For ere the glafs, that now begins to run,
Finish the procefs of his fandy hour,

These eyes, that fee thee now well coloured,
Shall fee thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy mufick to thy timorous foul;
And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exit from the Walls.

Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy;-
Out, fome light horfemen, and perufe their wings.-
O, negligent and heedless discipline!

How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood:
Not rafcal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But rather moody-mad, and defperate ftags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of fteel,
And make the cowards ftand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
And they fhall find dear deer of us, my friends.-
God, and faint George! Talbot, and England's right!
Profper our colours in this dangerous fight.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. Another Part of France.

Enter a Mejenger, meeting YORK, who enters with a Trumpet, and many Soldiers.

York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? Me. They are return'd, my lord: and give it out, That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along,

By your efpials were difcovered

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 Somerfet ;
That thus delays my promifed fupply
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, farewell wars in France.

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English ftrength, Never fo needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot; Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm'd about with grim deftruction:

To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York! Elfe, farewell Talbot, France, and England's ho

nour.

York. O God! that Somerfet--who in proud heart
Doth top 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

And on his fon young John; whom, two hours fince,
I met in travel towards his warlike father!
This feven years did not Talbot see 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 almost stops my breath,
That funder'd friends greet in the hour of death.---
Lucy, farewell: 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 Somerfet, 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 conquest of our fcarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,

Henry the fifth-Whiles they each other crofs, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs. [Exit.

SCENE IV. Another Part of France.

Enter SOMERSET, with his Army.

Som. It is too late; I cannot fend them now: This expedition was by York, and Talbot, Too rafhly plotted; all our general 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, defperate, wild adventure: York fet him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. Capt. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.

G 3

Enter

Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY.

Som. How fent?

now, Sir William ? whither were you

Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and fold lord Talbot;

Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat affailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles 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,
Alençon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perifheth by your default.

Som. York fet him on, York should have sent him
aid.

Lucy. And Yorkasfaft upon your grace exclaims; Swearing, that you withhold 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; [horse : 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 Talbot:
Never to England fhall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your ftrife.

Som.

Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen Within fix hours they will be at his aid. [straight Lucy. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en, or flain: For fly he could not, if he would have fled; And Ay would Talbot never, though he might.

Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu ! Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in [Exeunt

you.

SCENE V. A Field of Battle near Bourdeaux."

Enter TALBOT, and his Son.

Tal. O 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-boding 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 fhalt escape
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 slain. John. He, that flies fo, will ne'er return again. Tal. If we both ftay, 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