Tal.
Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. Enter La Pucelle.
Here, here she comes:—I'll have a bout with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw on thee^{4 note}, thou art a witch,
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Puc.
Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. [They fight.

Tal.
Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage,
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
But I will chástise this high-minded strumpet.

Puc.
Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved^{5 note}

This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers.

Tal.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel^{6 note};
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
A witch, by fear^{7 note}, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. [A short Alarum.
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
Sheep run not half so timorous^{8 note} from the wolf,
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. Another skirmish.
It will not be:—Retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.—
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his Forces, &c.

Previous section

Next section