SCENE I.
The Same. A Room of State.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suffolk,
Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot,
the Governour of Paris, and Others.
Glo.
Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.
Win.
God save king Henry, of that name the sixth!
Glo.
Now, governour of Paris, take your oath,—
[Governour kneels.
That you elect no other king but him;
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend7 note
Malicious practices against his state:
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
[Exeunt Gov. and his Train.
Enter Sir John Fastolfe.
Fast.
My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy.
Tal.
Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee!
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg8 note
,
[Plucking it off.
-- 105 --
(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.—
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay9 note
,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,—
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside,
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.
Glo.
To say the truth, this fact was infamous,
And ill beseeming any common man;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.
Tal.
When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
-- 106 --
Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage1 note,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extremes2 note
.
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort,
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
Profaning this most honourable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge,)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
K. Hen.
Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy doom:
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.—
[Exit Fastolfe.
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 style?
[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 will3 note?
What's here?—I have upon especial cause,—
[Reads.
Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
Together with the pitiful complaints
-- 107 --
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:—
How say you, my lord4 note
? are you not content?
Tal.
Content, my liege? Yes, but that I am prevented5 note
,
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 offence it is, to flout his friends.
Tal.
I go, my lord; in heart desiring still,
You may behold confusion of your foes.
[Exit.
-- 108 --
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, favour 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?
Ver.
With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.
Bas.
And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
K. Hen.
What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
Bas.
Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying—the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth6 note
,
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms:
In confutation of which rude reproach,
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.
Ver.
And that is my petition, noble lord:
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit,
-- 109 --
To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge,
Pronouncing—that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
York.
Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
Som.
Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out,
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
K. Hen.
Good Lord! what madness rules in brainsick men;
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise!—
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
York.
Let this dissention first be tried by fight,
And then your highness shall command a peace.
Som.
The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
York.
There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.
Ver.
Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
Bas.
Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
Glo.
Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd,
With this immodest clamorous outráge
To trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords,—methinks, you do not well,
To bear with their perverse objections;
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves;
Let me persuade you take a better course.
Exe.
It grieves his highness;—Good my lords; be friends.
K. Hen.
Come hither, you that would be combatants:
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour,
-- 110 --
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause.—
And you, my lords,—remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
If they perceive dissention in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree,
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, What infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certified,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France?
O, think upon the conquest of my father;
My tender years; and let us not forego
That for a trifle, that was bought with blood!
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
[Putting on a red Rose.
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset, than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade,
Than I am able to instruct or teach:
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love.—
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France:—
And good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;—
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go cheerfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long
-- 111 --
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som.
Win. Suf. and Basset.
War.
My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
York.
And so he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
War.
Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York.
And, if I wist, he did7 note
,—But let it rest;
-- 112 --
Other affairs must now be managed.
[Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon.
Exe.
Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event8 note.
'Tis much9 note
, when scepters are in children's hands;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division1 note;
There comes the ruin, there begin's confusion.
[Exit.
-- 113 --
SCENE II.
France. Before Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot, with his Forces.
Tal.
Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall.
Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walls,
the General of the French Forces, and Others.
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 proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire2 note
;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love3 note
.
-- 114 --
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 pitch'd,
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 artillery4 note
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
-- 115 --
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal5 note
;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exeunt General, &c. from the Walls.
Tal.
He fables not6 note
, I hear the enemy;—
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.—
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
-- 116 --
If we be English deer, be then in blood7 note
:
Not rascal-like8 note
, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel9 note,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us1 note
, 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 York, with Forces; to him, a Messenger.
York.
Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
Mess.
They are return'd, my lord; and give it out,
-- 117 --
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along,
By your espials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux.
York.
A plague upon that villain Somerset;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am lowted2 note
by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier:
God comfort him in this necessity!
-- 118 --
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
Enter Sir William Lucy3 note.
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 iron4 note
,
And hemm'd 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
Doth 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 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; whom, two hours since.
I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
-- 119 --
And now they meet where both their lives are done5 note.
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.
Lucy.
Thus, while the vulture6 note 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.
SCENE IV.
Other Plains of Gascony.
Enter Somerset, with his Forces; an Officer of
Talbot'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 honour7 note,
-- 120 --
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.
Enter Sir William Lucy.
Som.
How now, sir William? whither were you sent?
Lucy.
Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot8 note
;
Who, ring'd about9 note
with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions1 note.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring2 note
, looks for rescue,
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation3 note
.
-- 121 --
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields4 note up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy5 note,
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 host,
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 despatch 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.
-- 122 --
Som.
If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu!
Lucy.
His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
[Exeunt.
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 death6 note
,
A terrible and unavoided7 note
danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone.
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 stood8 note
.
-- 123 --
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 regard9 note 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 honour 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 shame in me.
Tal.
Thou never had'st 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.
-- 124 --
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 eclipse1 note
thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
A Field of Battle.
Alarum: 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 son2 note
:
-- 125 --
The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done3 note;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
To my determin'd time4 note
thou gav'st new date.
Tal.
When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire5 note
,
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 did'st force from Talbot, my brave boy:—
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
-- 126 --
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
Art not thou 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;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
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 mickle age:
By me they nothing gain, an if I stay,
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day6 note
:
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;
All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.
John.
The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart7 note
:
On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame8 note
,)
-- 127 --
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peasant boys of France9 note
;
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won,
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
-- 128 --
Tal.
Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus1 note
; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Another Part of the Same.
Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded, supported by a Servant.
Tal.
Where is my other life?—mine own is gone;—
O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?—
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity2 note
!
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:—
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee,
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,
-- 129 --
Tend'ring my ruin3 note
, and assail'd of none,
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 overmounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Enter Soldiers, bearing the Body of John Talbot4 note.
Serv.
O my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne!
Tal.
Thou antick death5 note
, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
-- 130 --
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky6 note
,
In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality.—
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath:
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.—
Poor boy! he smiles, methinks: as who should say—
Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.
[Dies.
Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving
the two Bodies. Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy,
Bastard, La Pucelle, and Forces.
Char.
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.
-- 131 --
Bast.
How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood7 note
,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood8 note!
Puc.
Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said,
Thou maiden youth be vanquish'd by a maid:
But—with a proud, majestical high scorn,—
He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench9 note
:
So, rushing in the bowels of the French1 note
,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
Bur.
Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight:
See, where he lies inhersed 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.
-- 132 --
Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; a French Herald preceding.
Lucy.
Herald,
Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent; to know
Who hath obtain'd2 note
the glory of the day.
Char.
On what submissive message art thou sent?
Lucy.
Submission, Dauphin? 'tis a mere French word;
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners, thou hast ta'en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.
Char.
For prisoners, ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.
Lucy.
Where is the great Alcides3 note of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great earl of Washford4 note, Waterford, and Valence;
-- 133 --
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 mareshal to Henry the sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France?
Puc.
Here is a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath5 note,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.—
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles,
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.
Lucy.
Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces!
O, 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 amaze6 note
the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as beseems their worth.
Puc.
I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
-- 134 --
For God's sake, let him have 'em7 note; to keep them here,
They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
Char.
Go, take their bodies hence,
Lucy.
I'll bear them hence:
But from their ashes shall be rear'd
A phœnix8 note
that shall make all France afeard.
Char.
So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt9 note.
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
