Who now is girdled with a waste of iron,
And hem'd about with grim deftruction.

To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerset, 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 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.
York. Alas! what joy fhall 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, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
'Long all of Somerfet, and his delay.

6

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedit on
Feeds in the bofom of fuch great commanders.
Sleeping neglection doth betray to lofs :
The Conquefts of our scarce cold Conqueror,
That ever living man of memory,

[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.
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.
York 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
Sfrom our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent?
Lucy. Whither, 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 refcue;
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthlefs emulation.
Let not your private difcord keep away
The levied fuccours that fhould lend him aid;
While he, renowned noble gentleman,

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.
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 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.
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 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.
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 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;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape

By fudden flight. Come, dally not; begone.
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 balely fled, when noble Talbot stood.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
John. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both ftay, we both are fure to die.
John. Then let me ftay, and, father, do you fly;
Your lofs is great, fo* your regard fhould 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;
You fled for vantage, ev'ry one will swear,
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 lie 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.

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

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;
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't 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.