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I thee life, and rescu'd thee from death.
gave

John. O, twice my father! twice am I thy fon :'
The life, thou gav'ft me firft, was loft and done
Till with thy warlike fword, defpight of fate,
To my determin'd time thou gav'ft new date.

Tal. When from the Dauphin's creft thy fword ftruck fire,

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud defire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful fpleen 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 firft Fight, I foon encountered;
And, interchanging blows, I quickly fhed
Some of his baftard blood; and in difgrace
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, bafe,
And mif-begotten 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, purpofing the Bastard to destroy,

Came in ftrong refcue. Speak, thy father's care,
Art not thou weary, John? how doft thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art feal'd the fon of Chivalry?
am dead;
Fly, to revenge my death, when I
The help of one ftands me in little ftead.
Oh, too much folly is it, well I wot,
To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
If I to day die not with Frenchmens' rage,
To morrow I fhall die with mickle age.
By me they nothing gain; and, if I stay,
'Tis but the fhortning of my life one day.
In thee thy mother dies, our houfhold's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
All these, and more, we hazard by thy ftay;
All these are fav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

John. The fword of Orleans hath not made me'fmart, Thefe words of yours draw life blood from my heart.

Out

Out on that vantage bought with fuch a shame, (13)
To fave a paltry life, and flay bright fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,

The coward horfe, that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peafant boys of France,
To be fhame's fcorn, and fubject of mifchance.
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 Sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus! thy life to me is fweet:

If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's fide;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt.
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, fmear'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 brandifh'd over me;
And, like a hungry Lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and ftern impatience:
But when my angry Guardant ftood alone,
Tendring 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 cluftring battle of the French:
And, in that fea of blood, my boy did drench

(13) On that advantage, bought with fuch a Shame,
To fave a paltry life, and flay bright Fame!
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,

The Coward barfe, that bears me, fall and dye.]

This paffage feems to lie obfcure, and disjointed. Neither the Grammar is to be justified; nor is the Sentiment better. 1 have ventur'd at a slight Alteration, which departs so little from the Reading which has obtain'd, but fo much raifes the Sense, as well as takes away the Obscurity, that I am willing to think it reftores the Author's Meaning.

His over-mounting fpirit; and there dy'd
My Icarus! my bloffom in his pride!

Enter John Talbot, borne.

Serv. O my dear lord! lo! where your fon is borne. Tal. Thou antick death, which laugh'ft us here to fcorn,

Anon, from thy infulting tyranny,

Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

Two Talbot's winged through the lither sky,
In thy defpight, fhall 'fcape mortality.

O thou, whofe wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath.
Brave death by fpeaking, whether he will or no:
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.

Poor boy! he fmiles, methinks, as who should say,
"Had death been French; then death had died to day."
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;
My spirit can no longer bear thefe harms.

Soldiers, adieu: I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's Grave. [Dies.

A C T V.

SCENE continues near Bourdeaux..

Enter Charles, Alanfon, Burgundy, Baftard and

HA

Pucelle.

CHARLES.

AD York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.
Baft. How the young whelp of Talbot's raging,
brood

Did flesh his puny fword in Frenchmens' blood!
Pucel. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I faid:

"Thou

"Thou maiden youth, be vanquifh'd by a maid."
But with a proud, majestical, high scorn
He answer'd thus: "Young Talbot was not born
"To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'
So, rufhing in the Bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble Knight: See, where he lies inherfed in the arms

Of the most bloody nurfer of his harms.

Ba. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder ;. Whofe life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char. Oh, no: forbear: for that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, to know Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. On what fubmiffive meffage are thou fent?
Lucy. Submiffion, Dauphin? 'tis a meer French word,.
We English warriors wot not, what it means.

I come to know what prisoners thou haft ta'en,
And to furvey the bodies of the dead..

Char. For prifoners ask'ft thou? hell our prifon is... But tell me whom thou feek'st?

Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare fuccefs in arms,

Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield;

Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdon of Alton,
Lord Cromwel of Wing field, lord Furnival of Sheffeild,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble Order of St. George,
Worthy St. Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marshal to our King Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France.

Pucel. Here is a filly, ftately, ftile, indeed:
The Turk, that two and fifty Kingdoms hath,
Writes not fo tedious a ftile as this.

Him that thou magnify't with all these titles,.

Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.
Lucy. Is Talbot flain, the Frenchmens' only scourge,
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemefis?
Oh, were mine eye-balls 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 realm of France!
Were but his picture left among you here,
It would amaze the proudeft of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as befeems their worth.

Pucel. I think, this Upstart is old Talbot's ghoft;
He speaks with fuch a proud commanding fpirit:
For God's fake, let him have 'em; to keep them here,
They would but ftink and putrifie the air.

Char. Go, take their bodies hence.

Lucy. I'll bear them hence;

But from their afhes, Dauphin, fall be rear'd
A Phoenix, that fall make all France afear'd.
Char. So we be rid of them, do what thou wilt:
And now to Paris, in this conq'ring vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's flain.

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[Exeunt.

Enter King Henry, Gloucester, and Exeter.

"AVE you perus'd the letters from the

K. Henry. HAVE Pope,

The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac ?
Glou, I have, my lord; and their intent is this;
They humbly fue unto your Excellence,

To have a godly Peace concluded of,
Between the realms of England and of France.

K. Henry. How doth your Grace affect this motion?
Glou. Well, my good lord; and as the only means
To ftop effufion of our Christian blood,
And stablish quietnefs on ev'ry fide.

K. Henry. Ay, marry, uncle, for I always thought
It was both impious and unnatural,

1

That

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