The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works
Page 57
These eyes that see thee now well coloured
Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.
Drum afar off
Hark, hark, the Dauphin’s drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul,
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. Exit
TALBOT
He fables not. I hear the enemy.
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
⌈Exit one or more⌉
O negligent and heedless discipline,
How are we parked and bounded in a pale!—
A little herd of England’s timorous deer
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs.
If we be English deer, be then in blood,
Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch,
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life as dear as mine
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
God and Saint George, Talbot and England’s right,
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! Exeunt
4.3 Enter a Messenger that meets the Duke of York. Enter Richard Duke of York with a trumpeter and many soldiers
RICHARD DUKE OF YORK
Are not the speedy scouts returned again
That dogged the mighty army of the Dauphin?
MESSENGER
They are returned, my lord, and give it out
That he is marched to Bordeaux with his power
To fight with Talbot. As he marched along,
By your espials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
Which joined with him and made their march for
Bordeaux.
RICHARD DUKE OF YORK
A plague upon that villain Somerset
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
And I am louted by a traitor villain
And cannot help the noble chevalier.
God comfort him in this necessity;
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France!
Enter another messenger, Sir William Lucy
LUCY
Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
Who now is girdled with a waste of iron
And hemmed about with grim destruction.
To Bordeaux, warlike Duke; to Bordeaux, York,
Else farewell Talbot, France, and England’s honour.
RICHARD DUKE OF YORK
O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot’s place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,
That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.
LUCY
O, send some succour to the distressed lord.
RICHARD DUKE OF YORK
He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get,
All ‘long of this vile traitor Somerset.
LUCY
Then God take mercy on brave Talbot’s soul,
And on his son young John, who two hours since
I met in travel toward his warlike father.
This seven years did not Talbot see his son,
And now they meet where both their lives are done.
RICHARD DUKE OF YORK
Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away—vexation almost stops my breath
That sundered 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, Poitiers, and Tours are won away
’Long all of Somerset and his delay.
Exeunt all but Lucy
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⌉
4.4 Enter the Duke of Somerset with his army
SOMERSET (to a Captain)
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.
⌈Enter Lucy⌉
CAPTAIN
Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o’ermatched forces forth for aid.
SOMERSET
How now, Sir William, whither were you sent?
LUCY
Whither, my lord? From bought and sold Lord Talbot,
Who, ringed 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, unadvantaged, 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.
Orléans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alençon, René, 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 horse
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 entrapped the noble-minded Talbot.
Never to England shall he bear his life,
But dies betrayed 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 ⌈severally⌉
4.5 Enter Lord Talbot and his son John
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 revived
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, everyone 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 preserved 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 saved in thee.
JOHN
No part of him but will be shamed 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 your self 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
4.6 Alarum. Excursions, wherein Lord Talbot’s son John is hemmed about by French soldiers and Talbot rescues him. ⌈The English drive off the French⌉
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? (To John) Pause and take thy
breath.
I gave thee life, and rescued 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 determined time thou gav’st new date.
TALBOT
When from the Dauphin’s crest thy sword struck fire
It warmed thy father’s heart with proud desire
Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,
Quickened with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
Beat down Alençon, Orléans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
The ireful Bastard Orléans, 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 sealed 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 today die not with Frenchmen’s rage,
Tomorrow I shall die with mickle age.
By me they nothing gain, and 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 saved if thou wilt fly away.
JOHN
The sword of Orléans hath not made me smart;
These words of yours draw life-blood 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 proved, let’s die in pride. Exeunt
4.7 Alarum. Excursions. Enter old Lord 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 smeared with captivity,
Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee.
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandished 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 assailed of none,
Dizzy-eyed 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 over-mounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Enter English soldiers with John Talbot’s body, borne
SERVANT
O my odear 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.
(To John) 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 today’.
Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms.
Soldiers lay John in Talbot’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.
He dies. ⌈Alarum.⌉ Exeunt soldiers leaving the bodies
Enter Charles the Dauphin, the dukes of Alencon and Burgundy, the Bastard of Orléans, and Joan la Pucelle
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!
JOAN
Once I encountered him, and thus I said:
‘Thou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid.’
But with a proud, majestical high scorn
He answered 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 inhearsèd 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 ⌈with a French herald⌉
LUCY
Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent
To know who hath obtained 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 is.
But tell me whom thou seek’st.