Turn on the bloody hounds with heads offteel,
And make the cowards ftand aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they hall find dear Deer of us, my friends.
God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right,
Profper our Colours in this dangerous fight!

SCENE

IV.

Another Part of France.

Exeunt.

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

York. That dogg'd the mighty army of the

RE not the speedy scouts return'd again,

Dauphin?

Melf. 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 efpyals 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 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; Who now is girdled with a waste of iron, And hem'd about with grim deftruction:

To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerfet, who in proud heart
Doth flop 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 distress'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 almoft fops 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 scarce-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.

Som.

I

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

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 Yark 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, ring'd about with bold adverfity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerfet,
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 rescue ;
You, his falfe hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private difcord 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 Baftard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alanfon, Reignier, compafs him about;
And Talbot perifheth by your default.

Som. York fet him on, York fhould have fent him aid. Lucy. And York as faft upon your Grace exclaims; Swearing, that you with-hold his levied hoft, Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies: he might have fent, and had the

I owe him little duty, and less love,
[horfe:
And take foul fcorn to fawn on him by fending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France,
Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Taibot;

Never to England fhall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your frife.

Som. Come, go; I will difpatch the horsemen ftrait: Within fix hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes refcue; he is ta'en, or flain; 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 fhame in you. [Exeunt.

Tal.

SCENE VI.

A Field of Battle near Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot, and his fon.

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 fapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, O malignant and ill-boading ftars!
Now art thou come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger.

Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swifteft horse:
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt efcape

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,
Difhonour 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 stood.

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 fhould be;
My worth unknown, no lofs is known in me.

Upon

Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are loft.
Flight cannot ftain 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 fhame 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 fhame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canft not lose it.
John. Yes, your renowned name; fhall flight abuse it?
Tal. Thy father's charge fhall clear thee from that
ftain.

John. You cannot witnefs 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 fuch fhame.

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 fon,

Born to eclipfe thy life this afternoon :

Come, fide by fide, together live and die;

And foul with foul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt.,

Alarm: excurfions, wherein Talbot's fon his hemm'd about and Talbot refcues him.

Tal. St. George, and victory! fight, foldiers, fight:

R 6

The