3. SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess's castle.
Prisoner! to whom?
To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I train'd 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.
Ha, ha, ha!
Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to moan.
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
Whereon to practice your severity.
Why, art not thou the man?
I am indeed.
Then have I substance too.
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
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.