To be our Regent in these parts of France:
And, good my lord of Somerfet, unite

Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
And, like true fubjects, fons of your progenitors,
Go chearfully together, and digeft

Your angry choler on your enemies.
Our felf, my lord Protector, and the reft,
After fome refpite, will return to Calais;
From thence to England; where I hope ere long
To be prefented, by your victories,

With Charles, Alanfon, and that trait'rous rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
Manent York, Warwick, Exeter, and Vernon.
War. My lord of York, I promife 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 Somerfet.

War. Tufh, that was but his fancy, blame him not ; I dare prefume, fweet 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 didft thou, Richard, to fupprefs thy voice: For had the paffions of thy 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 Thould'ring of each other in the Court,
This factious bandying of their favourites;
But that he doth prefage fome ill event.

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

(a) Wis. Mr. Theobald. Vulg. wish.]

SCENE

SCEN

E III.

Before the Walls of Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot with trumpets, and drum:
O to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their General unto the Wall. [Sounds.

Tal. G

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 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 stately and air-braving tow'rs,
If you forfake the offer of their love.

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 strong enough to iffue 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 spoil;
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the facrament,
To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon

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

This is the latest glory of thy praise,
That I thy enemy due thee withal;
For ere the glafs, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of this fandy hour,
These 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 mufick 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, fome 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 defp'rate Stags,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of fteel,
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!

[Exeunt

VOL. IV.

K k

SCENE

S. CE NE IV.

Another Part of France.

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

York. A That dogg'd the mighty army of the RE not the speedy scouts return'd again,

Dauphin?

Mell. 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 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 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 :

To Bourdeaux, warlike Duke; to Bourdeaux, York!
Elfe farewel Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O God! that Somerfet, who in proud heart
Doth stop 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 distress'd lord! York. He dies, we lofe; 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 almost stops my breath,
That fundred friends greet in the hour of death.
Lucy, farewel; no more my fortune can,
But curfe the cause; I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Bloys, Poitiers, and Tours are won away,
Long all of Somerfet, 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 fcarce-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.

Enter Somerfet, with his army.

Som. IT is too late; I cannot fend them now=
This expedition was by York and Talbot

Too rafhly plotted. All our gen❜ral force