Chapter: SCENE 7.

                      Another part of the field

       Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT

  TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.
    O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?
    Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
    Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.
    When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee,
    His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
    And like a hungry lion did commence
    Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
    But when my angry guardant stood alone,
    Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none,
    Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart
    Suddenly made him from my side to start
    Into the clust'ring battle of the French;
    And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
    His overmounting spirit; and there died,
    My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

         Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT

  SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
  TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st 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 scape mortality.
    O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,
    Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
    Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;
    Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
    Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
    Had Death been 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 Talbot's grave.        [Dies]

            Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD,
                     LA PUCELLE, and forces

  CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
    We should have found a bloody day of this.
  BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,
    Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!
  PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said:
    '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.
  BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.
    See where he lies inhearsed in the arms
    Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!
  BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,
    Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
  CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled
    During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

            Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH
                         HERALD preceding

  LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
    To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.
  CHARLES. 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.
  CHARLES. 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,
    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?
  PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed!
    The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
    Writes not so tedious a style as this.
    Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides,
    Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
  LUCY. Is Talbot slain--the Frenchmen's only scourge,
    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.
  PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
    He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
    For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here,
    They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
  CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.
  LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be
    rear'd
    A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
  CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou
    wilt.
    And now to Paris in this conquering vein!
    All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.          Exeunt

 Some time has passed, and young John Talbot has been killed in battle. Talbot is led in. He praises John's courage. When Talbot was beaten back, John had successfully fought off his French attackers. Then he had plunged into a crowd of French soldiers and been killed. John's body is brought in and, at Talbot's request, laid in his father's arms. Talbot can no longer bear to live now that his son is dead, and dies. Charles, Alencon, Burgundy, the Bastard of Orleans, and Joan enter. Charles comments that if Richard, Duke of York and Somerset had brought reinforcements, the French would have lost. Seeing the bodies of Talbot and John, the Bastard of Orleans comments on John's brave fighting. Joan says that she encountered John and challenged him, but he refused to fight a woman and instead rushed into a crowd of male French soldiers. The Bastard of Orleans suggests that they hack apart the bodies of Talbot and John, but Charles refuses to allow it. Sir William Lucy enters and asks who has won the day and what English prisoners the French have taken. In particular, he asks after Talbot and recites his grand titles at length. Joan gets bored and says that Talbot's body "Stinking and flyblown lies here at our feet" . Lucy is furious that the French have killed Talbot. He asks to be allowed to take away their bodies. Joan agrees, because they stink. Lucy warns that the English will avenge their deaths. .

