Duke of Exeter

Bedford
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry’s death:
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long.
England ne’er lost a king of so much worth.
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Gloucester
Is Paris lost? Is Roan yielded up?
If Henry were recalled to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
Exeter
How were they lost? What treachery was used?

Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your honors new begot.

Messenger
No treachery,
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King Henry
Pardon me, Margaret.—Pardon me, sweet son.
The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforced me.
Queen Margaret 
Enforced thee? Art thou king and wilt be forced?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch,
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me,
And giv’n unto the house of York such head
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance!
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Bishop of 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 nest the weasel Scot
Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs,
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat,
To ’tame and havoc more than she can eat.
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King Henry
What treasure, uncle?
Exeter
Tennis balls, my liege.
King Henry
We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.
His present and your pains we thank you for.
When we have matched our rackets to these balls,
We will in France, by God’s grace, play a set
Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.
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Messenger
Ambassadors from Harry King of England
Do crave admittance to your Majesty.
King of France
We’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.
 Messenger exits.
You see this chase is hotly followed, friends.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting

Dauphin
Turn head and stop pursuit,
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Ay, we may march in England or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feignèd ashes of forged love
And will at last break out into a flame.
As festered members rot but by degree
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed.
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Exeter
The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.
King Henry
Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour
I saw him down, thrice up again and fighting.
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.

He threw his wounded arm and kissed his lips,
And so, espoused to death, with blood he sealed
A testament of noble-ending love.
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Exeter
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
Gloucester
His eyes are humbler than they used to be.
King Henry
How now, what means this, herald? Know’st thou not
That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
Com’st thou again for ransom?

So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes,
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King Henry
Now, herald, are the dead numbered?
Herald, giving the King a paper
Here is the number of the slaughtered French.
King Henry, to Exeter
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Exeter
Charles, Duke of Orléans, nephew to the King;
John,
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