The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (211 page)

[Enter Talbot, with trump and drum.]

TALBOT.

Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter:

Summon their general unto the wall.

[Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft.]

English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,

Servant in arms to Harry King of England;

And thus he would: Open your city-gates,

Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,

And do him homage as obedient subjects;

And I 'll withdraw me and my bloody power:

But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,

You tempt the fury of my three attendants,

Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;

Who in a moment even with the earth

Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,

If you forsake the offer of their love.

Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter:

call their general to the battlements.

English John Talbot, captains, summons you out,

a military servant of Harry the King of England;

he demands this: open your city gates,

bow down to us; call my King yours,

and pay homage to him as obedient subjects;

then I shall withdraw myself and all my forces:

but, if you refuse this offer of peace,

you are exposing yourself to the anger of my three assistants,

lean famine, slashing steel, and climbing fire;

in a moment they can bring your great towers

down to the level of the earth,

if you reject this offer of friendship.

GENERAL.

Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,

Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!

The period of thy tyranny approacheth.

On us thou canst not enter but by death;

For, I protest, we are well fortified

And strong enough to issue out and fight:

If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,

Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:

On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd

To wall thee from the liberty of flight;

And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,

But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,

And pale destruction meets thee in the face.

Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament

To rive their dangerous artillery

Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.

Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,

Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!

This is the latest glory of thy praise

That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;

For ere the glass, that now begins to run,

Finish the process of his sandy hour,

These eyes, that see thee now well colored,

Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.

[Drum afar off.]

Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,

Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;

And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

You ominous and terrifying harbinger of death,

the terror of our nation and its bloody destroyer,

the end of your tyranny is coming.

You cannot come in here except by killing us:

for I tell you that we are well defended

and strong enough to come out and fight.

If you retreat, the Dauphin is waiting, well equipped

with the nets of war to catch you.

On either side of you there are squadrons lined up

to keep you from escaping;

there is no way you can turn for help,

death is confronting you with visible ruin,

and pale destruction is staring you in the face.

Ten thousand Frenchmen have sworn by the sacrament

to fire their dangerous artillery

on no Christian soul apart from English Talbot.

Look, there you stand a brave live man

with an invincible unconquered spirit:

this is the last praise you will receive,

and I, your enemy, give it to you as your due:

for now the hourglass has been started running,

and at the end of its time

these eyes which now see you healthy

shall see you withered, bloody, pale and dead.

Listen, listen; the Dauphin's drum, it sounds a warning,

heavy music for your fearful soul,

and my drums shall play the music for your dreadful death.

[Exeunt General, etc.]

TALBOT.

He fables not; I hear the enemy:

Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.

O, negligent and heedless discipline!

How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,

A little herd of England's timorous deer,

Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!

If we be English deer, be then in blood;

Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,

But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,

Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel

And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:

Sell every man his life as dear as mine,

And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.

God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,

Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight!

He isn't lying; I can hear the enemy:

some of you light cavalry, go out and investigate their forces.

Oh, what stupid carelessness!

Here we are, a little herd of England's

frightened deer, surrounded by a fence,

terrified by a kennel full of French dogs!

If we are English deer, then let us show our ancestry;

we won't fall down at the first nip, like cowards,

we will be like the angry, mad and desperate stags,

that turn on the bloody hounds with our steel antlers

and make the cowards stand back barking: if everyone sells his life as dearly as I shall sell mine,

they will find us to the expensive venison, my friends.

For God and Saint George, Talbot and the rights of England,

may our forces prosper in this dangerous fight!

[Exeunt.]

[Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and

many soldiers.]

YORK.

Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,

That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Haven't the speedy scouts come back,

who were following the great 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.

They are back, my lord, and they tell us

that he has marched to Bordeaux with his forces,

to fight with Talbot: as he marched along,

your spies discovered

two larger forces than the one the Dauphin led,

which joined up with him and headed 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 lowted by a traitor villain,

And cannot help the noble chevalier:

God comfort him in this necessity!

If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

Damn that villain Somerset

who hasn't provided me with the promised supply

of horsemen that were allocated for this siege!

Great Talbot is expecting my help,

and I am mocked by a traitorous villain,

and can't help the noble knight:

may God help him in his plight!

If he fails, that's the end of our French wars.

[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 honor.

You princely leader of our English forces,

you were never more needed here in France,

ride to the rescue of the noble Talbot,

who is now encircled in an iron trap,

completely surrounded with grim destruction.

To Bordeaux, warlike duke! To Bordeaux, York!

Otherwise, that's the end of Talbot, France, and the honour of England.

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.

Oh God, I wish that Somerset, who is arrogantly

keeping my forces from me, were in Talbot's place!

That way we could save a brave gentleman

by sacrificing a traitor and a coward.

Mad anger and fury makes me weep,

that we should die while neglectful traitors don't do their duty.

LUCY.

O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!

Oh, send some help to the troubled 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.

He shall die, we shall lose, I will break my military promise;

we shall mourn, France shall smile; we shall lose, they will gain by the day;

all on account 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.

Then may God have mercy on the sole of brave Talbot;

and on that of his young son John, whom I met

two hours ago travelling towards his warlike father!

Talbot has not seen his son for the last seven years;

and now they will meet just as their lives end.