TALBOT

The Earl of Bedford had a Prisoner, Called the brave Lord Ponton de Sautrayle, For him was I exchanged, and ransomed. But with a baser man of Arms by far, Once in contempt they would have bartered me: Which I disdaining, scorned, and craved death, Rather then I would be so piled esteemed: In fine, redeemed I was as I desired. But Oh, the treacherous Falstaff wounds my heart, Whom with my bore fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. With scoffs and scorns, and contumelious taunts, In open Marketplace produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the Terror of the French, The Scarecrow that affrights our Children so. Then broke I from the Officers that led me, And with my nails dug stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly, None durst come near, for fear of sudden death. In Iron Walls they deemed me not secure: So great fear of my Name amongst them were spread, That they supposed I could rend Bars of Steel, And spurn in pieces Posts of Adamant. Wherefore a guard of chosen Shot I had, That walked about me every Minute while: And if I did but stir out of my Bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach, the Regions of Artoys, Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us: This happy night, the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carouse and banqueted, Embrace we then this opportunity, As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contrived by Art, and baleful Sorcery. A Maid, they say. Well, let them practice and converse with spirits. God is our Fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. Not altogether: Better far I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways: That if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. And here will Talbot mount, or make his graven. Now Salisbury, for thee and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty. I am bound to both. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy, and thee: I vowed (base Knight) when I did meet the next, To tear the Garter from thy Cravens leg, Which I have done, because (unworthily) Thou was't installed in that High Degree. Pardon me Princely Henry, and the rest: This Dastard, at the battle of Poitiers, When (but in all) I was six thousand strong, And that the French were almost ten to one, Before we met, or that a stroke was given, Like to a trusty Squire, did run away. In which assault, we lost twelve hundred men. My self, and diverse Gentlemen beside, Were there surprised, and taken prisoners. Then judge (great Lords) if I have done amiss: Or whither that such Cowards ought to wear This Ornament of Knighthood, yea or no? When first this Order was ordained my Lords, Knights of the Garter were of Noble birth; Valiant, and Virtuous, full of haughty Courage, Such as were grown to credit by the wars: Not fearing Death, nor shrinking for Distress, But always resolute, in most extremes. He then, that is not furnished in this sort, Does but usurp the Sacred name of Knight, Profaning this most Honourable Order, And should (if I were worthy to be Judge) Be quite degraded, Like a Hedge-borne Swain, That does presume to boast of Gentle blood. Content, my Liege? Yes: But y to I am prevented, I should have begged I might have be employed. I go my Lord, in heart desiring still You may behold confusion of your foes. He Fables not, I hear the enemy: Out some light Horsemen, and peruse their Wings. Oh negligent and heedless Discipline, How are we park'd and bounded in a pale? A little Herd of England's timorous Dear, Mazed with a yelping kennel of French Curs. If we be English Dear, be then in blood, Not Rascallike to fallen 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: Fell every man his life as deer as mine, And they shall find deer Dear of us my Friends. God, and S. George, Talbot and England's right, Prosper our Colours in this dangerous fight. Oh young John Talbot, I did send for thee To tutor thee in stratagems of War, That Talbots name might be in thee revived, When sapless Age, and weak unable limbs Should bring thy Father to his drooping Chair. But Oh malignant and ill-boding Stars, Now thou art come unto a Feast of death, A terrible and unavoided danger: Therefore deer Boy, mount on my swiftest horse, And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone. Thou antique Death, which laughest 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 escape Mortality. Oh thou whose wounds become hard favoured death, Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath, Brave death by speaking, whither he will or no: Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy Foe. Poor Boy, he smiles, me thinks, as who should say, Had Death be 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 Talbots graven. For ought I see, this City must be famished, Or with light Skirmishes enfeebled. What chance is this, that suddenly hath crossed us? Speak Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst, speak: How farest thou, Mirror of all Martial men? One of thy Eyes, and thy Cheeks side struck off? Accursed Tower, accursed fatal Hand, That hath contrived this woeful Tragedy. In thirteen Battles, Salisbury of recame: Henry the Fifth he first trained to the Wars. Whilst any Trump did found, or Drum struck up, His Sword did never leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou Salisbury ? though thy speech does fail, One Eye thou hast to look to Heaven for grace. The Sun with one Eye views all the World. Heaven be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands. Bear hence his Body, I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot, nay, look up to him. Salisbury cheer thy Spirit with this comfort, Thou shalt not die while— He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me: As who should say, When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French. Plantagenet I will, and Like thee, Play on the Lute, beholding the Towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my Name. What stir is this? what tumult's in the Heavens? Whence comes this Alarm, and the noise? Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury does groan, It irk his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. Puzel or Pussel, Dolphin or Dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my Horses heals, And make a Quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his Tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English Troops retire, I cannot stay them, A Woman clad in Armour chases them. Here, here she comes. I'll have a bowt with thee: Devil, or Devils Dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a Witch, And straightway give thy Soul to him thou servest. Heavens, can you suffer Hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my Arms asunder, But I will chastise this highminded Strumpet. My thoughts are whirled Like a Potters Wheel, I know not where I am, nor what I do: A Witch by fear, not force, Like Hannibal, Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: So Bees with smoke, and Doves with noisome stench, Are from their Hives and Houses driven away. They called us, for our fierceness, English Dogs, Now Like to Whelps, we crying run away, Hark Countrymen, either renew the fight, Or tear the Lyons out of England's Coat; Renounce your Soil, give Sheep in Lyons stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the Wolf, Or Horse or Oxen from the Leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. It will not be, retire into your Trenches: You all consented unto Salisburies death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Puzel is entered into Orleans, In spite of us, or ought that we could do. Oh would I were to die with Salisbury, The shame hereof, will make me hide my head. Bring forth the Body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the Marketplace, The middle Centure of this cursed Town. Now have I paid my Vow unto his Soul: For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died to night. And that hereafter Ages may behold What ruin happened in revenge of him, Within their chiefest Temple I'll erect A Tomb, wherein his Corpse shall be interred: Upon the which that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death, And what a terror he had been to France. But Lords, in all our bloody Massacre, I muse we met not with the Dolphins Grace, His newcome Champion, virtuous Joan of Acre, Nor any of his false Confederates. Here is the Talbot, who would speak with him? Never trust me then: for when a World of men Could not prevail with all their Oratory, Yet hath a Woman's kindness overruled: And therefore tell her, I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your Honours bear me company? Well then, alone (since there's no remedy) I mean to prove this Ladies courtesy. Come hither Captain, you perceive my mind. Madame, I have been bold to trouble you: But since your Ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Prisoner? to whom? Would, would, would. I laugh to see your Ladyship so found, To think, that you have ought but Talbots shadow, Whereon to practice your severity. I am indeed. No, no, I am but shadow of my self: You are deceived, my substance is not here; For what you see, is but the smallest partly, And least proportion of Humanity: I tell you Madame, were the whole Frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Your Roof were not sufficient to contayn't. That will I show you presently. How say you Madame? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious Necks, Razes your Cities, and subverts your Towns, And in a moment makes them desolate. Be not dismayed, fair Lady, nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done, hath not offended me: Nor other satisfaction do I crave, But only with your patience, that we may Taste of your Wine, and see what Cates you have, For Soldiers stomachs always serve them well. France, thou shalt rue this Treason with thy tears, If Talbot but survive thy Treachery. Pucell that Witch, that damned Sorceress, Hath wrought this Hellish Mischief unawares, That hardly we escaped the Pride of France. Foul Fiend of France, and Hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful Paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant Age, And twit with Cowardice a man half dead? Damsel, I'll have a bowt with you again, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field? I speak not to that railing Hecate, But unto thee Alanson, and the rest. Will you, Like Soldiers, come and fight it out? Seignior hang: base Muleteers of France, Like Peasant foot-bois do they keep the Walls, And dare not take up Arms, Like Gentlemen. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbots greatest fame. Vow Burgonie, by honour of thy House, Pricked on by public Wrongs sustained in France, Either to get the Town again, or die. And I, as sure as English Henry lives, And as his Father here was Conqueror; As sure as in this late betrayed Town, Great Cordelions Heart was buried; So sure I swear, to get the Town, or die. But ere we go, regard this dying Prince, The valiant Duke of Bedford: Come my Lord, We will bestow you in some better place, Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast, Then be it so: Heavens keep old Bedford safe. And now no more ado, brave Burgonie, But gather we our Forces out of hand, And set upon our boasting Enemy. Lost, and recovered in a day again, This is a double Honour, Burgonie: Yet Heavens have glory for this Victory. Thanks gentle Duke: but where is Pucel now? I think her old Familiar is asleep. Now where's the Bastards braves, and Charles his glikes? What all amort? Roan hangs her head for grief, That such a valiant Company are fled. Now will we take some order in the Town, Placing therein some expert Officers, And then depart to Paris, to the King, For there young Henry with his Nobles lie. But yet before we go, let's not forget The Noble Duke of Bedford, late deceased, But see his Exequies fulfilled in Roan. A braver Soldier never couched Lance, A gentler Heart did never sway in Court. But Kings and mightiest Potentates must die, For that's the end of humane misery. My gracious Prince, and honourable Peers, Hearing of your arrival in this Realm, I have a while given Truce unto my Wars, To do my duty to my Sovereign. In sign whereof, this Arm, that hath reclaimed To your obedience, fifty Fortresses, Twelve Cities, and seven walled Towns of strength, Beside five hundred Prisoners of esteem; Lets fallen his Sword before your Highness feet: And with submissive loyalty of heart Ascribes the Glory of his Conquest God, First to my God, and next unto your Grace. Go to the Gates of Bordeaux Trumpeter, Summon their General unto the Wall. English John Talbot (Captains) call you forth, Servant in Arms to Harry King of England, And thus he would. Open your City Gates, Be humble to us, call my Sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient Subjects, And I'll withdraw me, and my bloody power. But if you frown upon this proffered 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 ayre-brauing Towers, If you forsake the offer of their love. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. Shall all thy Mother's Hope's lie in one Tomb? Upon my Blessing I command thee go. Partly of thy Father may be saved in thee. Thou never hadst Renown, nor canst not loose it. Thy Father's charge shall clear thee from y to stain. And leave my followers here to fight and die? My Age was never tainted with such shame. 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. 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 rescued thee from Death. When from ̄ the Dolphins Crest thy Sword struck fire, It warmed thy Father's heart with proud desire Of boldfaced Victory. Then Leaden Age, Quickened with Youthful Spleen, and Warlike Rage, Beatrice down Alanson, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the Pride of Gallia rescued thee. The ireful Bastard 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 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 to day die not with Frenchmen's Rage, To morrow I shall die with much Age. By me they nothing gain, and if I stay, It's but the shortening of my Life one day. In thee thy Mother die, our Households 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. Then follow thou thy desperate Sire of Creet, 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. Where is my other Life? mine own is gone. Oh, where's young Talbot ? where is valiant John ? Triumphant Death, smeared with Captivity, Young Talbots 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, Tendering my ruin, and assailed of none, Dizzie-ey'd Fury, and great rage of Heart, Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustering Battle of the French: And in that Sea of Blood, my Boy did drench His ouer-mounting Spirit; and there died My Icarus, my Blossom, in his pride.