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Manet Exeter.
Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice:
For had the passions of my heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decypher'd there
More ranc'rous spight, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos’d.
But howsoe'er, no fimple man that fees
This jarring discord of Nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the Court,
This factious bandying of their favourites;
But that he doth presage fome ill event.
'Tis much, when scepters are in childrens' hands;
But more,

breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit.

when envy


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Before the Walls of Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets, and drum.
Tal. G Summon their General unto the Wall


[Sounds. Enter General, aloft. 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 Sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient subjects, And I'll withdraw me and my bloody pow'r. 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 stately and air-braving tow'rs, If you forsake the offer of their love.



R 3

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter, but by death: For, 1 proteft, we are well fortify'd; And strong enough to issue 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.pitch'd To wall ihee from the liberty of flight; And no way canst thou turn thee for redress : But death doth front thee with apparent spoil; And pale destruction meets thee in the face. Ten thousand French have ta'en the facrament, To rive their dangerous artillery Upon no christian foul but English Talbot. lo! there iliou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, Of an invincible, unconquer'd spirit: This is the latest glory of thy praise, That I thy enemy due thee withal; For ere the glass, that now begins to run, Finish the process of this sandy hour, These eyes,

that see thee now well coloured, Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

[Drum afar off Hark! hark! ihe Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, Sings heavy music to thy tim'rous foul; And mine shall ring ihy dire departure out.

(Exit from the Walls. Tal. He fables not: I hear the enemy: Out, fome light horsemen, and peruse their wings. O, negligent and heedless discipline! How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale? A little herd of England's tim'rous Deer, Mazd 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 desp'rate 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 fall find dear Deer of us, my friends.
God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right,
Prosper our Colours in this dangerous fight!



Another Part of France.
Enter a Messenger, that meets York. Enter York, with

trumpet, and many soldiers.

RE not the speedy scouts return'd again,
That dogg'd the mighty army of the

Dauphin ?
Mes. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his pow'r,
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

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promised supply
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 necesity!
If he miscarry, farewel wars in France.

Enter 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 hem'd about with grim destruction:

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To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York !
Else farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.

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 fleep,

Lucy. O, send fome fuccour to the distress'd lord!

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 fon young John! whom, two hours since,
I met in travel towards his warlike father;
This fev'n years did not Talbot see his son,
And now they meet, where both their lives are done.

York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave!
Away! vexation almost flops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel; no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause; I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Bloys, Poi£tiers, and Tours are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay,

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of fedition
Feeds in the bofom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doch betray to loss
The Conquests of our scarce-cold Conqueror;
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth :-While they each other cross,
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit.


Another Part of France.

Enter Somerset, with his army. .
Som. 'Tis too late; I cannot send them now:

I'This expedition was by crot di lana Talbot


Too rashly plotted. All our gen’ral force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his glofs of former honour,
By this unheedful, defp'rate, wild adventure:
York set 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.

Enter Sir William Lucy. Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you sent 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 assailing death from his weak legions. And while 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, Yields


his life unto a world of odds. Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, Alanson, Reignier, compass him about; And Talbot perisheth by your default.

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

Lucy. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims; Swearing, that you with-hold his levied hoft, Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies: he might have sent, and had the I owe him little duty, and less love, (horse: And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now entrapt the noble-minded Talbot ;



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