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To be our Regent in these parts of France : -
And, good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horfemen with his bands of foot;
And, like true subjects, fons of your progenitors,
Go chearfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies. "
Our felf, my lord Protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais ;
From thence to England; where I hope' ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alanson, and that trait'rous rout.

[Flourish. Exeunt. Manent York, Warwick, Exeter, and Vernon.

War. My lord of York, I promise you, the King Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York. And fo he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not ; I dare presume, sweet Prince, he thought no harm.

York. And, if I (a) wis, he did. ---But let it reft; Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt.

Manet Exeter. Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to supprefs thy voice: For had the passions of thy heart burst out, I fear, we should have seen decypherd there More ranc'rous spight, more furious raging broils, Than yet can be imagin’d or suppos’d. But howfoe'er, no simple 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 some ill event. 'Tis much, when scepters are in childrens' hands ; But more, when

envy

breeds unkind division : There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit. ... {(a) Wis. Mr. Theobală.

Vulg. wih. ]

SCENE

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Before the Walls of Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets, and drum:
Tal.G

O to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
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.

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge 1
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death:
For, I protest, 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 thee from the liberty of fight;
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

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Upon no christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou 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 fandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.

[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy tim'rous soul ;
And mine shall 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 heedless discipline ! 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 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 shall find dear Deer of us, my friends, God and St. George, Talbot, and England's right, Prosper our Colours in this dangerous fight!

[Exeunt,

Vol. IV.

K k.

SCENE

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York.

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
Mel. 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 espyals 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 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 necessity!
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 :
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!

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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 Deep.

Lucy. O, send some 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 Somer fet.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul, And on his son young John! whom, two hours fince, I met in travel towards his warlike father ; This sev'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 fon welcome to his grave! Away! vexation almost stops 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, Poiétiers, and Tours are won away, Long all of Somer fet, and his delay. [Exit,

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping neglection doth 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.

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Som. I

Another Part of France.
Enter Somerset, with his army.
T is too late ; I cannot send them now:

This expedition was by York and Talbot
Too rashly plotted. All our gen'ral force

Might

Kk 2

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