Scroop was in such favour with the king, that he admitted him sometimes to be his bedfellow.” The familiar appellation, of bedfellow, which appears strange to us, was common among the ancient nobility. There is a letter from the sixth Earl of Northumberland (still preserved in the collection of the present duke), addressed “To his beloved cousin, Thomas Arundel,” &c., which begins “Bedfellow, after my most hasté recommendation.” —Steevens.
This unseemly custom continued common till the middle of the last century, if not later. Cromwell obtained much of his intelligence, during the civil wars, from the mean men with whom he slept. —Malone.
After the battle of Dreux, 1562, the Prince of Condé slept in the same bed with the Duke of Guise; an anecdote frequently cited, to show the magnanimity of the latter, who slept soundly, though so near his greatest enemy, then his prisoner. —Nares.
(B) For me,—the gold of France did not seduce;] Holinshed observes, “that Richard, Earl of Cambridge, did not conspire with the Lord Scroop and Thomas Grey, for the murdering of King Henry to please the French king, but only to the intent to exalt to the crown his brother-in-law Edmund, Earl of March, as heir to Lionel, Duke of Clarence; after the death of which Earl of March, for divers secret impediments not able to have issue, the Earl of Cambridge was sure that the crown should come to him by his wife, and to his children of her begotten; and therefore (as was thought), he rather confessed himself for need of money to be corrupted by the French king, than he would declare his inward mind, &c., which if it were espied, he saw plainly that the Earl of March should have tasted of the same cup that he had drunk, and what should have come to his own children he merely doubted, &c.”
A million of gold is stated to have been given by France to the conspirators.
Historians have, however, generally expressed their utter inability to explain upon what grounds the conspirators built their expectation of success; and unless they had been promised powerful assistance from France, the design seems to have been one of the most absurd and hopeless upon record. The confession of the Earl of Cambridge, and his supplication for mercy in his own hand writing, is in the British Museum.
(C) Touching our person, seek we no revenge;] This speech is taken from Holinshed:—
“Revenge herein touching my person, though I seek not; yet for the safeguard of my dear friends, and for due preservation of all sorts, I am by office to cause example to be showed: Get ye hence, therefore, you poor miserable wretches, to the receiving of your just reward, wherein God’s majesty give you grace of his mercy, and repentance of your heinous offences.”
(D) Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:] “The king went from his castle of Porchester in a small vessel to the sea, and embarking on board his ship, called The Trinity, between the ports of Southampton and Portsmouth, he immediately ordered that the sail should be set, to signify his readiness to depart.” “There were about fifteen hundred vessels, including about a hundred which were left behind. After having passed the Isle of Wight, swans were seen swimming in the midst of the fleet, which, in the opinion of all, were said to be happy auspices of the undertaking. On the next day, the king entered the mouth of the Seine, and cast anchor before a place called Kidecaus, about three miles from Harfleur, where he proposed landing.” —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.
The departure of Henry’s army on this occasion, and the separation between those who composed it and their relatives and friends, is thus described by Drayton, who was born in 1563, and died in 1631:—
There might a man have seen in every street,
The father bidding farewell to his son;
Small children kneeling at their father’s feet:
The wife with her dear husband ne’er had done:
Brother, his brother, with adieu to greet:
One friend to take leave of another, run;
The maiden with her best belov’d to part,
Gave him her hand who took away her heart.
The nobler youth the common rank above,
On their curveting coursers mounted fair:
One wore his mistress’ garter, one her glove;
And he a lock of his dear lady’s hair:
And he her colours, whom he did most love;
There was not one but did some favour wear:
And each one took it, on his happy speed,
To make it famous by some knightly deed.
(E) Enter the French King, the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and others.] Charles VI., surnamed the Well Beloved, was King of France during the most disastrous period of its history. He ascended the throne in 1380, when only thirteen years of age. In 1385 he married Isabella of Bavaria, who was equally remarkable for her beauty and her depravity. The unfortunate king was subject to fits of insanity, which lasted for several months at a time. On the 21st October, 1422, seven years after the battle of Agincourt, Charles VI. ended his unhappy life at the age of 55, having reigned 42 years. Lewis the Dauphin was the eldest son of Charles VI. He was born 22nd January, 1396, and died before his father, December 18th, 1415, in his twentieth year. History says, “Shortly after the battle of Agincourt, either for melancholy that he had for the loss, or by some sudden disease, Lewis, Dovphin of Viennois, heir apparent to the French king, departed this life without issue.”
John, Duke of Burgundy, surnamed the Fearless, succeeded to the dukedom in 1403. He caused the Duke of Orleans to be assassinated in the streets of Paris, and was himself murdered August 28, 1419, on the bridge of Montereau, at an interview with the Dauphin, afterwards Charles VII. John was succeeded by his only son, who bore the title of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy.
The Constable, Charles D’Albret, commanded the French army at the Battle of Agincourt, and was slain on the field.
Chor. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed king1 at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty;2 and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning:
Play with your fancies; and in them behold
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea,
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think
You stand upon the rivage,3 and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy;4
And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,
Either past, or not arriv’d to, pith and puissance;
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;
Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
With linstock5 now the devilish cannon touches,
Alarums, and cannon shot off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eke out our performance with your mind.
Exit.
Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloster, and Soldiers, R.H.
K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!6
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger!
On, on, you noble English,
Whose blood is fet7 from fathers of war-proof!
And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,8
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,
Cry—God for Harry! England! and Saint George!
The English charge upon the breach, headed by the King. Alarums. The Governor of the Town appears on the walls with a flag of truce.
K. Hen. How yet resolves the governour of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit:
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier
(A name that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,)
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d?
Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated,9
Returns us—that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king,
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.
Enter our town; dispose of us and ours;
For we no longer are defensible.
Soldiers shout.
The Governor and others come from the town, and kneeling, present to King Henry the keys of the city.
K. Hen. Come, uncle Exeter, R.
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,
And fortify it strongly ’gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,—
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our soldiers,—we’ll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur* will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest.10
March. English army enter the town through the breach.
Trumpets sound.
Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others, L.H.
Fr. King. (C.) ’Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.