SCENE VII.

_Enter_ CHARLES; BURGUNDY; DUNOIS; DU CHATEL; _and_ Soldiers.

BURGUN. The trench is storm'd.

DUNOIS. The victory is ours.

CHARLES [_observing Talbot_]. Ha! who is this that to the light of day Is bidding his constrained and sad farewell? His bearing speaks no common man: go, haste, Assist him, if assistance yet avail.

[_Soldiers from the Dauphin's suite step forward._

FASTOLF. Back! Keep away! Approach not the Departing, Whom in life ye never wish'd too near you.

BURGUN. What do I see? Lord Talbot in his blood!

[_He goes towards him. Talbot gazes fixedly at him, and dies._

FASTOLF. Off, Burgundy! With th' aspect of a traitor Poison not the last look of a hero.

DUNOIS. Dreaded Talbot! stern, unconquerable! Dost thou content thee with a space so narrow, And the wide domains of France once could not Stay the striving of thy giant spirit?-- Now for the first time, Sire, I call you King: The crown but totter'd on your head, so long As in this body dwelt a soul.

CHARLES [_after looking at the dead in silence_]. It was A higher hand that conquer'd him, not we. Here on the soil of France he sleeps, as does A hero on the shield he would not quit. Bring him away. [_Soldiers lift the corpse, and carry it off._ And peace be with his dust! A fair memorial shall arise to him I' th' midst of France: here, where the hero's course And life were finished, let his bones repose. Thus far no other foe has e'er advanced. His epitaph shall be the place he fell on.

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