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! [_Exit._ TALBOT. Soon it is over, and to th' Earth I render, To the everlasting Sun, the atoms, Which for pain and pleasure join'd to form me; And of the mighty Talbot, whose renown Once fill'd the world, remains nought but a handful Of light dust. Thus man comes to his end; And our one conquest in this fight of life Is the conviction of life's nothingness, And deep disdain of all that sorry stuff We once thought lofty and desirable. SCENE VII. _Enter_ CHARLES; BURGUNDY; DUNOIS; DU CHATEL; _and_ Soldiers. BURGUN. The trench is storm'd. DUNOIS. The victory is ours. CHARLES [_observing Talbot_]. Ha! who is this that to the light of day Is bidding his constrained and sad farewell? His bearing speaks no common man: go, haste, Assist him, if assistance yet avail. [_Soldiers from the Dauphin's suite step forward._