Till with thy warlike fword, defpight of fate, determin'd time thou gav'ft new date.

To my

Tal. When from the Dauphin's creft thy (word struck fire,

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud defire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then, leaden age
Quicken'd with youthful fpleen and warlike rage,
Beat down Alanfon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia refcu'd thee.
The ireful baftard Orleans that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy firft Fight, I foon encountered;
And interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his baftard blood; then in disgrace
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, bafe,
And mif-begotten blood 1 fpill of thine,
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine,
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy-
Here purpofing the Baftard to destroy,

Came in ftrong refcue. Speak, thy father's care,
Art not thou weary, John? how dost thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battel, boy, and fly?
Now thou art feal'd the fon of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
Oh too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one fmall boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I fhall die with mickle age.
By me they nothing gain; and if I stay,
'Tis but the fhortning of my life one day.
In thee thy mother dies, our houshold's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame :
All these and more we hazard by thy stay;

All these are fav'd if thou wilt fly away.

John. The fword of Orleans hath not made me fmart,

These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.
On that advantage bought with fuch a fhame,
To fave a paltry life, and flay bright fame,
3

Before

Before young Talbot from old Talbot Ay,
The coward horfe that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peasant boys of France,
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance.
Surely by all the glory you have won,

And if I fly, I am not Talbot's son :

Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot,
If fon to Talbot die at Talbot's foot.

Tal. Then follow thou thy defp'rate Sire of Creet,
Thou Icarus, thy life to me is fweet:

If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's fide,
And commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt.

Alarum. Excurfions. Enter old Talbot led.

Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is
gone.
O! where's young Talbot? where is valiant John
Triumphant death fmear'd with captivity! :
Young Talbot's valour makes me fmile at thee.
When he perceiv'd me fhrink and on my knee,
His bloody fword he brandish'd over me,
And like a hungry Lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and ftern impatience :
But when my angry guardant ftood alone,
Tendring my ruin, and affail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my fide to start
Into the cluft'ring battel of the French:
And in that fea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting fpirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus, my bloffom, in his pride!

Enter John Talbot, borne.

Serv. O my dear lord! lo where your fon is borne. Tal. Thou antick death, which laugh'ft us here to

fcorn,

Anon, from thy infulting tyranny,

Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

Two

Two Talbots winged through the † lither sky,
In thy defpight fhall fcape mortality.

O thou, whofe wounds become hard-favoured death,
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath. *
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms,
My fpirit can no longer bear thefe harms.
Soldiers adieu: I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Continues near Bourdeaux.

Enter Charles, Alanson, Burgundy, Baftard, and
Pucelle.

CHARLES.

AD York and Somerfet brought rescue in,
We fhould have found a bloody day of this.
Baft. How the young whelp of Talbot's ra-
ging brood

Did flesh his puny fword in Frenchmen's blood!
Pucel, Once I encounter'd him, and thus I faid:
Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.
But with a proud, majestical, high fcorn-
He answer'd thus: young Talbot was not born

To

*-yield thy breath.

Brave death by fpeaking, whether he will or no:
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.

Poor boy, he fmiles, methinks, as who fhould fay,
Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
Come, come, &c.

lither, fmooth, gentle.

To be the pillage of a † giglot wench.
So left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur. Doubtless he would have made a noble Knight: See where he lyes inherfed in the arms

Of the most bloody nurfer of his harms.

Baft. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones afunder, Whofe life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char. Oh no: forbear: for that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter Lucy.

Lucy. Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, to know Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. On what fubmiffive meffage art thou fent? Lucy. Submiffion, Dauphin? 'tis a meer French word: We English warriors wot not what it means.

I come to know what prifoners thou haft ta'en,

And to furvey the bodies of the dead.

Char. For prifoners ask'ft thou? hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou feek'ft?

Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field, Valiant lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury?

Created for his rare fuccefs in arms,

Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield;

Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdon of Alton,
Lord Cromwel of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffeild,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble order of St. George,
Worthy St. Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marfhal to our King Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France.

Pucel. Here is a filly, ftately ftile indeed :
The Turk that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not fo tedious a ftile as this.

Him that thou magnify'ft with all these titles,
Stinking and fly-blown lyes here at our feet.

† giglot, a Drab, Strumpet.

Lucy.

Lucy. Is Talbot flain, the Frenchmens only scourge, Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemefis? Oh were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, That I in rage might fhoot them at your faces. Oh, that I could but call these dead to life, It were enough to fright the realm of France. Were but his picture left among you here, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies that I may bear them hence, And give them burial, as befeems their worth.

Pucel. I think this upftart is old Talbot's ghoft,
He speaks with fuch a proud commanding fpirit:
For God's fake let him have him; to keep them here,
They would but ftink and putrifie the air.
Char. Go take their bodies hence.
Lucy. I'll bear them hence;

But from their ashes Dauphin fhall be rear'd
A Phoenix that fhall make all France afear'd.
Char. So we be rid of them, do what thou wilt:
And now to Paris in this conqu'ring vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's flain.

SCENE II.

Changes to England.

[Exeunt.

Enter King Henry, Gloucefter, and Exeter.

K. Henry. HAVE you perus'd the letters from the

Pope,

The Emperor, and Earl of Armagnac ?

Glou. I have my lord, and their intent is this, They humbly fue unto your excellence,

To have a godly peace concluded of,

Between the realms of England and of France.

K. Henry. How doth your grace affect this motion? Glou. Well my good lord, and as the only means To stop effufion of our Christian blood,

And ftablish quietnefs on ev'ry fide.

VOL. V.

D

K. Henry.