Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The First Part of King Henry the Sixth/Act 4 Scene 7

by William Shakespeare

Alarum.Excursions.Enter old
Talbot led.

Talb.
Where is my other Life? mine owne is gone.
O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant Iohn?
Triumphant Death, smear'd with Captiuitie,
Young Talbots Valour makes me smile at thee.
When he perceiu'd me shrinke, and on my Knee,
His bloodie Sword he brandisht ouer mee,
And like a hungry Lyon did commence
Rough deeds of Rage, and sterne Impatience:
But when my angry Guardant stood alone,
Tendring my ruine, and assayl'd of none,
Dizzie-ey'd Furie, and great rage of Heart,
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clustering Battaile of the French:
And in that Sea of Blood, my Boy did drench
His ouer-mounting Spirit; and there di'de
My Icarus, my Blossome, in his pride.

Enter with Iohn Talbot, borne.

Seru.
O my deare Lord, loe where your Sonne is borne.

Tal.
Thou antique Death, which laugh'st vs here to scorn,
Anon from thy insulting Tyrannie,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuitie,
Two Talbots winged through the lither Skie,
In thy despight shall scape Mortalitie.
O thou whose wounds become hard fauoured death,
Speake to thy father, ere thou yeeld thy breath,
Braue death by speaking, whither he will or no:
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy Foe.
Poore Boy, he smiles, me thinkes, as who should say,
Had Death bene French, then Death had dyed to day.
Come, come, and lay him in his Fathers armes,
My spirit can no longer beare these harmes.
Souldiers adieu: I haue what I would haue,
DyesNow my old armes are yong Iohn Talbots graue.

Enter Charles, Alanson, Burgundie, Bastard,
and Pucell.

Char.
Had Yorke and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should haue found a bloody day of this.

Bast.
How the yong whelpe of Talbots raging wood,
Did flesh his punie-sword in Frenchmens blood.

Puc.
Once I encountred him, and thus I said:
Thou Maiden youth, be vanquisht by a Maide.
But with a proud Maiesticall high scorne
He answer'd thus: Yong Talbot was not borne
To be the pillage of a Giglot Wench:
So rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as vnworthy fight.

Bur.
Doubtlesse he would haue made a noble Knight:
See where he lyes inherced in the armes
Of the most bloody Nursser of his harmes.

Bast.
Hew them to peeces, hack their bones assunder,
Whose life was Englands glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char.
Oh no forbeare: For that which we haue fled
During the life, let vs not wrong it dead.

Enter Lucie.

Lu.
Herald, conduct me to the Dolphins Tent,
To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char.
On what submissiue message art thou sent?

Lucy.
Submission Dolphin? Tis a meere French word:
We English Warriours wot not what it meanes.
I come to know what Prisoners thou hast tane,
And to suruey the bodies of the dead.

Char.
For prisoners askst thou? Hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st?

Luc.
But where's the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot Earle of Shrewsbury?
Created for his rare successe in Armes,
Great Earle of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Vrchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdon of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingefield, Lord Furniuall of Sheffeild,
The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the Noble Order of S. George,
Worthy S. Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marshall to Henry the sixt,
Of all his Warres within the Realme of France.

Puc.
Heere's a silly stately stile indeede:
The Turke that two and fiftie Kingdomes hath,
Writes not so tedious a stile as this.
Him that thou magnifi'st with all these Titles,
Stinking and fly-blowne lyes here at our feete.

Lucy.
Is Talbot slaine, the Frenchmens only Scourge,
Your Kingdomes terror, and blacke Nemesis?
Oh were mine eye-balles into Bullets turn'd,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces.
Oh, that I could but call these dead to life,
It were enough to fright the Realme of France.
Were but his Picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the prowdest of you all.
Giue me their Bodyes, that I may beare them hence,
And giue them Buriall, as beseemes their worth.

Pucel.
I thinke this vpstart is old Talbots Ghost,
He speakes with such a proud commanding spirit:
For Gods sake let him haue him, to keepe them here,
They would but stinke, and putrifie the ayre.

Char.
Go take their bodies hence.

Lucy.
Ile beare them hence: but from their ashes shal be reard
A Phœnix that shall make all France affear'd.

Char.
So we be rid of them, do with him what yu wilt.
And now to Paris in this conquering vaine,
Exit.All will be ours, now bloody Talbots slaine.

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