Plains in Gascony.
 Enter YORK with TRUMPET and many SOLDIERS.
 Enter a MESSENGER that meets York.

York	Are not the speedy scouts returned again,
	That dogged the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Messenger	They are returned, my lord, and give it out
	That he is marched to Bordeaux with his power
	To fight with Talbot. As he marched along,
	By your espials were discoverd
	Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
	Which joined with him, and made their march for Bordeaux.
													[Exit.
York	A plague upon that villain Somerset,
	That thus delays my promisd supply
	Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!
	Renownd 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 hemmed 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 distressed 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 sundered 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, Poitiers, and Tours, are won away,
	'Long all of Somerset and his delay.
												[Exit, with his SOLDIERS.

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.
