Before Bourdeaux. |
| |
Enter TALBOT, with his Forces. |
| Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter; |
| Summon their general unto the wall. |
| |
Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the Walls, the General of the French Forces, and Others. |
| English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, |
| Servant in arms to Harry King of England; |
| And thus he would: Open your city gates, |
| Be humble to us, call my sov'reign yours, |
| And do him homage as obedient subjects, |
| And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power; |
| But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, |
| You tempt the fury of my three attendants, |
| Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; |
| Who in a moment even with the earth |
| Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, |
| If you forsake 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 protest, we are well fortified, |
| And strong enough to issue out and fight: |
| If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, |
| Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: |
| On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, |
| To wall thee from the liberty of flight; |
| And no way canst 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 sacrament, |
| To rive their dangerous artillery |
| Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. |
| Lo! there thoustand'st, a breathing valiant man, |
| Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit: |
| This is the latest glory of thy praise, |
| That I, thy enemy, 'due thee withal; |
| For ere the glass, that now begins to run, |
| Finish the process of his sandy hour, |
| These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, |
| Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. [Drum afar off. |
| Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, |
| Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; |
| And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. [Exeunt General, &c., from the Walls. |
| Tal. He fables not; I hear the enemy: |
| Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. |
| O! negligent and heedless discipline; |
| How are we park'd and bounded in a pale, |
| A little herd of England's timorous deer, |
| Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! |
| If we be English deer, be then, in blood; |
| Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch, |
| But rather moody-mad and desperate stags, |
| Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, |
| And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: |
| Sell every man his life as dear as mine, |
| And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. |
| God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right, |
| Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt. |
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