Now my old arms are young John Talbot's

grave.

[Dies.

Enter Charles, Alençon, Burgundy, Bastard, La Pucelle, and forces.

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this. Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging

wood,

Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:

41

'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, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. Bur. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight: See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms

Of the most bloody nurser of his harms! Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,

Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's won

der.

Char. O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

50

Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; Herald of the French preceding.

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. 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.

Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell 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, 61
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 noble 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?

70

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman's only

scourge,

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Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.

Give me their bodies, that I may bear them

hence

And give them burial as beseems their worth. Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit,

For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here,

They would but stink, and putrify the air. 90 Char. Go, take their bodies hence.

Lucy. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd

A phœnix that shall make all France afeard. Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou

wilt.

And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot 's slain.

[Exeunt.

ACT FIFTH

SCENE I

London. The palace.

Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester, and Exeter. King. Have you perused the letters from the pope, The emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac? Glou. I have, my lord: and their intent is this: They humbly sue unto your excellence To have a godly peace concluded of

10

Between the realms of England and of France.
King. How doth your grace affect their motion?
Glou. Well, my good lord; and as the only means
To stop effusion of our Christian blood
And stablish quietness on every side.
King. Aye, marry, uncle; for I always thought
It was both impious and unnatural
That such immanity and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith.

Glou. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
And surer bind this knot of amity,

The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,