_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.
* * * * *