But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
[♦] Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger:
[♦] Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
10 And I’ll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
[♦] And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name,
15 To make a bastard and a slave of me!