Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife! And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd, With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the king and us? And you, my lords, methinks, you do not well, To bear with their perverse objections; Much less, to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves: Let me persuade you take a better course. Exe. It grieves his highness :-good my lords, be friends. K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatants. Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour, [Putting on a red Rose. Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; Your angry choler on your enemies. From thence to England; where I hope ere long SOMERSET, WINCHESTER, SUFFOLK, and War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king Prettily, methought, did play the orator. York. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset. War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not; I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. York. And, if I wist, he did,-But let it rest; Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt YORK, WARWICK, and VERNON. Exc. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, This shouldering of each other in the court, [Erit SCENE II.-France. Before Bourdeaux. Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the Walls, Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. [Exeunt General, &c. from the Walls. out, That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power, Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege! If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY. SCENE IV. Other Plains of Gascony. Enter SOMERSET, with his Army; an Officer of TALBOT'S with him. Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now. Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot name. Off. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY. Som. How now, Sir William! whither were you sent? Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord. Talbot; Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English Cries out for noble York and Somerset, strength, Never so needful on the earth of France, To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York! Doth stop my cornets-were in Talbot's place! Mad ire, and wrathful fury, make me weep, York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word: We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul! And on his son, young John; whom two hours since I met in travel toward his warlike father. And now they meet where both their lives are done. York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have, To bid his young son welcome to his grave! Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.— Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit YORK, with his Forces. To beat assailing death from his weak legions. Som. York set him on, York should have sent him aid. Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims; Swearing that you withhold his levied host, Som. York lies: he might have sent and had the horse. I owe him little duty, and less love, Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot! Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen straight: Within six hours they will be at his aid. Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en, or slain, For fly he could not, if he would have fled, you. SCENE V.-The English Camp near Bourdeaux. Enter TALBOT, and JOHN his son. Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee, To tutor thee in stratagems of war, That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. But,-O, malignant and ill-boding stars!Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger: Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight: come, dally not; begone. John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son? And shall I fly? O! if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name, To make a bastard, and a slave of me : The world will say he is not Talbot's blood, That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. Tal. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. John. Then let me stay; and father, do you fly: Your loss is great, so your regard should be; My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. Upon my death the French can little boast, In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. Flight cannot stain the honour you have won, But mine it will, that no exploit have done : You fled for vantage every one will swear, But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. There is no hope that ever I will stay, 34 If the first hour I shrink, and run away. Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, kather than life preserv'd with infamy. Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? John. Ay, rather than I'll shame 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 sav'd in thee. John. No part of him but will be shame in me. Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. John. Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it? Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain. John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If death be so apparent, then both fly. Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die? My age was never tainted with such shame. No more can I be sever'd from your side, Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, SCENE VI.-A Field of Battle. Alarum: Excursions, wherein TALBOT's Son is hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him. Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight! The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. John. O, twice my father! twice am I thy son: The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done; Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, It warmed thy father's heart with proud desire Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace, Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care, Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay; 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, 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 Thou Icarus. Thy life to me is sweet: [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-Another part of the Same. Alarums: excursions. Enter TALBOT wounded, supported by a Servant. Tal. Where is my other life?-mine own is gone: O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, And like a hungry lion did commence Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin, and assail'd of none, Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart, Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clust'ring battle of the French: And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His overmounting spirit; and there died Tal. Thou antick, death, which laugh'st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, O! thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death, TAL. Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms. Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood, Did flesh 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." So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight. See, where he lies inhersed in the arms asunder, Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. |