[To a Captain.] It is too late, I cannot send them now.

4.4.22066This expedition was by York and Talbot

4.4.32067Too rashly plotted. All our general force

4.4.42068Might with a sally of the very town

4.4.52069Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot

4.4.62070Hath sullied all his gloss of former honor

4.4.72071By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.

4.4.82072York set him on to fight and die in shame

4.4.92073That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me

4.4.112075Set from our o'er-matched forces forth for aid.

How now, Sir William, whither were you sent?

Whither, my Lord? From bought and sold Lord Talbot,

4.4.142078Who, ringed about with bold adversity,

4.4.152079Cries out for noble York and Somerset

4.4.162080To beat assailing death from his weak regions;

4.4.172081And whiles the honorable captain there

4.4.182082Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs

4.4.192083And, in advantage, ling'ring looks for rescue,

4.4.202084You his false hopes, the trust of England's honor,

4.4.212085Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.

4.4.222086Let not your private discord keep away

4.4.232087The levied succors that should lend him aid,

4.4.242088While he, renownèd noble gentleman,

4.4.252089Yield up his life unto a world of odds.

4.4.262090Orléans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,

4.4.272091Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,

4.4.282092And Talbot perisheth by your default.

York set him on, York should have sent him 2094aid.

And York as fast upon your grace exclaims,

4.4.312096Swearing that you withhold his levied host

4.4.322097Collected for this expedition.

York lies. He might have sent and had the horse.

4.4.342099I owe him little duty and less love,

4.4.352100And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.

The fraud of England, not the force of France,

4.4.372102Hath now entrapped the noble-minded Talbot.

4.4.382103Never to England shall he bear his life,

4.4.392104But dies betrayed to fortune by your strife.

Come, go. I will dispatch the horsemen straight.

4.4.412106Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Too late comes rescue. He is ta'en or slain,

4.4.432108For fly he could not if he would have fled,

4.4.442109And fly would Talbot never, though he might.

If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu.

His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.