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K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatantS. Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favor, Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.— And you, my lords,-remember where we are : In France, amongst a fickle, wavering nation. If they perceive dissension in our looks, And that within ourselves we disagree, How will their grudging stomachs be provoked To wilful disobedience, and rebel! Beside, what infamy will there arise, When foreign princes shall be certified, That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henry’s peers, and chief mobility, Destroyed themselves, and lost the realm of France! O, think upon the conquest of my father, My tender years; and let us not forego That, for a trifle, that was bought with blood Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. I see no reason, if I wear this rose, [Putting on a red rose. That any one should therefore be suspicious I more incline to Somerset than York. Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both ; As well may they upbraid me with my crown, Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crowned. But your discretions better can persuade, Than I am able to instruct or teach ; And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let us still continue peace and love.— Cousin of York, we institute your grace To be our regent in these parts of France; And good my lord of Somerset, unite Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, Go cheerfully together, and digest Your angry choler on your enemies. Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, After some respite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout. -
[Flourish. Eaceunt K. HEN., G.Lo., SoM.,
WIN., SUF., and BASSET.
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 WERNoN.
Eve. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen deciphered there
More rancorous spite, more furious, raging broils,
Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This shouldering of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favorites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands;
But more, when envy” breeds unkind” divisions.
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Evit.
SCENE II. France. Before Bordeaux.
Enter TALBOT, with his Forces.
Tal. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter, Summon their general unto the wall.
Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls, the General of the French Forces, and others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry king of England.
And thus he would,—Open your city gates;
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient subjects,
And I’ll withdraw me and my bloody power;
But, if you frown upon this proffered peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of our love."
Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation’s terror, and their bloody scourge
The period of thy tyranny approacheth. .
On us thou canst not enter, but by death;
For, I protest, we are well fortified,
And strong enough to issue out and fight.
If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitched,
To wall thee from the liberty of slight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing, valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquered spirit.
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, due” thee withal;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well colored,
Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead. .
. [Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exeunt General, &c. from the walls.
Tal He fables not; I hear the enemy;—
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.-
O, negligent and heedless discipline !
How are we parked, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Mazed vith a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood;"
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.-
God, and saint George Talbot, and England’s right!
Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight! [Eveunt.
SCENE III. Plains in Gascony.
Enter York, with Forces; to him a Messenger.
York. Are not the speedy scouts returned again, That dogged the mighty army of the dauphin f
Mess. They are returned, my lord; and give it out, That he is marched to Bordeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot. As he marched along, By your espials were discovered, Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led ;
Which joined with him, and made their march for Bor-
deaux. . -
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siegel
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am louted" by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier.
God comfort him in this necessity'
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy. Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron,
And hemmed about with grim destruction.
To Bordeaux, warlike duke 1 to Bordeaux, York'
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honor.
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.
Lucy. O, send some succor to the distressed 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
And on his son, young John ; whom, two hours since,
I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ;
And now they meet where both their lives are done.