SOMERSET.
York set him on; York should have sent him aid.
LUCY.
And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,
Swearing that you withhold his levied host
Collected for this expedition.
SOMERSET.
York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.
I owe him little duty, and less love,
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
LUCY.
The fraud of England, not the force of France,
Hath now entrapp’d the noble-minded Talbot.
Never to England shall he bear his life,
But dies betray’d to fortune by your strife.
SOMERSET.
Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight.
Within six hours they will be at his aid.
LUCY.
Too late comes rescue; he is ta’en or slain,
For fly he could not if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
SOMERSET.
If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!
LUCY.
His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
[Exeunt.]