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 lose; I break my warlike word
We mourn, France fmiles; we lofe, they daily get;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

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 almoft ftops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,
But curfe the caufe; I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerset and his delay.

[Exit

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 scarce cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the Fifth-While they each other crofs,
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 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 glofs of former honour By this unheedful, defp'rate, wild adventure. York fet him on to fight and die in 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
fent?

Lucy. Whither, my Lord? from bought and fold
Lord Talbot,

Who, ring'd 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 fweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring*, looks for rescue;
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied fuccours that fhould lend him aid;
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Vields 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 should have sent him
aid.

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

Som. York lies; he might have sent, and had the horse;

I owe him little duty and less love,

And take foul fcorn to fawn on him by fending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of
France,

Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to England fhall he bear his life,
But dies, betray'd to -forttine by your ftrife.
Som. Come, go; I will difpatch the horsemen strait;
Within fix hours they will be at his aid.

Protracting his refiftance by the advantage of a ftrong post. Johnson.

VOL. VI.

F

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 fhame in [Exeunt.

you.

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 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 this drooping chair.
But, O malignant and ill-boading ftars!
Now art thou come unto a feaft of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.

Therefore, dear boy, mount on my fwifteft horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By fudden flight. Come, dally not; begone.
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your fon?
And fhall I fly? O! if you love my mother,
Difhonour 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 ftood.

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be flain.
John. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both ftay, we both are fure to die.
John. Then let me ftay, and, father, do you fly;
Your lofs is great, so your regard fhould be;
My worth unknown, no lofs is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boaft,
In yours 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 fwear,
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 ly 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 fhame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canft not
lofe it.

John. Yes, your renowned name; fhall flight abuse it?

Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from that ftain.

John. You cannot witnefs 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 fuch 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 son, Born to eclipse 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' ¿ about, and Talbot rescues him.

Tal. St George, and victory! fight, foldiers,. fight:

The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France's fword.

Where is John Talbot? paufe, and take thy breath;
I gave thee life, and refcu'd thee from death.

John. O, twice my father! twice am I thy fon; The life thou giv'ft me first was loft and done, Till with thy warlike fword, despight of fate, To my determin'd time thou gav'ft new date.

Tal. When from the Dauphin's creft thy fword ftruck fire,

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful fpleen and warlike rage,
Beat down Alanion, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia refcu'd thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy firft fight, I foon encountered,
And, interchanging blows, I quickly fhed
Some of his baftard blood; and in disgrace.
Bespoke him thus; Contaminated, bafe,
And mif-begotten blood I spill of thine,
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine,
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy-
Here, purpofing the baftard to destroy,

Came in ftrong refcue. Speak, thy father's care,
Art not thou weary, John? how doft thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art feal'd the fon of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead;
The help of one ftands me in little stead.
Oh, too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one fmall boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmens' rage,
To-morrow I fhall die with mickle age;
By me they nothing gain; and, if I ftay,
'Tis but the fhort'ning of my life one day:
In thee thy mother dies, our houfehold's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame ;
All thefe, and more, we hazard by thy stay,
All thefe are fav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

John. The fword of Orleans hath not made me fmart,

Thefe words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.
Oh what advantage bought with fuch a fhame,
To fave a paultry life, and flay bright fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horfe that bears me fall and die!
And like me to the peafant boys of France,
To be flame's fcorn, and subject of milchance....