2

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 unavoided1 danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest
horse;

And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 10
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. He that flies so will ne'er return again.

Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

20

And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans-that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight-I soon encounter'd,
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace 20
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,

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,
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: 30
The help of one stands me in little stead.
[O, too much folly is it, well I wot, 2
To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I shall die with mickle3 age:]
By me they nothing gain an if I stay;

'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's
fame:

All these and more we hazard by thy stay; 40 All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away.

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made

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 knec,
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,
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none,] 10
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 over-mounting spirit; and there di'd,
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Serv. O my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne !

8 Guardant, defender.

3 Mickle, much.

9 Lither, yielding

45

See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!
Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones
asunder,

Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char. O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled

During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 50

[Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY, attended: a French Herald preceding.

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,

Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. On what submissive message art thou

sent?

3

60

Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and
Valence;

Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of
Alton,

Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of
Sheffield,

The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge; Knight of the noble order of Saint George, Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece; Great marshal to our King Henry the Sixth 70 Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this.— Him that thou magnifi'st with all these titles, (Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.

Mess. The English army, that divided was Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one, And means to give you battle presently. Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;

But we will presently provide for them.

Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there: Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd:

Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine;

Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 20 Char. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!

Alarum.

SCENE III. Before Angiers.

[Exeunt.

Excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE

Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.