Shakespeare's First Folio Part 358

Enter Generall aloft.

English Iohn Talbot (Captaines) call you forth, Seruant in Armes to Harry King of England, And thus he would. Open your Citie Gates, Be humble to vs, call my Soueraigne yours, And do him homage as obedient Subiects, And Ile withdraw me, and my b.l.o.o.d.y power.

But if you frowne vpon this proffer'd Peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Leane Famine, quartering Steele, and climbing Fire, Who in a moment, eeuen with the earth, Shall lay your stately, and ayre-brauing Towers, If you forsake the offer of their loue

Cap. Thou ominous and fearefull Owle of death, Our Nations terror, and their b.l.o.o.d.y scourge, The period of thy Tyranny approacheth, On vs 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 Dolphin well appointed, Stands with the snares of Warre to tangle thee.

On either hand thee, there are squadrons pitcht, To wall thee from the liberty of Flight; And no way canst thou turne thee for redresse, But death doth front thee with apparant spoyle, And pale destruction meets thee in the face: Ten thousand French haue tane the Sacrament, To ryue their dangerous Artillerie Vpon no Christian soule but English Talbot: Loe, there thou standst a breathing valiant man Of an inuincible vnconquer'd spirit: This is the latest Glorie of thy praise, That I thy enemy dew thee withall: For ere the Gla.s.se that now begins to runne, Finish the processe of his sandy houre, These eyes that see thee now well coloured, Shall see thee withered, b.l.o.o.d.y, pale, and dead.

Drum a farre off.

Harke, harke, the Dolphins drumme, a warning bell, Sings heauy Musicke to thy timorous soule, And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

Exit

Tal. He Fables not, I heare the enemie: Out some light Hors.e.m.e.n, and peruse their Wings.

O negligent and heedlesse Discipline, How are we park'd and bounded in a pale?

A little Heard of Englands timorous Deere, Maz'd with a yelping kennell of French Curres.

If we be English Deere, be then in blood, Not Rascall-like to fall downe with a pinch, But rather moodie mad: And desperate Stagges, Turne on the b.l.o.o.d.y Hounds with heads of Steele, And make the Cowards stand aloofe at bay: Sell euery man his life as deere as mine, And they shall finde deere Deere of vs my Friends.

G.o.d, and S[aint]. George, Talbot and Englands right, Prosper our Colours in this dangerous fight.

Enter a Messenger that meets Yorke. Enter Yorke with Trumpet, and many Soldiers.

Yorke. Are not the speedy scouts return'd againe, That dog'd the mighty Army of the Dolphin?

Mess. They are return'd my Lord, and giue it out, That he is march'd to Burdeaux with his power To fight with Talbot as he march'd along.

By your espyals were discouered Two mightier Troopes then that the Dolphin led, Which ioyn'd with him, and made their march for Burdeaux Yorke. A plague vpon that Villaine Somerset, That thus delayes my promised supply Of hors.e.m.e.n, that were leuied for this siege.

Renowned Talbot doth expect my ayde, And I am lowted by a Traitor Villaine, And cannot helpe the n.o.ble Cheualier: G.o.d comfort him in this necessity: If he miscarry, farewell Warres in France.

Enter another Messenger

2.Mes. Thou Princely Leader of our English strength, Neuer so needfull on the earth of France, Spurre to the rescue of the n.o.ble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waste of Iron, And hem'd about with grim destruction: To Burdeaux warlike Duke, to Burdeaux Yorke, Else farwell Talbot, France, and Englands honor

Yorke. O G.o.d, that Somerset who in proud heart Doth stop my Cornets, were in Talbots place, So should wee saue a valiant Gentleman, By forfeyting a Traitor, and a Coward: Mad ire, and wrathfull fury makes me weepe, That thus we dye, while remisse Traitors sleepe

Mes. O send some succour to the distrest Lord

Yorke. He dies, we loose: I breake my warlike word: We mourne, France smiles: We loose, they dayly get, All long of this vile Traitor Somerset

Mes. Then G.o.d take mercy on braue Talbots soule, And on his Sonne yong Iohn, who two houres since, I met in trauaile toward his warlike Father; This seuen yeeres did not Talbot see his sonne, And now they meete where both their liues are done

Yorke. Alas, what ioy shall n.o.ble Talbot haue, To bid his yong sonne welcome to his Graue: Away, vexation almost stoppes my breath, That sundred friends greete in the houre of death.

Lucie farewell, no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot ayde the man.

Maine, Bloys, Poytiers, and Toures, are wonne away, Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

Exit

Mes. Thus while the Vulture of sedition, Feedes in the bosome of such great Commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to losse: The Conquest of our sca.r.s.e-cold Conqueror, That euer-liuing man of Memorie, Henrie the fift: Whiles they each other crosse, Liues, Honours, Lands, and all, hurrie to losse.

Enter Somerset with his Armie.

Som. It is too late, I cannot send them now: This expedition was by Yorke and Talbot, Too rashly plotted. All our generall force, Might with a sally of the very Towne Be buckled with: the ouer-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his glosse of former Honor By this vnheedfull, desperate, wilde aduenture: Yorke set him on to fight, and dye in shame, That Talbot dead, great Yorke might beare the name

Cap. Heere is Sir William Lucie, who with me Set from our ore-matcht forces forth for ayde

Som. How now Sir William, whether were you sent?

Lu. Whether my Lord, from bought & sold L[ord]. Talbot, Who ring'd about with bold aduersitie, Cries out for n.o.ble Yorke and Somerset, To beate a.s.sayling death from his weake Regions, And whiles the honourable Captaine there Drops b.l.o.o.d.y swet from his warre-wearied limbes, And in aduantage lingring lookes for rescue, You his false hopes, the trust of Englands honor, Keepe off aloofe with worthlesse emulation: Let not your priuate discord keepe away The leuied succours that should lend him ayde, While he renowned n.o.ble Gentleman Yeeld vp his life vnto a world of oddes.

Orleance the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Charles, Burgundie, Alanson, Reignard, compa.s.se him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default

Som. Yorke set him on, Yorke should haue sent him ayde

Luc. And Yorke as fast vpon your Grace exclaimes, Swearing that you with-hold his leuied hoast, Collected for this expidition

Som. York lyes: He might haue sent, & had the Horse: I owe him little Dutie, and lesse Loue, And take foule scorne to fawne on him by sending

Lu. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now intrapt the n.o.ble-minded Talbot: Neuer to England shall he beare his life, But dies betraid to fortune by your strife

Som. Come go, I will dispatch the Hors.e.m.e.n strait: Within sixe houres, they will be at his ayde

Lu. Too late comes rescue, he is tane or slaine, For flye he could not, if he would haue fled: And flye would Talbot neuer though he might

Som. If he be dead, braue Talbot then adieu

Lu. His Fame liues in the world. His Shame in you.

Exeunt.

Enter Talbot and his Sonne.

Tal. O yong Iohn Talbot, I did send for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of Warre, That Talbots name might be in thee reuiu'd, When saplesse Age, and weake vnable limbes Should bring thy Father to his drooping Chaire.

But O malignant and ill-boading Starres, Now thou art come vnto a Feast of death, A terrible and vnauoyded danger: Therefore deere Boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And Ile direct thee how thou shalt escape By sodaine flight. Come, dally not, be gone

Iohn. Is my name Talbot? and am I your Sonne?

And shall I flye? O, if you loue my Mother, Dishonor not her Honorable Name, To make a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and a Slaue of me: The World will say, he is not Talbots blood, That basely fled, when n.o.ble Talbot stood

Talb. Flye, to reuenge my death, if I be slaine

Iohn. He that flyes so, will ne're returne againe

Talb. If we both stay, we both are sure to dye

Iohn. Then let me stay, and Father doe you flye: Your losse is great, so your regard should be; My worth vnknowne, no losse is knowne in me.

Vpon my death, the French can little boast; In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.

Flight cannot stayne the Honor you haue wonne, But mine it will, that no Exploit haue done.

You fled for Vantage, euery one will sweare: But if I bow, they'le say it was for feare.

There is no hope that euer I will stay, If the first howre I shrinke and run away: Here on my knee I begge Mortalitie, Rather then Life, preseru'd with Infamie

Talb. Shall all thy Mothers hopes lye in one Tombe?

Iohn. I, rather then Ile shame my Mothers Wombe

Talb. Vpon my Blessing I command thee goe

Iohn. To fight I will, but not to flye the Foe