| Other Plains in Gascony. | 
|  | 
| 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 | 
| 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, | 
| 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. | 
|  | 
| Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY. | 
| Som.  How now, Sir William! whither were you sent? | 
| 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 | 
| 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 | 
| 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, | 
| 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. | 
| 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. | 
| 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, | 
| 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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