And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no chriftian foul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou ftand'st a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquer'd fpirit:
This is the lateft glory of thy praife,
That I thy enemy dew thee withal;
For ere the glafs that now begins to run
Finifh the procefs of his fandy hour,
Thefe eyes that fee thee now well coloured,
Shall fee thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.
[Drum afar off. Hark, hark, the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, Sings heavy mufick to thy tim❜rous foul;
And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exit from the walls.
Tal. He fables not. I hear the enemy:
Out, fome light horfemen, and peruse their wings.
O negligent and heedlefs difcipline!
How are we park'd and bounded in a pale ?
A little herd of England's tim'rous Deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs.
If we be English Deer, be then in blood;
Not rafcal-like to fall down with a pinch,
But rather moody, mad, and defperate Stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of fteel,
And make the cowards ftand aloof at bay. a
God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right,
Profper our colours in this dangerous fight!
(a) aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they fhall find dear Deer of us, my friends.
God and St. George, &c.
Another part of FRANCE.
Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and many Soldiers.
York. ARE not the speedy scouts return'd again,
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
Melf. They are return'd, my Lord, and give it out
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his pow'r,
To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,
By your espyals were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, [deaux.
Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bour-
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promifed fupply
Of horsemen that were levied for this fiege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
And I am lowted by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in this neceffity!
If he mifcarry, farewel wars in France.
Lucy. Thou Princely leader of our English strength,
Never fo needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot
Who now is girdled with a waste of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke, to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerfet, 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 distress'd Lord.
York. He dies, we lofe; I break my warlike word:
We mourn, France fmiles: we lofe, they daily get:
All long of this vile traitor Somerfet.
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, Blois, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerfet and his delay.
Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
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,
Henry the Fifth. While they each other crofs,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs.
SCENE V.
Another part of FRANCE,
Enter Somerset with his Army.
Som. TT 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 Who ring'd about with bold adverfity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerfet,
To beat affailing death from his weak legions.
And while the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat 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 worthless emulation.
Let not your private difcord keep away
The levied fuccours that should 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 perifheth 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 "'horfe,`
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 difpatch the horsemen ftrait: Within fix hours they will be at his aid.
Lucy. Too late comes refcue now: he's ta'en or flain, For fly he could not, if he would have fled: And fy 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 stars!
Now art thou come unto a feaft of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.
Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy fwifteft 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 fon?
And fhall I fly? O! if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a bastard and a flave of me.
The world will fay he is not Talbot's blood,
That bafely 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.
Jobn. Then let me ftay, and, father, do you fly:
Your lofs is great, fo your regard should be;
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