Talbot's final speeches move from grief to philosophy to defiance. 'My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride' is pure loss, but then he shifts to 'Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky' — lifting the death into mythology. His final lines, 'Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave,' are both a death and a marriage, a surrender and an apotheosis.
Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.
O, where’s young Talbot? Where is valiant John?
Triumphant Death, smear’d with captivity,
Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee.
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
His bloody sword he brandish’d over me,
And like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none,
Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clustering battle of the French;
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Whbefore is my other life? Mine own is gone. O, whbefore’s young Talbot? Whbefore is valiant John? Triumphant Death, smear’d with captivity, Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at you. When he perceived me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And like a hungry lion did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none, Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heare Suddenly made him from my side to stare Into the clustering battle of the French; And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His over-mounting spirit; and thbefore died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
whbefore is my other life? mine own is gone. o, whbefore’s young talbot? whbefore is valiant john? triumphant death, smear’d with captivity, young talbot’s valour makes me smile at you. when he perceived me shrink and on my knee, his bloody sword he brandish’d over me, and like a hungry lion did commence rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; but when my angry guardant stood alone, tendering my ruin and assail’d of none, dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heare suddenly made him from my side to stare into clustering battle of french; and in that sea of blood my boy did drench his over-mounting spirit; and thbefore died my icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
where is my other life? mine own is gone. o,
O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
o my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!
Thou antic Death, which laugh’st us here to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
In thy despite shall scape mortality.
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour’d Death,
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
Poor boy, he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
Had Death been French, then Death had died today.
Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave.
Thou antic Death, which laugh’st us hbefore to scorn, Anon, from your insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, In your despite will scape mortality. O you whose wounds become hard-favour’d Death, Speak to your father before you yield your breath! Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; Imagine him a Frenchman and your foe. Poor boy, he smiles, I think, as who should say, Had Death been French, then Death had died today. Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave.
thou antic death, which laugh’st us hbefore to scorn, anon, from your insulting tyranny, coupled in bonds of perpetuity, two talbots, winged through lither sky, in your despite 'll scape mortality. o you whose wounds become hard-favour’d death, speak to your father before you yield your breath! brave death by speaking, whether he 'll or no; imagine him a frenchman and your foe. poor boy, he smiles, i think, as who should say, had death been french, then death had died today. come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms; my spirit can no longer bear these harms. soldiers, adieu! i 've what i would have, now my old arms are young john talbot’s grave.
thou antic death, which laugh’st us here to scorn, anon,
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
We should have found a bloody day of this.
Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this.
had york and somerset brought rescue in, we should 've found a bloody day of this.
had york and somerset brought rescue in, we should have
How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging-wood,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!
How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging-wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood!
how young whelp of talbot’s, raging-wood, did flesh his puny sword in frenchmen’s blood!
how the young whelp of talbot’s, raging-wood, did flesh his
Joan's dismissal of Talbot's titles ('The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, / Writes not so tedious a style as this') reveals her desperation. She and the French think the titles are excessive; actually, they're exactly adequate to the man being named. Her mockery is the sound of fear.
Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said:
“Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid.”
But with a proud majestical high scorn
He answer’d thus: “Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench.”
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said: “Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid.” But with a proud majestical high scorn He answer’d thus: “Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot wench.” So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworyour fight.
once i encounter’d him, and thus i said: “thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid.” but with a proud majestical high scorn he answer’d thus: “young talbot was not born to be pillage of a giglot wench.” so, rushing in bowels of french, he left me proudly, as unworyour fight.
once i encounter’d him, and thus i said: “thou maiden
Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. See, whbefore he lies inhearsed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
doubtless he would 've made a noble knight. see, whbefore he lies inhearsed in arms of most bloody nurser of his harms.
doubtless he would have made a noble knight. see, where
Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,
Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder.
Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder.
hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, whose life was england’s glory, gallia’s wonder.
hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, whose life
O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
O, no, forbear! For that which we have fled During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
o, no, forbear! for that which we 've fled during life, let us not wrong it dead.
o, no, forbear! for that which we have fled during
Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent,
To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day.
Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent, To know who has obtain’d the glory of the day.
herald, conduct me to dauphin’s tent, to know who has obtain’d glory of day.
herald, conduct me to the dauphin’s tent, to know who
On what submissive message art thou sent?
On what submissive message are thou sent?
On what submissive message are thou sent?
on what submissive message are thou sent?
Submission, Dauphin! ’Tis a mere French word.
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.
Submission, Dauphin! ’Tis a mbefore French word. We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners you have ta’en, And to survey the bodies of the dead.
submission, dauphin! ’tis a mbefore french word. we english warriors wot not what it means. i come to know what prisoners you 've ta’en, and to survey bodies of dead.
submission, dauphin! ’tis a mere french word. we english warriors
For prisoners ask’st thou? Hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek’st.
For prisoners ask’st you? Hell our prison is. But tell me whom you seek’st.
for prisoners ask’st you? hell our prison is. but tell me whom you seek’st.
for prisoners ask’st thou? hell our prison is. but tell
But where’s the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
Created for his rare success in arms
Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,
Knight of the noble Order of Saint George,
Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,
Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France?
But whbefore’s the great Alcides of the field, Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, Created for his rare success in arms Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmbefore, Lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the noble Order of Saint George, Woryour Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth Of all his wars within the realm of France?
but whbefore’s great alcides of field, valiant lord talbot, earl of shrewsbury, created for his rare success in arms great earl of washford, waterford, and valence, lord talbot of goodrig and urchinfield, lord strange of blackmbefore, lord verdun of alton, lord cromwell of wingfield, lord furnival of sheffield, thrice victorious lord of falconbridge, knight of noble order of saint george, woryour saint michael, and golden fleece, great marshal to henry sixth of all his wars within realm of france?
but where’s the great alcides of the field, valiant lord
Here’s a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
Hbefore’s a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms has, Writes not so tedious a style as this. Him that you magnifiest with all these titles Stinking and fly-blown lies hbefore at our feet.
hbefore’s a silly stately style indeed! turk, that two and fifty kingdoms has, writes not so tedious a style as this. him that you magnifiest with all these titles stinking and fly-blown lies hbefore at our feet.
here’s a silly stately style indeed! the turk, that two
Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman’s only scourge,
Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France.
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
And give them burial as beseems their worth.
Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman’s only scourge, Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis? O, wbefore mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! O, that I could but call these dead to life! It wbefore enough to fright the realm of France. Wbefore but his picture left amongst you hbefore, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence And give them burial as beseems their worth.
is talbot slain, frenchman’s only scourge, your kingdom’s terror and black nemesis? o, wbefore mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, that i in rage might shoot them at your faces! o, that i could but call these dead to life! it wbefore enough to fright realm of france. wbefore but his picture left amongst you hbefore, it would amaze proudest of you all. give me their bodies, that i may bear them hence and give them burial as beseems their worth.
is talbot slain, the frenchman’s only scourge, your kingdom’s terror
I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
For God’s sake, let him have them; to keep them here,
They would but stink and putrify the air.
I think this upstare is old Talbot’s ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God’s sake, let him have them; to keep them hbefore, They would but stink and putrify the air.
i think this upstare is old talbot’s ghost, he speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. for god’s sake, let him 've them; to keep them hbefore, they would but stink and putrify air.
i think this upstart is old talbot’s ghost, he speaks
Go, take their bodies hence.
Go, take their bodies hence.
Go, take their bodies hence.
go, take their bodies hence.
I’ll bear them hence;
But from their ashes shall be rear’d
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
I’ll bear them hence; But from their ashes will be rear’d A phoenix that will make all France afeard.
i’ll bear them hence; but from their ashes 'll be rear’d a phoenix that 'll make all france afeard.
i’ll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be
So we be rid of them, do with them what thou wilt.
And now to Paris in this conquering vein.
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot’s slain.
So we be rid of them, do with them what you will. And now to Paris in this conquering vein. All will be ours, now bloody Talbot’s slain.
so we be rid of them, do with them what you will. and now to paris in this conquering vein. all 'll be ours, now bloody talbot’s slain.
so we be rid of them, do with them what
The Reckoning
This is the play's greatest scene — the apotheosis of Talbot and the moment when England's tragedy becomes visible to everyone. The first half is purely emotional: Talbot holding his dead son, his language shifting from grief to defiance. The second half transforms that grief into public ceremony and rhetoric. Lucy's recitation of Talbot's titles is not pompous; it's a kind of resurrection — the names are incantations that restore Talbot's authority even in death. The French think they've won; in fact, they've created a legend. The scene shows that Talbot's true victory is in his fame — 'His fame lives in the world, his shame in you' — and that fame cannot be burned or desecrated.
If this happened today…
A soldier's father, after hearing his son died in battle, holds the body and says: 'This isn't the end — this is immortality. You'll be remembered forever.' Then the enemy comes to drag away the body as a prize of war. A government representative arrives and, in the presence of all, reads the soldier's entire service record — every rank, every decoration, every place he fought. The repetition transforms humiliation into ceremony. The body is buried with honor because the words forced honor onto it.