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Other Plains in Gascony. | |
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Enter SOMERSET, with his Army; a Captain of TALBOT’S with him. | |
| Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: | |
| This expedition was by York and Talbot | |
| Too rashly plotted: all our general force | 5 |
| Might with a sally of the very town | |
| Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot | |
| Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour | |
| By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: | |
| York set him on to fight and die in shame, | 10 |
| That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. | |
| Cap. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me | |
| Set from our o’ermatch’d forces forth for aid. | |
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Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY. | |
| Som. How now, Sir William! whither were you sent? | 15 |
| Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot; | |
| Who, ring’d about with bold adversity, | |
| Cries out for noble York and Somerset, | |
| To beat assailing death from his weak legions: | |
| And whiles the honourable captain there | 20 |
| Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, | |
| And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, | |
| You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, | |
| Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. | |
| Let not your private discord keep away | 25 |
| The levied succours that should lend him aid, | |
| While he, renowned noble gentleman, | |
| Yields up his life unto a world of odds: | |
| Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, | |
| Alençon, Reignier, compass him about, | 30 |
| And Talbot perisheth by your default. | |
| Som. York set him on; York should have sent him aid. | |
| Lucy. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims; | |
| Swearing that you withhold his levied host | |
| Collected for this expedition. | 35 |
| Som. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse: | |
| I owe him little duty, and less love; | |
| And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. | |
| Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, | |
| Hath now entrapp’d the noble-minded Talbot. | 40 |
| Never to England shall he bear his life, | |
| But dies, betray’d to fortune by your strife. | |
| Som. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight: | |
| Within six hours they will be at his aid. | |
| Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta’en or slain, | 45 |
| For fly he could not if he would have fled; | |
| And fly would Talbot never, though he might. | |
| Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu! | |
| Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [Exeunt. | |
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