Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat affailing death from his weak legions,
And while the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied fuccours that fhould lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alanfon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York fet him on, York should have sent him aid. Lucy. And York as faft upon your grace exclaims, Swearing that withhold his levied horfe,
Collected for this expedition.
Som. York lies: he might have fent, and had the horse:
I owe him little duty and less love,
And take foul fcorn to fawn on him by fending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now entrap'd the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England shall he bear his life,
But dies betray'd to fortune by your ftrife.
Som. Come, go, I will defpatch the horsemen ftraight: Within fix hours they will be at his aid.
Lucy. Too late comes rescue now; he's ta'en, or flain: For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
And Ĥy would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu !
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
Near Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot, and his Son.
Tal. Young John Talbot, I did fend for thee.
To tutor thee in ftratagems of war,
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd,
When faplefs age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, o malignant and ill-boding ftars!
Now art thou come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.
Therefore, dear boy, mount on thy swiftest horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou fhalt escape
By fudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your fon?
And fhall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
To make a baftard and a flave of me.
The world will fay, he is not Talbot's blood,
That bafely fled, when noble Talbot ftood.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death if I be flain.
John. He that flies fo, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are fure to die.
John. Then let me ftay; and, father, do you fly:
Your lofs is great, fo your regard should be;
My worth unknown, no lofs is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast ;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are loft.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done.
You fled for vantage, ev'ry one will fwear;
But, if I bow, they'll fay, it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If the first hour I fhrink, and run away.
Here on my knee I beg mortality,
Rather than life preferv'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 bleffing I command thee go.
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be fav'd in thee.
John. No part of him but will be shame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, and canft not lose it.
John. Yes, your renowned name; fhall flight abuse it?
Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from the stain.
John. You cannot witness for me, being flain.
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 fhall my youth be guilty of fuch blame? No more can I be fever'd from your fide,
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 eclipfe thy life this afternoon :
Come, fide by fide together live and die,
And foul with foul from France to heav'n fhall fly. [Exeunt. Alarum: excurfions, wherein Talbot's Son is hemm'd about, and Talbot refcues 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's sword.
Where is John Talbot? paufe, and take thy breath;
gave thee life, and refcu'd thee from death.
John. O twice my father, twice am I thy fon:
The life thou gav'ft me first was loft and done,
Till with thy warlike fword, defpite of fate,
To my determin'd time thou gav❜ft new date.
Tal. When from the dauphin's creft thy sword struck fire, It warm'd thy father's heart with proud defire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
Beat down Alanfon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia refcu'd thee.
The ireful baftard Orleans that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight, I foon encounter'd;
And interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his baftard blood; then, in difgrace,
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base,
And mifbegotten blood I fpill of thine,
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine,
Which thou didst force from Talbot my brave boy: -
Here, purposing the bastard to destroy,
Came in strong refcue. Speak, thy father's care,
Art thou not weary, John? how doft thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art feal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead;
The help of one ftands me in little ftead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one fmall boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I fhall die with mickle age.
By me they nothing gain; and if I ftay,
"Tis but the short'ning of my life one day.
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 fav'd, if thou wilt fly away.
John. The fword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
These words of yours draw lifeblood from my heart.
O! what advantage bought with fuch a fhame,
To fave a paltry life, and flay bright fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot Aly,
The coward horse that bears me fall and die!
And leave me to the peasant boys of France,
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 fon :
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If fon to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
Tal. Then follow thou thy defp'rate fire of Crete,
Thou Icarus! thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's fide,
And commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.
SCENE VII.
Alarum: excurfions. Enter old Talbot led.
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 fmile at thee.
When he perceiv'd me fhrink, and on my knee,
His bloody fword he brandish'd over me,
And, like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience :
But when my angry guardant ftood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin, and affail'd of none,
Dizzy'-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my fide to start
Into the cluft'ring battle of the French:
And in that fea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting fpirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus, my bloffom, in his pride!
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