The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sund’red 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 forces 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

SCENE 4.

Other plains of Gascony Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of TALBOT’S with him

SOMERSET. 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.

OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o’er-match’d forces forth for aid.

Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY

SOMERSET. 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 ling’ring, looks for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, 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,

Yield up his life unto a world of odds.

Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default.

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

LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you withhold his levied host, Collected for this expedition.

SOMERSET. 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.

SOMERSET. 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.

SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu!

LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. Exeunt SCENE 5.

The English camp near Bordeaux Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of war,

That Talbot’s name might be in thee reviv’d When sapless age and weak unable limbs Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.

But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!

Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger;

Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And I’ll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.

JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son?

And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name,

To make a bastard and a slave of me!

The world will say he is not Talbot’s blood That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.

TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain.

JOHN. He that flies so will ne’er return again.

TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly.

Your loss is great, so your regard should be; My worth unknown, no loss is known in me; Upon my death the French can little boast; In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.

Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; But mine it will, that no exploit have done; You fled for vantage, every one will swear; But if I bow, they’ll say it was for fear.

There is no hope that ever I will stay If the first hour I shrink and run away.

Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,

Rather than life preserv’d with infamy.

TALBOT. Shall all thy mother’s hopes lie in one tomb?

JOHN. Ay, rather than I’ll shame my mother’s womb.

TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go.

JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav’d in thee.

JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.

TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.

JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?

TALBOT. Thy father’s charge shall clear thee from that stain.

JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain.

If death be so apparent, then both fly.

TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die?

My age was never tainted with such shame.

JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?

No more can I be severed from your side Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide.

Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; For live I will not if my father die.

TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.

Come, side by side together live and die; And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. Exeunt

SCENE 6.

A field of battle Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm’d about, and TALBOT rescues him TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.

The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word And left us to the rage of France his sword.

Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath; I gave thee life and rescu’d thee from death.

JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!

The life thou gav’st me first was lost and done Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, To my determin’d time thou gav’st new date.

TALBOT. When from the Dauphin’s crest thy sword struck fire,

It warm’d thy father’s heart with proud desire Of bold-fac’d victory. Then leaden age, Quicken’d with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.

The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood Of thy first fight, I soon encountered And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace Bespoke him thus: ‘Contaminated, base, And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.’

Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father’s care; Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?

Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal’d the son of chivalry?

Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: The help of one stands me in little stead.

O, too much folly is it, well I wot,

To hazard all our lives in one small boat!

If I to-day die not with Frenchmen’s rage, Tomorrow I shall die with mickle age.

By me they nothing gain an if I stay: ‘Tis but the short’ning of my life one day.

In thee thy mother dies, our household’s name, My death’s revenge, thy youth, and England’s fame.

All these and more we hazard by thy stay; All these are sav’d if thou wilt fly away.

JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; These words of yours draw lifeblood from my heart.

On that advantage, bought with such a shame, To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die!

And like me to the peasant boys of France, To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance!

Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son;

Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot.

TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp’rate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.

If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side; And, commendable prov’d, let’s die in pride. Exeunt

SCENE 7.

Another part of the field Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT

TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.

O, where’s young Talbot? Where is valiant John?

Triumphant death, smear’d with captivity, Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee.

When he perceiv’d me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And like a hungry lion did commence

Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tend’ring my ruin and assail’d of none, Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clust’ring battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His overmounting spirit; and there died, My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT

SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!

TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh’st 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 to-day.

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. [Dies]

Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD, LA PUCELLE, and forces CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this.

BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!

PUCELLE. Once I encount’red him, and thus I said: ‘Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’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, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.

See where he lies inhearsed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!

BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder.

CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH

HERALD preceding LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent, To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day.

CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?

LUCY. 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.

CHARLES. For prisoners ask’st thou? Hell our prison