SCENE II.-Before Bourdeaux.

Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum.

Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter; Summon their general unto the wall.

Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft.
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,
forsake the offer of our love.

If

you

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 flight,

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 colouréd,

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, etc.

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 with 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 colours in this dangerous fight!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Plains in Gascony.

Enter a Messenger that meets YORK.

Enter YORK

with trumpet and many Soldiers.

York. Are not the speedy scouts returned again, That dogged the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Mess. They are returned, my lord, and give it out That he is marched to Bourdeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot. As he marched along,

By your espials were discoveréd

Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,

Which joined with him and made their march for

Bourdeaux.

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promiséd supply

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege !
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 Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
Dcth 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 succour 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 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 sundered 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 his soldiers.

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, honours, lands, and all hurry to loss. [Exit.