For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

[Drum afar off.

Hark! hark the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exeunt General, etc.

Tal. He fables not; I hear the enemy:
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
O, negligent and heedless discipline !

How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood;
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
God and Saint George, Talbot and England's

right,

Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!

40

50

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Plains in Gascony.

Enter a Messenger that meets York.

Enter

YORK with trumpet and many Soldiers.

York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd

again,

48. in blood, in full vigour (a term of the chase).

i. 2. 35.

49. rascal- like; cf. note to

That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
Mess. They are return'd, my lord, and give it

out

That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,
By your espials 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 promised supply

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
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 necessity!
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,

Never so needful on the earth of France,

Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,

Who now is girdled with a waist of iron

And hemm'd about with grim destruction :

To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux,

York !

Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's

honour.

York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud

heart

Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!

So should we save a valiant gentleman

By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.

Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,

13. lowted, befooled.

ΤΟ

20

That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd
lord!

York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike.
word;

We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily

get;

All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's
soul;

And on his son young John, who two hours since
I met in travel toward his warlike father!

This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
And now they meet where both their lives are
done.

York. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset and his delay.

[Exit, with his soldiers. Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition

Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
That ever living man of memory,

Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss. [Exit.

51. i.e. that man of ever-living memory.

30

40

50

SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony.

Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of
TALBOT'S with him.

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now:
This expedition was by York and Talbot
Too rashly plotted: all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
York set him on to fight and die in shame,
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the

name.

Cap. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.

Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY.

Som. How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?

Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;

Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,

Cries out for noble York and Somerset,

To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,

ΤΟ

You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, 20

19. in advantage lingering; this is explained by Johnson, 'protracting his resistance by the advantage of a strong post." It probably means that Talbot

ΙΟΙ

just holds his ground, succeeds in defending his fortified camp, but cannot venture to quit his vantage-ground and fight in the

open.

Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ex-
claims;

Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies; he might have sent and had
the horse;

I owe him little duty, and less love;

And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of
France,

Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:

Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or

slain;

For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu !
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame
[Exeunt.

in you.

30

40

35. take foul scorn, I scorn (to fawn on him) as a foul disgrace.