The English Camp near Bourdeaux. |
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Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son. |
Tal. 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. |
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. |
John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. |
Tal. 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 everyone 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. |
Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? |
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. |
Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. |
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. |
Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. |
John. No part of him but will be shame in me. |
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. |
John. Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it? |
Tal. 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. |
Tal. 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 sever'd from your side |
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide. |
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; |
For live I will not if my father die. |
Tal. 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. |
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