Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.

4.7.22232O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?

4.7.32233Triumphant death smeared with captivity,

4.7.42234Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee.

4.7.52235When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,

4.7.62236His bloody sword he brandished over me,

4.7.72237And like a hungry lion did commence

4.7.82238Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience.

4.7.92239But when my angry guardant stood alone,

4.7.102240Tend'ring my ruin and assailed of none,

4.7.112241Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart

4.7.122242Suddenly made him from my side to start

4.7.132243Into the clust'ring battle of the French,

4.7.142244And in that sea of blood my boy did drench

4.7.152245His over-mounting spirit; and there died

4.7.162246My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne.

Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,

4.7.192250Anon from thy insulting tyranny,

4.7.202251Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,

4.7.212252Two Talbots wingèd through the lither sky

4.7.222253In thy despite shall scape mortality.

4.7.232254[To John.] O thou whose wounds become hard-favored death,

4.7.242255Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath.

4.7.252256Brave death by speaking, whither he will or no;

4.7.262257Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.

4.7.272258Poor boy, he smiles, methinks, as who should say

4.7.282259"Had death been French, then death had died today".

4.7.292260Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms.

4.7.302261My spirit can no longer bear these harms.

4.7.312262Soldiers, adieu. I have what I would have,

4.7.322263Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.

Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,

4.7.342267We should have found a bloody day of this.

How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,

4.7.362269Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood.

Once I encountered him, and thus I said:

4.7.382271"Thou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid."

4.7.392272But with a proud, majestical high scorn

4.7.402273He answered thus: "Young Talbot was not born

4.7.412274To be the pillage of a giglot wench."

4.7.422275So rushing in the bowels of the French,

4.7.432276He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.

4.7.452278See where he lies inhearsèd in the arms

4.7.462279Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,

4.7.482281Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

O no, forbear; for that which we have fled

4.7.502283During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent

4.7.522286To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.

On what submissive message art thou sent?

Submission, Dauphin? 'Tis a mere French word.

4.7.552289We English warriors wot not what it means.

4.7.562290I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,

4.7.572291And to survey the bodies of the dead.

For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is.

4.7.592293But tell me whom thou seek'st?

But where's the great Alcides of the field,

4.7.612295Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,

4.7.622296Created for his rare success in arms

4.7.632297Great Earl of Wexford, Waterford, and Valence,

4.7.642298Lord Talbot of Goodrich and Urchinfield,

4.7.652299Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,

4.7.662300Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,

4.7.672301The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge,

4.7.682302Knight of the noble Order of Saint George,

4.7.692303Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece,

4.7.702304Great Marshall to Henry the Sixth,

4.7.712305Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Here's a silly, stately style indeed.

4.7.732307The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath,

4.7.742308Writes not so tedious a style as this.

4.7.752309Him that thou magnifi'st with all these titles

4.7.762310Stinking and flyblown lies here at our feet.

Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,

4.7.782312Your Kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?

4.7.792313O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turned,

4.7.802314That I in rage might shoot them at your faces.

4.7.812315O, that I could but call these dead to life;

4.7.822316It were enough to fright the realm of France.

4.7.832317Were but his picture left amongst you here

4.7.842318It would amaze the proudest of you all.

4.7.852319Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence

4.7.862320And give them burial as beseems their worth.

[To Charles.] I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,

4.7.882322He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.

4.7.892323For God's sake let him have him. To keep them here

4.7.902324They would but stink and putrefy the air.

Go, take their bodies hence.

I'll bear them hence, but from their ashes shall 2327be reared

4.7.932328A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

So we be rid of them, do with him what thou wilt.

4.7.952330And now to Paris in this conquering vain,

4.7.962331All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.