Page images

Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd Lord!
York. He dies, we lose; I break

my warlike word; We mourn, France (miles; we lose, they daily get; All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's

soul, And on his son young John! whom, two hours since, I' met in travel towards his warlike father. This fev'n years did not Talbot see his son, And now tlrey meet, where both their lives are done,

York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have, To bid his young fon welcome to his grave ! Away! vexation alimnost stops my breath, That sundred friends greet in the hour of death. Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can, But curse the cause; I cannot aid the man. Maine, Blovs, Poictiers, and Tours are won away, 'Long all of Somerset and his delay.

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquests of our scarce cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth!-While they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, harry to loss. [Exif

Another Part of France.


Enter Somerset, with his Army. Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now. This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rafhly plotted; all our general force Might with a fally of the very town Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot Hath fullied all his gloss of former honour By tl is unheedful, defp'rate, wild adventure. York set him on to fight and die isi thame, 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

sent? *Lucy. Whither, my Lord? from bought and sold

Lord Talbot, Who,.ringd about with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset, To beat affailing death from his weak legions. And while the honourable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage ling'ring *, looks for rescue; You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, Keep off aloof with worthlefs emulation. Let not your private discord keep away The levied succours that should lend him aid; While he, renowned noble gentleman, Vields up his life unto a world of odds. Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, Alanson, Reignier, compass him about; And Talbot perisheth by your default. Son. York set him on, York should have sent him

aid. Lucy. And York as fast-upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you with-hold his levied host, Collected for this expedition. Som. York lies; he might have fent, and had the

I owe him little duty and less love,
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of

Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England shall he bear his life,
But dies, betray'd to-forttine by your strife.

Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen strait; Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Protracting his resistance by the advantage of a Itrong post... Johnson.


Lucy. Too late comes refcute; he is ta'en or flåin; 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. S CE N E VI. A Field of Battle near Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot and his Son. - Tal. O young John Talbot, I did fend for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of war, That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to this drooping chair. But, o malignant and ill-boading ftars! Now art thou come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger. Therefore, dear boy, mount on my fwiftest horse; And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden fight. "Coine, dally not ; begone.

John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your fon?
And shall I. fly? O! if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard and a slave of me.
The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,
That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be Nain.
John. He that flies so, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

John. Then let me stay, and, father, do you fly;
Your loss is great, so your regard fhould be ;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can 'little boast,
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won,
But mine it will, that no exploit have done ;
You fled for vantage, ev'ny one will fwear,
But if I bow, they'll say 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 preserv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes ly in one tomb ?
John. Ay, rather than I'll Thaine my mother's

womb. Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. John. No part of him, but will be shame in me: Tal. Thou never hadît renown, nor canft not

lofe it. John. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight a

buse it? Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from

that stain. John. You cannot witness for me, being sain. If death be so apparent, then both fly.

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

John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be sever'd from your side, 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 son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. Come, side by side, together live, and die ; And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.

[Exeunt. Alarm: excursions, wherein Talbot's son is hemm'd

about, and Talbot rescues hin. Tali St George, and victory! fight, foldiers,

fight : The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word, And left us to the rage of France's sword. Where is John Talbot? pause, and take thy breath; I gave thee life, and rescu'd thea from death.

John. O, twice my father ! twice am I thy fon; The life thou giv'st me first was loft and done, Till with thiy warlike sword, despight of fare, To my determin's time thou gav'st new date.

[ocr errors]

Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword

struck fire, It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alanion, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood of thy first fight, I soon encountered, And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his baltard blood; and in disgrace. Bespoke him thus ; Contaminated, bale, And mis-begotten blood I spill of thine, Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didft force from Talbot, my brave boy Here, purposing the bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father

is care, Art not thou weary, John? how dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead;. The help of one stands me in little stead. Oh, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our lives in one (mall boat. If I to-day die not with Frenchmens' rage, . To-morrow I shall die with inickle age; By me they nothing gain ; and, if I Itay, 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day : In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My deatli's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame; All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay, All these are fav’d, if thou wilt fly away. Johin. The sword of Orleans hath not made me

smart, These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart Oh what advantage bought with such a shaine, To save a paultry life, and slay, bright fame! Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears, me fall and die! .. And like nie to the peasant boys of France, To be dame's scorn, and subject of mischance.

« PreviousContinue »