EXETER

SHall I call in Thambassadors my Liege? It follows then, the cat must stay at home, Yet that is but a cursed necessity, Since we have traps to catch the petty thieves: Whilst that the armed hand does fight abroad The advised head controls at home: For government though high or low, being put into parts, Congrueth with a mutual consent Like music. Tennis balls my Liege. This was a merry message. They shall be apprehended by and by. Oh the Lord of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, By the name of Richard, Earl of Camhridge. I arrest thee of high treason, By the name of Henry, Lord of Masham, I arrest thee of high treason, By the name of Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. From him, and thus he greets your Majesty: He wills you in the name of God Almighty, That you devest your self and lay apart That borrowed title, which by gift of heaven, Of law of nature, and of nations, longs To him and to his heirs, namely the crown And all wide stretched titles that belongs Unto the Crown of France, that you may know 'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, Picked from the worm holes of old vanished days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rackte, He sends you these most memorable lines, In every branch truly demonstrated: Willing you overlook this pedigree, And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed and famous ancestors, Edward the third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him, the native and true challenger. Bloody continued ̄ strain, 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 it: And on your heads turns he the widows tears, The Orphans cries, the dead men's bones, The pining maidens groans. For husbands, father's, and distressed lovers, Which shall be swallowed in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening, and my message Unless the Dolphin be in presence here, To whom expressly we bring greeting too. Scorn & defiance, slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, does he prize you at: Thus says my king. Unless your father's highness Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty, Heel call you to so loud and answer for it, That caves and wombely vaults of France Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock, In second accent of his ordnance. Heel make your Paris Lover shake for it, Were it the mistress Court of mighty Europe, And be assured, yowl find a difference As we his subjects have in wonder found: Between his younger days and these he musters now, Now he ways time even to the latest grain, Which you shall find in your own losses If he stay in France. There is five to one, and yet they all are fresh, The Duke of York commends him to your Grace. In which array, brave soldier does he lie, Larding the plains, and by his bloody side, Yoke fellow to his honour dying wounds, The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. Suffolk first died, and York all hasted over, Comes to him where in blood he lay steeped, And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes That bloodily did yane upon his face, And cried aloud, tarry deer cousin Suffolk: My soul shall thine keep company in heaven: Tarry deer soul awhile, then fly to rest: And in this glorious and well foughten field, We kept together in our chiualdry. Upon these words I came and cheered them up, He took me by the hand, said deer my Lord Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn, and over Suffolks neck He threw his wounded arm, and so espoused to death, With blood he sealed. And argument Of never ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it, Forced those waters from me, which I would have slopped, But I not so much of man in me, But all my mother came into my eyes, And gave me up to tears. Charles Duke of Orleans, Nephew to the King, John Duke of Burbon, and Lord Bowchquall. Of other Lords and Barrons, Knights and Squires, Full fifteen hundred, beside common men. This note does tell me often thousand French, that in the field lies slain. Of Nobles bearing banners in the field, Charles de le Brutus, High Constable of France. Jaques of Chattillian, Admiral of France. The Master of the crosbows, John Duke Alo ̄ son. Lord Ranbieres, High Master of France. The brave sir Gwigzard, Dolphin. Of Nobelle Charillas, Gran Pry, and Rose, Fawconbridge and Foy. Gerard and Verton. Vandemant and Lestra. Here was a royal fellowship of death Where is the number of our English dead? Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam Esquire: And of all other, but five and twenty. Oh God thy arm was here, And unto thee alone, ascribe we praise. When without strategem, And in even shock of battle, was ever herd So great, and little lose, on one partly and and other. Take it God, for it is only thine. 'Tis wonderful. Only he hath not subscribed this, Wh're your majesty demands, That the king of France having any occasion To write for matter of graun , Shall name your highness, in this form: And with this addition in French. Nostre tresher filz, Henry Roy D'anglaterre, E hear de France. And thus in Latin: Preclarissimus filius noster Henricus Rex Anglie, Et heres Francie.