Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Talbot, led by a
Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.
O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?
Triumphant Death, smeared with captivity,
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandished over me,
And like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tendering my ruin and assailed of none,
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clustering battle of the French;
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Enter soldiers, with John Talbot, borne
O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
Thou antic Death, which laughest us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.
Poor boy! He smiles, methinks, as who should say
‘ Had Death been French, then Death had died today.’
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms.
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.
Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy, the Bastard, and
Joan la Pucelle
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.
How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!
Once I encountered him and thus I said:
‘ Thou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid.’
But with a proud majestical high scorn
He answered thus: ‘ Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench.’
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.
See where he lies inhearsed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
Enter Lucy, accompanied by a French herald
Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.
On what submissive message art thou sent?
Submission, Dauphin? 'Tis a mere French word;
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en
And to survey the bodies of the dead.
For prisoners askest thou? Hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seekest.
But where's the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
Created for his rare success in arms
Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble Order of Saint George,
Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France?
Here's a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
Stinking and flyblown lies here at our feet.
Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turned,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
O that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France.
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
And give them burial as beseems their worth.
I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here,
They would but stink and putrefy the air.
Go take their bodies hence.
I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be reared
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
So we be rid of them, do with them what thou wilt.
And now to Paris in this conquering vein!
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.