Ten thousand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no Chriftian foul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquer'd spirit:
This is the lateft glory of thy praife,
That I thy enemy dew thee withal;
For ere the glafs that now begins to run
Finish the process of this fandy hour,
Thefe eyes that fee thee now well coloured,
Shall fee thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.

[Drum afar off. Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning-bell,

Sings heavy mufic to thy tim'rous foul;

And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exit from the walls.
Tal. He fables not: I hear the enemy,
Out, fome light horfemen, and perufe their wings.
O, negligent and heedlefs difcipline!

How are we park'd and bounded in a pale!
A little herd of England's tim'rous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs.
If we be English deer, be then in blood;
Not rafcal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody, mad, and defp'rate tags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay. *

God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right,
Profper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another part of France. Enter a Messenger, that meets York. Enter York, with trumpet and many foldiers.

York. Are not the fpeedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? Me. They are return'd, my Lord, and give it out That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his pow'r, To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,

aloof at bay

Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And hey fhall find dear deer of us, my friends.

God and St, George, &c.

VOL. IV.

3 C

By

By your efpyals were discovered

Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, [deaux,
Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bour-
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promifed fupply
Of horsemen that were levied for this fiege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
And I am lowted by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in this neceffity!
If he miscarry, farewel wars in France.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English ftrength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the refcue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waste of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction :

To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel, Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerset, who in proud heart
Doth ftop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
So fhould we fave a valiant gentleman,

By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,
That thus we die while remifs traitors fleep.

Lucy. O, fend fome fuccour to the diftrefs'd Lord! York. He dies, we lofe; I break my warlike word: We mourn, France smiles; we lofe, they daily get: All long of this vile traitor Somerfet.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's foul, And on his fon young John! whom, two hours fince, I met in travel towards his warlike father.

This fev'n years did not Talbot fee his fon,

And now they meet where both their lives are done.
York. Alas! what joy fhall Noble Talbot have,
To bid his young fon welcome to his grave!
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel; no more my fortune can,
But curfe the caufe; I cannot aid the man.

Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,

Long

[Exit.

Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
Feeds in the bofom of fuch great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquefts of our fearce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the Fifth!. -While they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs. [Exit.
SCENE V. Another part of France.
Enter Somerset, with his army.

Som. It is too late; I cannot fend them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rafhly plotted. All our gen'ral force Might with a fally of the very town Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot Hath fullied all his glofs of former honour By this unheedful, defp'rate, wild adventure. York fet him on to fight, and die in fhame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. Capt. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent? Lucy. Whither, my Lord? from bought and fold Lord Who, wring'd about with bold adverfity, [Talbot; Cries out for Noble York and Somerfet, To beat affailing death from his weak legions. And while the honourable Captain there Drops bloody fweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantge ling'ring, looks for rescue; You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour, Keep off aloof with worthlefs emulation.

Let not your private discord keep away

The levied fuccours that should lend him aid;
While he, renowned noble gentleman,

Yields up his life unto a world of odds.

Orleans the Baftard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alanfon, Reignier, compafs him about;

And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som. York fet him on, York fhould have fent him aid.

Lucy. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims; Swearing, that you with-hold his levied horse, Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lyes: he might have fent, and had the I owe him little duty, and lefs love,

[horfe: And take foul fcorn to fawn on him by fending. Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now intrapt the noble-minded Talbot: Never to England shall he bear his life; But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som. Come, go; I will difpatch the horsemen strait: Within fix hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes refcue; he is ta'en or flain; For fly he could not, if he would have fled: And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu! Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. A field of battle near Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot, and his fon.

Tal. O young John Talbot, I did fend for thee
To tutor thee in ftratagems
* of war;

That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd,
When faplefs age and weak unable limbs
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, O malignant and ill-boding ftars!
Now art thou come unto a feaft of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.

Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy swiftest horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou fhalt escapè
By fudden flight. Come, dally not; be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your fon?
And fhall I fly? O! if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard and a flave of me.
The world will fay, he is not Talbot's blood,
That bafely fled when noble Talbot stood.

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death if I be slain.
John. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Stratagem, for art fimply.

Tal.

Tal. If we both stay, we both are fure to die.
John. Then let me stay, and, father, do you fly.
Your lofs is great, fo your regard should be;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boaft;
In your's they will, in you all hopes are loft.
Flight cannot ftain the honour you have won:
But mine it will, that no exploit have done.
You fled for vantage, ev'ry one will swear :
But if I bow, they'll fay it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If the first hour I shrink and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality *,
Rather than life preferv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
John. Ay, rather than I'll fhame my mother's womb.
Tal. Upon my bleffing I command thee go.
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be fav'd in thee.
John. No part of him but will be hame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadft renown, nor canst not lose it.
John. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?
Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that
ftain.

John. You cannot witness for me, being flain.
If death be fo apparent, then both fly.

Tal. And leave my followers here to fight and die? My age was never tainted with fuch fhame.

John. And fhall my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be fever'd from your fide,

Than can yourself yourself in twain divide.
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do i;

For live I will not, if my father die.

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair fon, Born to eclipfe thy life this afternoon.

Come, fide by fide, together live and die,

And foul with foul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt.

Alarm: excurfions, wherein Talbot's fon is hemm'd about, and Talbot refcues him.

Tal. St. George, and victory! fight, foldiers, fight. * Mortality, for death.

The