'Tis much, when scepters are in childrens hands But more, when envy breeds unkind divifion : Then comes the ruin, there begins confufion.

SCENE III. Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets, and drum. Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter, Summon their General unto the wall.

Enter General aloft.

English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
And thus he would; open your city gates,
Be humbled to us, call my Sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient fubjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody pow'r.
But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering fteel, and climbing fire ;
Who in a moment even with the earth

Shall lay your ftately and air-braving tow'rs,
If you forfake the offer of our love.

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terrour, and their bloody fcourge !
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canit not enter but by death:
For I proteft we are well fortify'd,
And strong enough to iffue out and fight.
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the fnares of war to tangle thee.
On either hand thee, there are fquadrons pitch'd
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canft thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale deftruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thoufand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no chriftian foul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou ftand'st a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquer'd fpirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praife,
That I thy enemy dew thee withal i

[Exit.

[Sounds.

For

For ere the glass that now begins to run

Finish the procefs of his fandy hour,

These 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 mufick to thy tim'rous foul;

And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out. [Ex. from the walls,
Tal. He fables not. I hear the enemy:

Out fome light horfemen, and peruse 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 defperate Stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards ftand 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 Meffenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and many Soldiers.

York. Are not the speedy 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,

By your efpyals 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 promifed fupply.

Of horsemen that were levied for this fiege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,

And I am lowted by a traitor villain,

- aloof at bay.

Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they fhall find dear Deer of us, my friends.

God and St. George, &c.

VOL. V.

D &

And

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 fo 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 Somerfet, 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; 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 fhail 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, Blois, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,

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 lofs

[Exit.

The conquefts of our fcarce cold conqueror,

That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the Fifth. While they each other cross,

Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss,

[Exit.

SCENE V. Another part of France.
Enter Somerset with his Army.

cannot fend them now:

Sem. It is too late ;
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:
Yerk fet him on to fight and die in shame,
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. Hither, my Lord; from bought and fold Lord Talbot. Who ring'd about with bold adverfity,

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 difcord keep away
The levied fuccours that should lend him aidy
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 faft upon your Grace exclaims,
Swearing that you with-hold his levied horse,

Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies: he might have fent, and had the horse a

I owe him little duty and lefs 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 :

Dd 2

Never

Never to England fhall he bear his life,
But dies betray'd to fortune by your ftrife.

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

Lucy Too late comes refcue now : he's 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.

SCENE VI. Near Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot and bis 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 his drooping chair.
But, O malignant and ill-boading ftars!
Now art thou come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.

[Exeunt.

Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy swifteft horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
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 baftard 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 slain.
Jobn. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both ftay, 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 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