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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 fhrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life preferv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lye 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 shame in me. Tal. Thou never hadft renown, nor caǹft not lofe it.' John. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from that stain. 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 shame.

John. And fhall my youth be guilty of fuch blame? No more can I be fever'd from your fide, Than can your felf your felf 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 fon, Born to eclipfe thy life this afternoon :

Come, fide by fide, together live and die;

And foul with foul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt.

Alarum excurfions, wherein Talbot's fon is hemm'd 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;

1

I

gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death. John. O, twice my father! twice am I thy fon: The life, thou gav'ft me firft, was loft and done; Till with thy warlike fword, defpight 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 defire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful fpleen and warlike rage,
Beat down Alanfon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia refcu'd thee.
The ireful baftard 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 difgrace
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, bafe,
And mif-begotten blood I fpill 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 stands 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 stay,
"Tis but the fhortning of my life one day.
In thee thy mother dies, our houfhold's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame :
All these, and more, we hazard by thy ftay;
All these 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.

Out

Out on that vantage bought with fuch a fhame, (13)
To fave a paltry life, and flay bright fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,

The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peafant boys of France,
To be shame's fcorn, and subject of mischance.
Surely, by all the glory you have won,
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's fon:

Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If fon to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

Tal. Then follow thou thy defp'rate Sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus thy life to me is fweet:

If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's fide;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt.
Alarum. Excurfions. Enter old Talbot, led.
Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is gone.
O! where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
Triumphant Death, fmear'd with captivity!
Young Talbot's valour makes me fmile at thee.
When he perceiv'd me fhrink, and on my knee,
His bloody fword he brandifh'd over me;
And, like a hungry Lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and ftern impatience :
But when my angry Guardant ftood alone,
Tendring my ruin, and affail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my fide to start,
Into the cluftring battle of the French:
And, in that fea of blood, my boy did drench

(13) On that advantage, bought with such a Shame,
To fave a paltry life, and slay bright Fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,

The Coward herfe, that bears me, fall and dye.]

This paffage feems to lie obscure, and disjointed. Neither the Grammar is to be juftified; nor is the Sentiment better. I have ventur'd at a flight Alteration, which departs fo little from the Reading which has obtain'd, but fo much raises the Sense, as well as takes away the Obfcurity, that I am willing to think it reftores the Author's Meaning.

His

His over-mounting fpirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus! my blossom in his pride!

Enter John Talbot, borne.

Serv. O my dear lord! lo! where your fon is borne. Tal. Thou antick death, which laugh'ft us here to fcorn,

Anon, from thy infalting tyranny,

Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

Two Talbots winged through the lither sky,
In thy defpight, fhall 'scape mortality.

O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath.
Brave death by fpeaking, whether he will or no:
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.

Poor boy! he fmiles, methinks, as who fhould fay,
"Had death been French, then death had died to day."
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;

My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu: I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's Grave. [Dies.

A CTV.

SCENE continues near Bourdeaux.

Enter Charles, Alanfon, Burgundy, Baftard and

H

Pucelle.

CHARLES.

AD York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.
Baft. How the young whelp of Talbot's raging

brood
Did flesh his puny fword in Frenchmens' blood!
Pucel, Once I encounter'd`him, and thus I said:

"Thou

Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid."
But with a proud, majestical, high fcorn
He answer'd thus: 66

Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench."
So, rufhing in the Bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur. Doubtlefs, he would have made a noble Knight:
See, where he lies inherfed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurfer of his harms.

Baft. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones afunder;
Whofe life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
Char. Oh, no: forbear: for that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, to know
Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. On what fubmiffive meffage are thou sent ?
Lucy. Submiffion, Dauphin? 'tis a meer French word,
We English warriors wot not, what it means.

I come to know what prifoners thou haft ta'en,
And to furvey the bodies of the dead.

Char. For prifoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou feek'st?

Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare fuccess in arms,

Great Earl of Wafkford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield;
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdon of Alton,
Lord Cromwel of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffeild,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble Order of St. George,
Worthy St. Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marshal to our King Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France.
Pucel. Here is a filly, ftately, ftile, indeed:
The Turk, that two and fifty Kingdoms hath,
Writes not fo tedious a ftile as this.
Him that thou magnify'ft with all these titles,

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