The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 187

JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.

JOHN. No part of him but will be shame 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 yourself yourself 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

SCENE 6.

A field of battle

Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd about, and TALBOT rescues him

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? Pause and take thy breath; I gave thee life and rescu'd 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 determin'd time thou gav'st new date.

TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire, It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.

The ireful b.a.s.t.a.r.d Orleans, 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 seal'd 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 to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, To-morrow I shall die with mickle age.

By me they nothing gain an 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 sav'd if thou wilt fly away.

JOHN. The sword of Orleans 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 prov'd, let's die in pride. Exeunt

SCENE 7.

Another part of the field

Alarum; excursions. Enter old 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, smear'd with captivity, Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.

When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee, His b.l.o.o.d.y sword he brandish'd 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 a.s.sail'd of none, Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the cl.u.s.t'ring battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His overmounting spirit; and there died, My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT

SERVANT. O my dear 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.

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 to-day.

Come, come, and lay him in his father'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. [Dies]

Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, b.a.s.t.a.r.d, LA PUCELLE, and forces

CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a b.l.o.o.d.y day of this.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said: 'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.'

But with a proud majestical high scorn He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'

So, rus.h.i.+ng in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a n.o.ble knight.

See where he lies inhea.r.s.ed in the arms Of the most b.l.o.o.d.y nurser of his harms!

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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, attended; a FRENCH HERALD preceding

LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, To know who hath obtain'd 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? h.e.l.l our prison is.

But tell me whom thou seek'st.

LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, Created for his rare success in arms Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the n.o.ble order of Saint George, Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth Of all his wars within the realm of France?

PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed!

The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this.

Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides, Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.

LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge, Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?

O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!

O that I could but can these dead to life!

It were enough to fright the realm of France.