Tal.

SCENE III.

Before the Walls of Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets and drum.

G

O to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their General unto the Wall. [Sounds.

Enter General, 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 humbled to us, call my Sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient fubjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody pow'r.
But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering fteel, and climbing fire;
Who in a moment even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving tow❜rs,
If you forfake the offer of our love. 9

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 proteft, we are well fortify'd;
And strong enough to iffue out and fight.
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the fnares of war to tangle thee.
On either hand thee, there are fquadrons pitch'd
To wall thee from the liberty of flight,
And no way canft thou turn thee for redress,
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,

9 The common editions read, T. Hanmer altered it to our.

the offer of their love. Sir

And

And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thoufand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery '

Upon no chriftian foul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou ftand'ft, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquer'd fpirit:
This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I thy enemy due thee withal;
For ere the glafs, that now begins to run,
Finifh the process of his fandy hour,
Thefe eyes, that fee thee now well coloured,
Shall fee thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy mufick to thy tim'rous foul;

And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out.

"[Exit from the walls. Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy.

Out, fome light horfemen, and perufe their wings.
O, negligent and heedlefs difcipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale?
A little herd of England's tim'rous Deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs.
If we be English Deer, be then in blood; 3
Not rafcal like to fall down with a pinch,
But rather moody, mad, and defp'rate Stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards ftand aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they fhall find dear Deer of us, my friends.

God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right, Profper our Colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt.

Enter a Meffenger, that meets York. Enter York, with trumpet, and many foldiers.

York.

A

RE not the speedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin ?

Mell. They are return'd, my Lord, and give it out That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his pow'r, To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along, By your espyals 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 promifed fupply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this fiege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
" And I am lowted by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in this neceffity!
If he miscarry, farewel wars in France.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never fo needful on the earth of France,

Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ;

5 And I am lorted- -] To lowt may fignify to deprefs, to lower, to dishonour; but I do not remember it fo ufed. We

may read, And I am flouted. I am mocked, and treated with contempt.

Who

Who now is girdled with a waste of iron,
And hem'd about with grim destruction.

To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerset, who in proud heart
Doth ftop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
So fhould we fave a valiant gentleman,

By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.

Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remifs traitors fleep.

Lucy. O, fend fome fuccour to the diftrefs'd Lord! York. He dies, we lofe; I break my warlike word; We mourn, France fmiles; we lofe, they daily get; All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's foul, And on his fon young John! whom, two hours fince, I met in travel towards his warlike father;

This fev'n years did not Talbot fee his fon,

And now they meet, where both their lives are done.
York. Alas! what joy fhall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young fon welcome to his grave!
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel; no more my fortune can,
But curfe the caufe; I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
Feeds in the bofom of fuch great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to lofs
The Conquefts of our fcarce cold Conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,

[Exit.

Henry the Fifth-While they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs. [Exit.

6 the vulture] Alluding to the tale of Prometheus.

SCENE

Som.

SCENE v.

Another Part of France.

Enter Somerset, with his army.

T is too late; I cannot fend them now. This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rafhly plotted; all our gen'ral force Might with a fally of the very town Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot Hath fullied all his glofs of former honour By this unheedful, defp'rate, wild adventure. York fet him on to fight and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. Capt. 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 fent?
Lucy. Whither, my Lord? from bought and fold
Lord Talbot,

Who, 7 ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat affailing death from his weak legions.
And while the honourable Captain there
Drops bloody fweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for refcue;
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthlefs emulation.
Let not your private difcord keep away
The levied fuccours that fhould lend him aid
While he, renowned noble gentleman,

8

worthless emulation.] In this line emulation fignifies merely rivalry, not struggle for fuperior excellence.

Yields