_John._ The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart: On that advantage, bought with such a shame,   [adf044] To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,   ·adf045· Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France,   [adf048] To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won,   ·adf050· An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son:   [adf051] Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot. _Tal._ Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:   ·adf055· If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side; And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride. [_Exeunt._   [adf057] SCENE VII. _Another part of the field_. _Alarum: excursions. Enter old_ TALBOT _led by a_ Servant. _Tal._ Where is my other life? mine own is gone;   [adg001] O, where’s young Talbot? where is valiant John? Triumphant death, smear’d with captivity,   [adg003] Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee: When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,   ·adg005· His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And, like a hungry lion, did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none,   [adg010] Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clustering battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His over-mounting spirit, and there died,   ·adg015· My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. _Serv._ O my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!   [adg017] _Enter_ Soldiers, _with the body of young_ TALBOT. _Tal._ Thou antic death, which laugh’st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,   ·adg020· Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,   [adg021] In thy despite shall ’scape mortality. O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour’d death,   [adg023] Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;   [adg025] Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say, Had death been French, then death had died to-day. Come, come and lay him in his father’s arms: My spirit can no longer bear these harms.   ·adg030· Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave. [_Dies._   [adg032] _Enter_ CHARLES, ALENÇON, BURGUNDY, Bastard, LA PUCELLE, _and forces_. _Char._ Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,   [adg033] We should have found a bloody day of this. _Bast._ How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging-wood,   [adg035] Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!