Mad ire and wrathful fury make me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
Lucy. O, send some succor 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, who 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.
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 with Forces
Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth :- whiles they each other cross,
Lives, honors, lands, and all, hurry to loss.
SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony.
Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces; an Officer of TAL BOT'S with him.
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 honor
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.
Off. 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. Hither, 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 honorable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in disvantage lingering, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honor,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succors that should lend him aid,
While he, renownèd noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
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 horse,
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 France, Hath now entrapp'd 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 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;
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 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, be gone.
John. Is my name Taibot? and am I your son♪
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonor not her honorable 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 honor 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 sham'd 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.
John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be sever'd from your side Than can yourself yourself 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 son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
SCENE VI. A field of battle.
Alarums: 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, And left us to the rage of France his sword. Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath; I gave thee life, and rescu'd 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, To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.
Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans - that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight - I soon encountered,
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace,
Bespoke him thus,-"Contaminated, base,
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:"
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.
Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd his [Viewing the superscription.
No more but, plain and bluntly, "To the King"?
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will?
What's here? [Reads] “I have, upon especial cause,--
Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
Together with the pitiful complaints
Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
Forsaken your pernicious faction,
And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France." O monstrous treachery! can this be so,
That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
There should be found such false dissembling guile ?
K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?
Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe,
K. Hen. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?
Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
K. Hen. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with
him,
And give him chastisement for this abuse.—
My lord, how say you? are you not content?
Tal. Content, my liege! yes, but that I'm prevented,
I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him
straight:
Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason,
And what offense it is to flout his friends.
Tal. I go, my lord; in heart desiring still
You may behold confusion of your foes.
Enter VERNON and BASSET.
Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!
Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!
York. This is my servant: hear him, noble prince!
Som. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favor him!
K. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to
speak.-
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat; or with whom?
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