Enter the Countess and her Porter
Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and Talbot
Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies.
Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you.
Re-enter Porter with keys
To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I trained thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs: But now the substance shall endure the like, And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny these many years Wasted our country, slain our citizens And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow Whereon to practise your severity.
No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here; For what you see is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity: I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.
This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree?
That will I show you presently.
Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded That Talbot is but shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities and subverts your towns And in a moment makes them desolate.
Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art.
Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done hath not offended me; Nor other satisfaction do I crave, But only, with your patience, that we may Taste of your wine and see what cates you have; For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
With all my heart, and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house.