_Bed._ Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let’s to the altar: heralds, wait on us:   ·aaa045· Instead of gold, we’ll offer up our arms; Since arms avail not now that Henry’s dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers’ moist eyes babes shall suck,   [aaa049] Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,   [aaa050] And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make   ·aaa055· Than Julius Cæsar or bright ——   [aaa056] _Enter a_ Messenger. _Mess._ My honourable lords, health to you all!   [aaa057] Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,   [aaa060] Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. _Bed._ What say’st thou, man, before dead Henry’s corse?   [aaa062] Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. _Glou._ Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?   [aaa065] If Henry were recall’d to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. _Exe._ How were they lost? what treachery was used? _Mess._ No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,   ·aaa070· That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch’d and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;   ·aaa075· A third thinks, without expense at all,   [aaa076] By guileful fair words peace may be obtain’d. Awake, awake, English nobility!   [aaa078] Let not sloth dim your honours new-begot: Cropp’d are the flower-de-luces in your arms;   [aaa080] Of England’s coat one half is cut away. _Exe._ Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.   [aaa083] _Bed._ Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I’ll fight for France.   [aaa085] Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,   [aaa087] To weep their intermissive miseries. _Enter to them another_ Messenger. _Mess._ Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.   [aaa089] France is revolted from the English quite,   ·aaa090· Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join’d;   [aaa093] Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;   [aaa094] The Duke of Alençon flieth to his side.   [aaa095] _Exe._ The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!   [aaa096] O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? _Glou._ We will not fly, but to our enemies’ throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I’ll fight it out.