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And hemm'd about with grim destruction:


To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
Else, farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerset-who in proud heart
Doth stop my cornets-were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman,

By forfeiting a traitor, and a coward.

Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Lacy. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord! 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 towards his warlike father!

This seven years did not Talbot see his son;


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, farewel: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.-
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss


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The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,

That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the fifth :-Whiles they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss.




Another Part of France. Enter SOMERSET, with his Army.

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York, and Talbot, Too rashly plotted; all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with; the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, 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 Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.



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,

Cries out for noble York and Somerset,

To beat assailing death from his weak legions.


And whiles the honourable captain there

Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,


You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.

Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,

Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,

And Talbot perisheth by your default.


Som. York set him on, York should have sent him


Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims; Swearing, that you withhold his levied host, Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies; he might have sent, and had the horse :

I owe him little duty, and less love;

And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of

Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Talbot:

Never to England shall he bear his life;


But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen


Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en, or slain :

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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 shame in



A Field of Battle near Bourdeaux. Enter TALBOT, and

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 art thou 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, be gone.

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. Ile, 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 your's 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, If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,

Rather 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


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.


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