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, Blois, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerset and his delay.
Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
Feeds in the bofom of fuch great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquefts 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.
SCENE V.
Another part of FRANCE.
Enter Somerset 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 fet 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.
Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent?
Lucy. Hither, 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 rescue;
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthlefs emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied fuccours that fhould lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds.
Orleans the Baftard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alanfon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York fet him on, York should have sent him aid.
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 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 rescue now: he's 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.
Enter Talbot and his Son.
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 fapless 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 feaft of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.
Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy swifteft horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou fhalt escape
By fudden flight. Come dally not, be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your
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 bafely fled when noble Talbot ftood.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death if I be slain.
John. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure 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 lye in one tomb?
John. Ay, rather than I'll fhame my mother's womb.
Tal. Upon my blessing 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, and canft not lose it.
John. Yes, your renowned name; fhall flight abuse it?
Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from the 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 such shame.
John. And fhall my youth be guilty of fuch blame? No more can I be fever'd from your fide,
Than can your self your self 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 eclipse thy life this afternoon :
Come, fide by fide together live and die,
And foul with soul from France to heav'n shall fly.
Alarum: excurfions, wherein Talbot's Son is hemm'd about, and Talbot refcues him.
Tal. St. George, and victory! fight, soldiers, fight: The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France's fword.
Where is John Talbot? pause, and take thy breath; 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 first was lost and done,
'Till with thy warlike sword, despight of fate,
To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.
Tal. When from the Dauphin's creft thy fword ftruck fire,
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
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 first fight, I foon encountered;
And interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his baftard blood; then 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 Bastard to destroy,
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,
Art not thou weary, John? how doft thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battel, 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 small 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 shortning 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 stay;
All these are fav'd if thou wilt fly away.
John. The fword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.
|