The English Camp near Bourdeaux. |
| |
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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