[♦] 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.