Auvergne. Court of the Castle. |
|
Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter. |
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; |
And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. |
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. |
Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, |
I shall as famous be by this exploit |
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. |
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, |
And his achievements of no less account: |
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, |
To give their censure of these rare reports. |
|
Enter Messenger and TALBOT. |
Mess. Madam, |
According as your ladyship desir'd, |
By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. |
Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? |
Mess. Madam, it is. |
Count. Is this the scourge of France? |
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, |
That with his name the mothers still their babes? |
I see report is fabulous and false: |
I thought I should have seen some Hercules, |
A second Hector, for his grim aspect, |
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. |
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf: |
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp |
Should strike such terror to his enemies. |
Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; |
But since your ladyship is not at leisure, |
I'll sort some other time to visit you. |
Count. What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. |
Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves |
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. |
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, |
I go to certify her Talbot's here. |
|
Re-enter Porter, with keys. |
Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. |
Tal. Prisoner! to whom? |
Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord; |
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. |
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, |
For in my gallery thy picture hangs: |
But now the substance shall endure the like, |
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, |
That hast by tyranny, these many years |
Wasted our country, slain our citizens, |
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. |
Tal. Ha, ha, ha! |
Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan. |
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond |
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, |
Whereon to practise your severity. |
Count. Why, art not thou the man? |
Tal. I am, indeed. |
Count. Then have I substance too. |
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: |
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; |
For what you see is but the smallest part |
And least proportion of humanity. |
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, |
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, |
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. |
Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; |
He will be here, and yet he is not here: |
How can these contrarieties agree? |
Tal. That will I show you presently. |
|
He winds a horn. Drums strike up; a peal of ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers. |
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded |
That Talbot is but shadow of himself? |
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, |
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, |
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, |
And in a moment makes them desolate. |
Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: |
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, |
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. |
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; |
For I am sorry that with reverence |
I did not entertain thee as thou art. |
Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster |
The mind of Talbot as you did mistake |
The outward composition of his body. |
What you have done hath not offended me; |
Nor other satisfaction do I crave, |
But only, with your patience, that we may |
Taste of your wine and see what cates you have; |
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. |
Count. With all my heart, and think me honoured |
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.