[♦]Thou shalt not die whiles—
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,
As who should say ‘When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.’
[95]Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
[♦] Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens.
What stir is this? what tumult’s in the heavens?
[♦]Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise?
Enter a Messenger.