Chapter: SCENE 5.

                   The English camp near Bordeaux

                    Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son

  TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee
    To tutor thee in stratagems of war,
    That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd
    When sapless age and weak unable limbs
    Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
    But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
    Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
    A terrible and unavoided danger;
    Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse,
    And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
    By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.
  JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son?
    And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
    Dishonour not her honourable name,
    To make a bastard and a slave of me!
    The world will say he is not Talbot's blood
    That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.
  TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain.
  JOHN. He that flies so will ne'er return again.
  TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
  JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly.
    Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
    My worth unknown, no loss is known in me;
    Upon my death the French can little boast;
    In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
    Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
    But mine it will, that no exploit have done;
    You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
    But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
    There is no hope that ever I will stay
    If the first hour I shrink and run away.
    Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
    Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.
  TALBOT. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
  JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.
  TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go.
  JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
  TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.
  JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.
  TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.
  JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?
  TALBOT. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.
  JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain.
    If death be so apparent, then both fly.
  TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die?
    My age was never tainted with such shame.
  JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
    No more can I be severed from your side
    Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide.
    Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
    For live I will not if my father die.
  TALBOT. 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.         Exeunt





SCENE 6.

                         A field of battle

         Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd
                  about, and TALBOT rescues him

  TALBOT. 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 rescu'd thee from death.
  JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!
    The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done
    Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
    To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.
  TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck
    fire,
    It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
    Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
    Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
    Beat down Alencon, 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 seal'd 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 mickle age.
    By me they nothing gain an if I stay:
    'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day.
    In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
    My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.
    All these and more we hazard by thy stay;
    All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away.
  JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;
    These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.
    On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
    To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,
    Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
    The coward horse that bears me fall and die!
    And like me to the peasant boys of France,
    To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
    Surely, by all the glory you have won,
    An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son;
    Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
    If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
  TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete,
    Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.
    If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
    And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.          Exeunt





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

 Talbot and his son John stand on the battlefield near Bordeaux. Talbot says he had sent for his son to teach him the strategies of war so that the name of Talbot might be carried on into future wars. But John has arrived in a situation of too much danger, and Talbot tells his son to escape. John refuses, however, explaining that to flee now would be to disgrace the name of Talbot. Talbot tells John to flee so that he may avenge his father's death, but John says anyone who flees will never again be taken seriously in a fight. Talbot says they can't both stay, as they will both die. So John tells Talbot to flee, offering to stay himself. The death of Talbot would be a great loss, but the death of his son, not yet a famous figure, would mean nothing. For Talbot to flee now would not stain the permanent honor he has already won, but it would ruin John's career to flee his first fight. Talbot asks him if he wants his mother's heart to be broken when her only son and husband both die, but John says he prefers that his mother suffer this sadness than suffer the terrible shame of knowing her son to be a coward. Talbot repeats that if John flees the Talbot legacy will live on, but John insists that that legacy will be worthless if he sullies it by fleeing. Finally, Talbot relents and sadly welcomes his son to fight--and probably die--with him. In the ensuing battle, John becomes surrounded by French soldiers, and Talbot rescues him. Talbot sees that his son has received his first wound in battle, struck by the Bastard of Orleans. This first penetration by a sword has deflowered this young soldier, Talbot says. He asks if John is tired, urging him again to leave the battlefield. Hasn't he achieved enough glory now to escape with honor and live on to avenge his father's death? Why endanger both their lives on the same bloody field? If he himself dies, he merely cuts off the few short years he has remaining, but if John dies, then the family name dies, along with the revenge of his death, and the connection between English leadership and the Talbot name. John understands all that his father says, yet he insists that if he flees then he will no longer deserve the name of Talbot's son. If he does possess the name Talbot, his duty is to die at his father's side. Talbot returns with his son to battle, comparing him to Icarus. Some time has elapsed, and Talbot now reappears, led by a servant. He mourns his son, who he says repeatedly saved him on the battlefield, fighting valiantly. Yet, like Icarus, he, too, fell because of his high-flying spirit, and he was brought down by the French. John's body is borne in and Talbot weeps over it. He says his spirit cannot survive this blow, and he dies. Soldiers depart with the bodies. Charles and his men, including Alencon, Burgundy, the Bastard of Orleans, and Joan, enter. Charles expresses gladness that York and Somerset's troops never arrived, for the French would not have won had they come as planned. The lords discuss John and how powerful a warrior he proved before he fell. Joan says that she encountered him in the field but he refused to fight with her, believing a woman to be an unworthy opponent. Burgundy says he would have made a noble knight. Lucy enters, asking to know the names of prisoners and to view the bodies of the English dead. He recites a long eloquent list of men lost in the battle, wondering where they are now. Joan makes fun of Lucy's style, saying, "Him that thou magnifi'st with all these titles / Stinking and flyblown lies here at our feet". Lucy asks if Talbot is slain, and she asks to take the bodies of the dead to be buried in fitting honor. Joan, clearly bored with Lucy's elevated speech, urges Charles to give him the bodies and send Lucy on his way.

