Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned!

Salisbury
Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned!
How wert thou handled, being prisoner?
Or by what means gott’st thou to be released?
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret’s top.
Talbot
The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner
Called the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him was I exchanged and ransomèd.
But with a baser man-of-arms by far
Once in contempt they would have bartered me,
Which I disdaining, scorned, and cravèd death
Rather than I would be so vile-esteemed.
In fine, redeemed I was as I desired.
But O, the treacherous Fastolf wounds my heart,
Whom with my bare fists I would execute
If I now had him brought into my power.
Salisbury
Yet tell’st thou not how thou wert entertained.

My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deemed me not secure:
So great fear of my name ’mongst them were spread

Talbot
With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.
In open marketplace produced they me
To be a public spectacle to all.
“Here,” said they, “is the terror of the French,
The scarecrow that affrights our children so.”
Then broke I from the officers that led me,
And with my nails digged stones out of the ground
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deemed me not secure:
So great fear of my name ’mongst them were spread
That they supposed I could rend bars of steel
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant.
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had
That walked about me every minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.