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!
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,
Tendring my ruin, and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start,
Into the clustring battle of the French:
And, in that sea of blood, my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus! my blossom in his pride! Enter John Talbot, borne.

Serv.
O my dear lord! lo! where your son is borne.

Tal.
Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
Two Talbots winged through the lither sky,
In thy despight, 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.

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