Manent York, Warwick, Exeter, and Vernon. War. My Lord of York, I promife you the King Prettily, methought, did play the Orator.

York. And fo he did, but yet I like it not, In that he wears the Badge of Somerset.

War. Tufh, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
1 dare prefume, fweet Prince, he thought no harm.
York. And if I wifh he did.---But let it reft,
Other Affairs must now be managed.

Flourish. Manet Exeter.

[Exeunt

Exe. Well didft thou Richard to fupprefs thy Voice:
For had the Paffions of thy Heart burft out,

I fear we should have seen decypher'd there
More rancorous fpight, more furious raging Broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or fuppos'd:

But howfoe'er, no fimple Man that fees
This jarring difcord of Nobility,

This fhouldering of each other in the Court,
This factious bandying of their Favourites,
But that he doth prefage fome ill event.

'Tis much, when Scepters are in Childrens Hands
But more, when Envy breeds unkind Division:
Then comes the Ruin, there begins Confufion. [Exit
Enter Talbot with Trumpets and Drum before Bourdeaux.
Tal. Go to the Gates of Bourdeaux, Trumpeter,
Summon their General unto the Wall.

Enter General aloft.

[Sounds

English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,
Servant in Arms to Harry King of England,
And thus he would: Open your City Gates,
Be humbled to us, call my Soveraign yours,
And do him Homage as Obedient Subjects,
And I'll withdraw me, and my Bloody Power,
But if you frown upon this proffer'd Peace,
You tempt the fury of my three Attendants,
Lean Famine, quartering Steel, and climbing Fire,
Who in a moment even with the Earth

Shall lay your ftately, and Air-braving Towers,
you forfake the Offer of their Love.

If

Cap.

Cap. Thou ominous and fearful Owl of Death,
Our Nation's Terrour, and their bloody Scourge,
The period of thy Tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter but by Death:
For I proteft we are well fortified,

And ftrong enough to iffue out and fight.
If thou retire, the Dauphin well appointed,
Stands with the Snares of War to tangle thee.
On either hand thee, there are Squadrons pitcht,
To wall thee from the liberty of Flight;
And no o way canft thou turn thee for Redress,
But Death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale deftruction meets thee in the Face:
Ten thousand French have ta'en the Sacrament,
To rive their dangerous Artillery

Upon no Chriftian Soul, but English Talbot
Lo there thou ftand'st a breathing valiant Man,
Of an invincible unconquer'd Spirit:
This is the latest Glory of thy Praife,
That I thy Enemy dew thee withal;
For ere the Glafs, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of his fandy Hour,
Thefe Eyes that fee thee now well coloured,
Shall fee thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.

[Drum a far off
Hark, hark, the Dauphin's Drum, a warning Bell,
Sings heavy Mufick to thy timorous Soul,
And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out:
Tal. He fables not, I hear the Enemy:
Out fome light Horfemen, and perufe their Wings.
O negligent and heedlefs Difcipine,

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 Stags,
Turn on the bloody Hounds, with Heads of Steel,
And make the Cowards ftand aloof at Bay:
Sell every Man his Life as dear as mine,

[Exit.

And

And they fhall find dear Deer of us, my Friends.
God and St. George, Talbot and England's Right,
Profper our Colours in this dangerous fight.

[Exeunt Enter a Meffenger that meets York. Enter York with Trumpet, and many Soldiers.

York. Are not the fpeedy Scouts return'd again,
That dogg'd the mighty Army of the Dauphin?
Meff. 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 Efpyals were discovered!

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 Somerset,
That thus delays my promised Supply
Of Horfemen that were levied for this Siege.
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, farewel Wars in France.
Enter a fecond Meffenger..

2 Meff. Thou Princely Leader of our English Strength, Never fo needful on the Earth of France,

Spur to the Rescue of the Noble Talbot,
Who is now girdled with a waste of Iron,
And hem'd about with grim Destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke, to Bourdeaux, York,
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's Honour.
York. O God! that Somerset, who in proud Heart
Doth ftop 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 dye, while remifs Traitors fleep.
Mell. O fend fome Succour to the diftrefs'd Lord.
York. He dyes, we lofe; I break
We mourn, France fmiles: We lofe,
All long of this vile Traitor Somerset.

my
warlike word:
they daily get:

Mell.

Melf. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's Soul,
And on his Son, young John, who two hours fince,
I met in Travel towards his warlike Father;
This seven years did not Talbot fee his Son,
And now they meet, where both their lives are done.
York. Alas! What Joy fhall Noble Talbot have,
To bid his young Son welcome to his Grave!
Away, Vexation almoft ftops my Breath,
That fundred Friends greet in the hour of Death.
Lucy farewel, no more my Fortune can,
But curfe the Cause, I cannot aid the Man.
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerset, and his delay.

Meff. Thus while the Vulture of Sedition,
Feeds in the Bofom of fuch great
Commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth betray to lofs,
The Conquefts of our scarce cold Conqueror,
That ever-living Man of Memory.

Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other crofs,
Lives, Honours, Lands, and all, hurry to loss.
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 Sally 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 dye in fhame,
That Talbot dead, great York might bear the Name.
Capt. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me,

Set from our o'er-matcht Forces forth for aid.

[Exit.

[Exit

Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent? Lucy. Whither my Lord? from Bought and Sold L. Talbot, Who ring'd about with bold adverfity,

Cries out for noble York and Somerset,

To beat affailing Death from his weak Legions;
And whiles the Honourable Captain there

Drops bloody Sweat from his War-wearied Limbs,
And in advantage lingring looks for Rescue,

You,

You, his falfe Hopes, the truft of England's Honour,
Keep off aloof with worthlefs Emulation:
Let not your private Discord keep away
The levied Succours that fhall lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble Gentleman,
Yields up his Life unto a World of odds.
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alenfon, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your Default.

Som. York fet him on, York should have sent him aid. Lucy. And York as faft upon your Grace exclaims, Swearing that you with-hold his levied Hoft, Collected for this Expedition.

Som. York lies: He might have fent, and had the Horse: I owe him little Duty, and lefs Love,

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 Strife.

Som. Come, go, I will difpatch the Horsemen ftraight: Within fix Hours, they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes Rescue, he's ta'en, or flain,
For fly he could not, if he would have fled:
And fy 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 you.

Enter Talbot and his Son.

Tal. O young John Talbot, I did fend for thee,
To tutor thee in Stratagems of War,

That Talbot's Name might be in thee reviv'd,
When faplefs Age, and weak unable Limbs,
Should bring thy Father to his drooping Chair.
But O malignant and ill-boading Stars,
Now art thou come unto a Feast of Death,
A terrible and unavoided danger,

[Exeunt

Therefore, dear Boy, mount on thy fwifteft Horse,
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt efcape
By fudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.