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Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
$ To my determin’d time ] i. e. ended.
John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me
smart, These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart : On that advantage, bought with such a shame, (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France;? To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son: Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.
Another Part of the same.
Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded,
supported by a Servant. Tal. Where is my other life ?-mine own iş
gone; O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
6 On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
( To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,)] The sense isBefore
young Talbot Äly from his father, (in order to save his life while he destroys his character,) on, or for the sake of, the advantages you mention, namely, preserving our household's name, &c. may my coward horse drop down dead! Malone.
; And like me to the peasant boys of France ;] To like one ta the peasants, is, to compare, to level by comparison.
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity!
Enter Soldiers, bearing the Body of JOHN
Serv. O my dear lord ! lo, where your son is
borne! Tal, Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here
to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality.O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured death, Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath : Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no; Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.
8 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity!] That is, death stained and dishonoured with captivity. Johnson.
9 Tend'ring my ruin,] Watching me with tenderness in my fall.
* Thou antick death,] The fool, or antick of the play, made sport by mocking the graver personages.
2-winged through the lither sky] Lither is flexible or yielding
Poor boy! he smiles, methinks; as who should
say 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 harnis. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.
Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the
two Bodies. Enter CHARLES, ALENÇON, BURGUNDY, Bastard, LA PUCELLE, and Forces.
Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue irt, We should have found a bloody day of this. Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's raging
wood, Did Aesh 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 answered thus; Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench :3 So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble
knight: Sce, where he lies inhersed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
raging-wood,] i. e. raging mad.
in Frenchmen's blood ! ] The return of rhyme where young Talbot is again mentioned, and in no other place, strengthens the suspicion that these verses were originally part of some other work, and were copied here.only to save the trouble of composing
of a giglot wench :] Giglot is a wanton, or a strumpet, VOL. V.
Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones
asunder; 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
Char. On what submissive message art thou sent?
word; We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’én, 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.
Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed!