Tal.
Where is my other life? mine own is gone;
O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, ^note
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:
When he perceived 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,
Tendering ^note my ruin and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start

Into the clustering battle of the French;
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit, and there died,
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Serv.
O my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne! Enter ^note Soldiers, with the body of young Talbot.

Tal.
Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
Two Talbots, winged through the lither ^note sky,
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd ^note death,
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
Brave death by speaking, whether ^note 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. ^note
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, ^note
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies. Enter Charles, Alençon ^note, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle, and forces. ^{note note}

Char.
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.

Bast.
How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood, ^note
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

Puc.
Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:
‘Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:’
But, with a proud ^note majestical high scorn,
He answer'd thus: ‘Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench:’
So, rushing in the bowels of the French ^note,
He left ^note me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur.
Doubtless he would have made a noble knight:
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
Of the most bloody ^note nurser of his ^note 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. Enter ^note Sir William Lucy, attended; Herald of the French preceding.

Lucy.
Herald ^note, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
To know ^note who hath obtain'd ^note the glory of the day ^note.

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 ^note.

Lucy.
But where's ^note the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
Created, for his rare success in arms ^note,

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 ^note 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 ^note to Henry ^note the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Puc.
Here is ^note a silly stately ^note style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that ^note 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 terror 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 amongst ^note you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence ^note
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 ^note spirit.
For God's sake, let him have 'em ^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 ^note shall be rear'd ^{note note}
A phœnix that shall make all France afeard.

Char.
So we be rid of them, do with 'em what ^note