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Manet Exeter.

Exe. Well didft thou, Richard, to fupprefs thy voice: For had the paffions of my heart burst out,

I fear, we should have feen decypher'd there
More ranc'rous 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 fhould'ring of each other in the Court,
This factious bandying of their favourites ;
But that he doth prefage fome ill event.

'Tis much, when fcepters are in childrens' hands; But more, when envy breeds unkind divifion: There comes the ruin, there begins confufion. [Exit.

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Before the Walls of Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets, and drum.

O to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,

Tal. G to the Batter 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 Sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient fubjects,
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 fteel, and climbing fire;
Who in a moment even with the earth
Shall lay your ftately and air-braving tow'rs,
If you forfake the offer of their love.

R 3

Gen.

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, I proteft, we are well fortify'd;

And ftrong enough to issue out and fight,
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
Stands with the fnares of war to tangle thee.
On either hand thee, there are fquadrons pitch'd
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;

And no way canft thou turn thee for redress:
But death doth front thee with apparent fpoil;
And pale deftruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thoufand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no chriftian foul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou ftand'ft, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquer'd fpirit:

This is the lateft glory of thy praife,
That I thy enemy due thee withal;
For ere the glafs, that now begins to run,
Finish the procefs of this fandy hour,
Thefe 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 mufic to thy tim'rous foul;

And mine fhall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exit from the Walls.

Tal. He fables not: I hear the enemy: Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. O, negligent and heedlefs difcipline! How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale? A little herd of England's tim'rous 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 desp'rate Stags,

Turn

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,
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!

SCENE IV.

Another Part of France.

Exeunt.

Enter a Messenger, that meets York. Enter York, with trumpet, and many foldiers.

York.

A

RE not the speedy 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 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
Bourdeaux.

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promised 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, farewel wars in France.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never fo 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 deftruction:

R 4

Το

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 die, while remifs traitors fleep,

Lucy. O, fend fome fuccour to the diftrefs'd lord! York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word: We mourn, France fmiles; we lofe, they daily get: All long of this vile traitor Somerfet.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's foul, And on his fon young John! whom, two hours fince, I met in travel towards his warlike father;

This fev'n 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 almoft flops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel; 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 Somerset, 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 Conquefts of our scarce-cold Conqueror;
That ever-living man of memory,

[Exit.

Henry the Fifth-While they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to lofs. [Exit.

Som.

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Another Part of France.

Enter Somerfet, with his army.

T is too late; I cannot fend them now:
This expedition was by York and Talbot

Too

Too rafhly plotted. All our gen'ral 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, desp'rate, wild adventure :
York fet him on to fight, and die 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-match'd forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Som. How now, Sir William, whither were you fent Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and fold lord Talbot:

Who, ring'd about with bold adverfity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat affailing death from his weak legions.
And while the honourable Captain there
Drops bloody fweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue;
You, his false hopes, the truft of England's honour,
Keep off aloof with worthlefs 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,
Alanfon, Reignier, compafs him about;
And Talbot perifheth by your default.

Som. York fet him on, York should have fent 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 lefs love, [horse: And take foul fcorn 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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