Count.
Porter, remember what I gave in charge,
And when you've done so, bring the keys to me.

Port.
Madam, I will. [Exit.

Count.
The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful Knight,

And his atchievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and Talbot.

Mess.
Madam, according as your ladyship
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Count.
And he is welcome; what? is this the man?

Mess.
Madam, it is.

Count.
Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot so much fear'd abroad,
That with his name the mothers still their babes?
I see report is fabulous and false.
I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:
It cannot be, this weak and writhled Shrimp
Should strike such terror in his enemies.

Tal.
Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:
But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count.
What means he now? Go ask whither he goes.

Mess.
Stay, my lord Talbot, for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

Tal.
Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certifie her, Talbot's here. Enter Porter with keys.

Count.
If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

Tal.
Pris'ner? to whom?

Count.
To me, blood-thirsty lord:
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.

Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
But now the substance shall endure the like,
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny these many years
Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

Tal.
Ha, ha, ha.

Count.
Laughest thou wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.

Tal.
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,
To think that you have ought but Talbot's shadow
Whereon to practice your severity.

Count.
Why? art not thou the man?

Tal.
I am indeed.

Count.
Then have I substance too.

Tal.
No, no, I am but shadow of my self:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:
I tell you, Madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.

Count.
This is a riddling merchant for the nonce,
He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal.
That will I shew you presently. Winds his horn, drums strike up, a peal of Ordnance: Enter Soldiers.
How say you, Madam? are you now persuaded
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,
With which he yoaketh your rebellious necks,

Razeth your cities and subverts your towns,
And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count.
Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse;
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath,
For I am sorry that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal.
Be not dismay'd, fair lady, nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done hath not offended me:
Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
But only with your patience that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have,
For soldiers stomachs always serve them well.

Count.
With all my heart, and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt.

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