SCENE 3.

Plains in Gascony

        Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A
                   MESSENGER meets him

  YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again
    That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
  MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
    That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power
    To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,
    By your espials were discovered
    Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
    Which join'd with him and made their march for
    Bordeaux.
  YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset
    That thus delays my promised supply
    Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!
    Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
    And I am louted by a traitor villain
    And cannot help the noble chevalier.
    God comfort him in this necessity!
    If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY

  LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
    Never so needful on the earth of France,
    Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
    Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
    And hemm'd about with grim destruction.
    To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York!
    Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
  YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
    Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
    So should we save a valiant gentleman
    By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
    Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep
    That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.
  LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!
  YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word.
    We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get-
    All long of this vile traitor Somerset.
  LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul,
    And on his son, young John, who two hours since
    I met in travel toward his warlike father.
    This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
    And now they meet where both their lives are done.
  YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
    To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
    Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
    That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death.
    Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can
    But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
    Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away
    Long all of Somerset and his delay. Exit with forces
  LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
    Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
    Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
    The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
    That ever-living man of memory,
    Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross,
    Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. Exit