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GEN. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death: For, I protest, we are well fortified, And strong enough to issue out and fight: If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: On either hand thee, there are squadrons pitch'd, To wall thee from the liberty of flight; And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, And pale destruction meets thee in the face. Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.

Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!

This is the latest glory of thy praise,

That I, thy enemy, dew thee withal;

For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exeunt General, &c. from the walls.
TAL. He fables not, I hear the enemy;-
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.-
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,—
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be, then, in blood; b
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,
But rather moody-mad and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.—
God and saint George, Talbot and England's
right,

Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Plains in Gascony. Enter YORK with Forces; to him a Messenger. YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Dew thee withal;] So the old text; but the modern reading due, in the sense of paying a deserved tribute, is, perhaps, to be preferred.

b Be, then, in blood;] See note (c), p. 71, Vol. I.

e Not rascal-like,-1 Rascal has been before explained to be a

MESS. They are return'd, my lord; and give it

out,

That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot. As he march'd along,
By your espials were discovered

Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for
Bourdeaux.

YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset, That thus delays my promised supply

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
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 necessity!
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,

Never so needful on the earth of France,

Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot; Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm'd about with grim destruction. To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York! Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. [heart

YORK. O God! that Somerset-who in proud Doth stop my cornetss—were in Talbot's place! So should we save a valiant gentleman, By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 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! [word: YORK. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike We mourn, France smiles; 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; who two hours since
I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
And now they meet where both their lives are done.
YORK. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.—
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.—

Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 'Long all of Somerset and his delay!

[Exit.

term of the chase for a deer, lean and altogether out of condition. d And I am lowted by a traitor villain,-] Malone interprets this: "I am treated with contempt like a lowt, or low country fellow." It means, more probably, I am left in the mire, landlurch'd, by a traitor, &c.

Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the fifth-whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit.

SCENE IV.-Other Plains of Gascony.

Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces; an Officer of TALBOT's with him.

SOM. It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted; all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: York set him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the

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Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.*
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's
honour,

Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

SOM. York set him on, York should have sent
him aid.
[exclaims;

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace

(*) Old text, Regions.

(†) First folio, Yield. (1) First folio omits, and.

a Bought and sold-] A proverbial phrase applied to any one entrapped or made a victim of by treachery or mismanagement; it is found again in "The Comedy of Errors," Act III. Sc. 1, in "King John," Act V. Se. 4, and in "Richard III." Act V. Sc. 3. b And, in advantage lingering,-] Perhaps originally,"And, in disadvantage ling'ring," &c.

Swearing, that you withhold his levied horse,
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 scorn to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of

France,

Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.
Soм. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen
straight:

Within six hours they will be at his aid.

LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain :

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 V.-The English Camp near Bourdeaux.

Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son.

TAL. O young John Talbot! I did send 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 his drooping chair. But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger: Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. JOHN. Is my name Talbot? and am I your

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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, every one will swear;
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 lie in one
tomb?
[womb.
JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's
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 hadst renown, nor canst not
lose it.
[abuse it?
JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight
TAL. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from
that stain.

JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If death be so apparent, then both fly.

TAL. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die?

My age was never tainted with such 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

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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 Alençon, 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 bastard blood; and, in disgrace,
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base,
And misbegotten 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 purposing the Bastard to destroy,
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's

care,

Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?
Wilt thou yet' leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art scal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly to revenge my death when I am dead;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot,

To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
By me they nothing gain an if I stay,
"Tis but the short'ning of my life one day:
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's

fame :

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SCENE VII.-Another part of the same. Alarum excursions. Enter TALBOT wounded, supported by a Servant.

TAL. Where is my other life?-mine own is gone;

O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?-
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee!-
When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
And, like a hungry lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;

a The lither sky,-] This is always explained to signify the yielding sky; it may mean, however, the lazy, idle sky. Lither is still used in this sense in many parts of England. So in Holinshed:-"Howbeit she hath not shewed hir self so boun

But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart,
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French:
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His overmounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

SERV. O my dear lord! lo, where your son is

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Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the two bodies. Enter CHARLES, ALENÇON, BURGUNDY, the Bastard, LA PUCELLE, and Forces.

CHAR. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,

We should have found a bloody day of this.

BAST. How the young whelp of Talbot's, ragingwood,

Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said, Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid: But, with a proud majestical high scorn, He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench: So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. [knightBUR. Doubtless he would have made a noble See, where he lies inhersed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms! BAST. Hew them to pieces! hack their bones

asunder!

e

Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. CHAR. O, no; forbear! for that which we have fled

During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY, attended; a French Herald preceding.

LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. CHAR. On what submissive message art thou sent? [word;

Lucy. Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French

a Become hard-favour'd death,-] That is, adorn, beautify, hard-favour'd death. See note (a), p. 151.

b Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;] Whether, in the old copies, when required to be pronounced as a monosyllable, is sometimes, but not always, contracted to where. In the present case it should be pronounced, if not printed, whe'r, or whér.

Raging-wood,-] That is, raging-mad.

d4 giglot wench: A wanton wench.

e The most bloody nurser of his harms!]

harms."

We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.
CHAR. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our

prison is.

But tell me whom thou seek'st.f

g

[field,
LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of
Sheffield,

The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble order of saint George,
Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece;
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth,

Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Puc. Here is a silly stately style, indeed!
The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.-
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles,
Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.

LUCY. Is Talbot slain,-the Frenchmen's only

scourge,

Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as bescems their worth.

Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here,

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They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
CHAR. Go, take their bodies hence.
Lucy.
I'll bear them hence:
But from their ashes shall be rear'd
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
CHAR. So we be rid of them, do with 'em* what
thou wilt.

And now to Paris, in this conquering vein.
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.

(*) First folio, him.

[Exeunt.

the chief prisoners spared were present, appears to have been omitted by the transcriber or compositor.

g Washford,-] Wexford was anciently called both Weysford and Washford.

h But from their ashes shall be rear'd-] The deficiency in this line Pope supplied by reading,

Query" of our

"But from their ashes, Dauphin," &c. Mr. Collier's annotator gives,

"But from their very ashes," &c.

Y

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