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'Tis much, when scepters are in childrens hands ;But more, when envy breeds unkind division : Then comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit,
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 Jobn 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 subjects,
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 steel, and climbing fire ;
Who in a moment even with the earth
Shall lay your fately and air-braving tow'rs,
förfake the offer of our love.
Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terrour, and their bloody scourge !
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canit not enter but by death :
For I protest we are well fortity'd,
And strong enough to issue 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 squadrons pitch'd
To wall thee from the liberty of flight ;
And no way canst thou turn chee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale deftru&tion meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no christian soul but Englis Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'ít 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 fandy 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 mufick to thy tim'rous soul ;
And mine shall ring thy dire departureout.(Ex. from thewalls,
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 tim'rous Deer,
Maz’d with a yelping kennel of French curs.
If we be English Deer, be then in blood ;
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. *
God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right,
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! [Exeune.
SCEN E IV. Another part of France. Enter a Messenger 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?
Mej. They are return'd, my Lord, and give it out
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his pow'r,
To fight with Talbor ; as he march'd along,
By your espyals were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
Which juin’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 Giege!
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 shall find dear Deer of us, my friends,
Gnd and St. George, &c.
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in this necessity !
If he miscarry, farewel 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 waste of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction :
To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke, to Bourdeaux, York!
Else farewel, Talbot, France, and England's honour,
York, O God! that Somerset, who in proud heart
Doth stop my.cornets, were in Talbor’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 Neep.
Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'a Lord.
York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word ;
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, whom two hours since
I met in travel towards his warlike father!
This sev’n years did not Talbot fee his son,
And now they 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 almost stops my breath,
That sundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel ! no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause, I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Blois, Poiftiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerset and his delay.
Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition
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, hurry to loss. [Exile
SCENE V. Another part of France.
Enter Somerset with bis Army.
Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them nows
This expedition was by York and Talbot
Too rafhly plotted. All our gen’ral 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, desp'rate, wild adventure :
Yerk set 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 Şir William Lucy:
Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you sent ?
Lucy. Hither, my Lord ; from bought and sold 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 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 worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
his life unto a world of odds. Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alanson, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York set him on, York hould have sent him aids
Lucy. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you with-hold 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 entrapt the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England fhall he bear his life,
But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife.
Som. Come go, I will dispatch the horsemen strait : Within fix hours they will be at his aid.
Lucy. Too late comes rescue now : he's ta'en or Nain,
For fly he could not, if he would have fled :
And Ay 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, SCE N E VI. Near Bourdeaux,
Enter Talbot and bis 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 fapless age and weak unable limbs
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, o malignant and ill-boading stars !
Now art thou come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger,
Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy swiftest horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden Alight. Come dally not, be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son ?
And shall I fly? O! if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard and a Nave 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.
Fobn. He that Aies fo, will ne'er return again,
Tal. If we both stay, we both are fure to die.
Jobn. Then let me stay, and, father, do you fly:
Your loss is great, fo your regard should be ;
My worth unknown, no lofs is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast ;
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.