Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Puc. Stinking and fly‑blowne lyes here at our feete.
Lucy. Lucy.
Lucy. Is Talbot slaine, the Frenchmens only Scourge,
Lucy. Your Kingdomes terror, and blacke Nemesis?
Lucy. Oh were mine eye‑balles into Bullets turn'd,
Lucy. That I in rage might shoot them at your faces.
Lucy. Oh, that I could but call these dead to life,
Lucy. It were enough to fright the Realme of France.
Lucy. Were but his Picture left amongst you here,
Lucy. It would amaze the prowdest of you all.
Lucy. Giue me their Bodyes, that I may beare them hence,
Lucy. And giue them Buriall, as beseemes their worth.
Pucel. Pucel.
Pucel. I thinke this vpstart is old Talbots Ghost,
Pucel. He speakes with such a proud commanding spirit:
Pucel. For Gods sake let him haue him, to keepe them here,
Pucel. They would but stinke, and putrifie the ayre.
Char. Char.
Char. Go take their bodies hence.