_Puc._ Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said: ‘Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid:’ But, with a proud majestical high scorn,   [adg039] He answer’d thus: ‘Young Talbot was not born   ·adg040· To be the pillage of a giglot wench:’ So, rushing in the bowels of the French,   [adg042] He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. _Bur._ Doubtless he would have made a noble knight: See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms   ·adg045· Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!   [adg046] _Bast._ Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder. _Char._ O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.   [adg050] _Enter_ Sir WILLIAM LUCY, _attended;_ Herald _of the_ French _preceding_. _Lucy._ Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent,   [adg051] To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day.   [adg052] _Char._ On what submissive message art thou sent? _Lucy._ Submission, Dauphin! ’tis a mere French word; We English warriors wot not what it means.   ·adg055· I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’en And to survey the bodies of the dead. _Char._ For prisoners ask’st thou? hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seek’st.   [adg059] _Lucy._ But where’s the great Alcides of the field,   [adg060] Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,   [adg061] Created, for his rare success in arms, Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence; Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,   ·adg065· Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,   [adg066] The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge; Knight of the noble order of Saint George, Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece; Great marshal to Henry the Sixth   [adg070] Of all his wars within the realm of France? _Puc._ Here is a silly stately style indeed!   [adg072] The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this. Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles   [adg075] Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. _Lucy._ Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen’s only scourge, Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis? O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!   ·adg080· O, that I could but call these dead to life! It were enough to fright the realm of France: Were but his picture left amongst you here,   [adg083] It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence   [adg085] And give them burial as beseems their worth. _Puc._ I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.   [adg088] For God’s sake, let him have ’em; to keep them here,   [adg089] They would but stink, and putrefy the air.   ·adg090· _Char._ Go, take their bodies hence.