Who now is girdled with a waste of iron, To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York! By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep, Lucy. O, fend fome fuccour to the diftrefs'd Lord! York. He dies, we lose; I 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 see his fon, And now they meet, where both their lives are done. 6 Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedit on [Exit. Henry the Fifth-While they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs. [Exit, 6 the vulture] Alluding to the tale of Prometheus. SCENE Som. SCENE V. Another Part of France. Enter Somerfet, with his army. T is too late; I cannot fend them now. Enter Sir William Lucy. Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent? Who, ring'd about' with bold adverfity, 7-ring'd about] Environed, encircled. In advantage ling'ring.] Protracting his refitance by the advantage of a ftrong poft. VOL. IV. worthlefs emulation.] In this line emulation fignifies merely rivalry, not struggle for fuperior excellence. Yields Yields up his life unto a world of odds. 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 hoft, Collected for this expedition. Som. York lies; he might have fent, and had the horse; I owe him little duty and lefs love, And take foul fcorn to fawn on him by fending. 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 refcue; he is 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 fhame in you. [Exeunt. Tal. A field of Battle near Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot and his fon. That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, A fecft of death.] To a field where death will be feafted with flaughter. A ter A terrible and unavoided danger. Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swifteft horse; By fudden flight. Come, dally not; begone. To make a baftard and a flave of me. Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? ? For what reason this fcene is written in rhyme I cannot guefs. If Shakespeare had not in other plays mingled his rhymes and blank verfes in the fame manner, I should have fufpected that this dialogue had been a part of fome other poem which was never fi nifhed, and that being loath to throw his labour away, he inferted it here. Your regard.] Your care of your own fatety. Tal. Thou never hadft renown, nor canft not lose it. John. Yes, your renowned name; fhall flight abufe it? Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from that ftain. 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 fhame. John. And fhall my youth be guilty of fuch blame? No more can I be fever'd from your fide, 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 fon, Born to eclipfe thy life this afternoon. Come, fide by fide, together live and die; Alarm 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; I gave thee life, and refcu'd thee from death. John. O, twice my father! twice am I thy fon; It warm'd thy father's heart with proud defire And from the pride of Gallia refcu'd thee. |