A Field of Battle. |
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Alarum: Excursions, wherein TALBOT'S Son is hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him. |
| Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight! |
| The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, |
| And left us to the rage of France his sword. |
| Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath: |
| I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death. |
| John. O! twice my father, twice am I thy son: |
| The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done, |
| Till with thy war-like sword, despite of fate, |
| To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. |
| Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire, |
| It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire |
| Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, |
| Quicken'd with youthful spleen and war-like rage, |
| Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy, |
| And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. |
| The ireful bastard Orleans,—that drew blood |
| From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood |
| Of thy first fight,—I soon encountered |
| And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed |
| Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace, |
| Bespoke him thus, 'Contaminated, base, |
| And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, |
| Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine |
| Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:' |
| Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, |
| Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care, |
| Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? |
| Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, |
| Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? |
| Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead; |
| The help of one stands me in little stead. |
| O! too much folly is it, well I wot, |
| To hazard all our lives in one small boat. |
| If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, |
| To-morrow I shall die with micke age: |
| By me they nothing gain an if I stay; |
| 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day. |
| In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, |
| My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame. |
| All these and more we hazard by thy stay; |
| All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away. |
| John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; |
| These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. |
| On that advantage, bought with such a shame, |
| To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, |
| Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, |
| The coward horse that bears me fall and die! |
| And like me to the peasant boys of France, |
| To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance! |
| Surely, by all the glory you have won, |
| An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son: |
| Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; |
| If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. |
| Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, |
| Thou Icarus. Thy life to me is sweet: |
| If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side, |
| And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt. |
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