Scene VI.
[The scene changes to an open space encircled with trees. During the music, soldiers are seen hastily retreating across the background.]
Talbot, leaning upon Fastolf, and accompanied by Soldiers. Soon after, Lionel.
Talbot. Here set me down beneath this tree, and you
Betake yourselves again to battle: quick!
I need no help to die.
Fastolf.O day of woe![Lionel enters.
Look, what a sight awaits you, Lionel!
Our General expiring of his wounds!
Lionel. Now God forbid! Rise, noble Talbot! This
Is not a time for you to faint and sink.
Yield not to Death; force faltering Nature
By your strength of soul, that life depart not!
Talbot. In vain! The day of Destiny is come
That prostrates with the dust our power in France.
In vain, in the fierce clash of desp'rate battle,
Have I risk'd our utmost to withstand it:
The bolt has smote and crush'd me, and I lie
To rise no more forever. Rheims is lost;
Make haste to rescue Paris.
Lionel.Paris has surrender'd
To the Dauphin: an express is just arriv'd
With tidings.
Talbot [tears away his bandages].
Then flow out, ye life-streams;
I am grown to loathe this Sun.
Lionel.They want me!
Fastolf, bear him to a place of safety:
We can hold this post few instants longer,
The coward knaves are giving way on all sides,
Irresistible the Witch is pressing on.
Talbot. Madness, thou conquerest, and I must yield:
Stupidity can baffle the very gods.
High Reason, radiant Daughter of God's Head,
Wise Foundress of the system of the Universe,
Conductress of the stars, who art thou, then,
If, tied to th' tail o' th' wild horse Superstition,
Thou must plunge, eyes open, vainly shrieking,
Sheer down with that drunk Beast to the Abyss?
Cursed who sets his life upon the great
And dignified; and with forecasting spirit
Forms wise projects! The Fool-king rules this world.
Lionel. O, Death is near you! Think of your Creator!
Talbot. Had we as brave men been defeated
By brave men, we might have consoled ourselves
With common thoughts of Fortune's fickleness:
But that a sorry farce should be our ruin!—
Did our earnest toilsome struggle merit
No graver end than this?
Lionel [grasps his hand]. Talbot, farewell!
The meed of bitter tears I'll duly pay you,
When the fight is done, should I outlive it.
Now Fate calls me to the field, where yet
She wav'ring sits, and shakes her doubtful urn.
Farewell! we meet beyond the unseen shore.
Brief parting for long friendship! God be with you
