| ACT IV SCENE II | Before Bourdeaux. | |
| | Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum | |
| TALBOT | Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, 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; | 5 |
| | 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, | 10 |
| | 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. | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| | 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; | 25 |
| | 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 | 30 |
| | 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; | 35 |
| | For ere the glass, that now begins to run, | |
| | Finish the process of his sandy hour, | |
| | These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, | |
| | Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead. | |
| | Drum afar off | |
| | Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, | 40 |
| | Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; | |
| | And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. | |
| | Exeunt General, &c | |
| TALBOT | He fables not; I hear the enemy: | |
| | Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. | |
| | O, negligent and heedless discipline! | 45 |
| | 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, | 50 |
| | 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. | 55 |
| | God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right, | |
| | Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! | |
| | Exeunt | |