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: [Throwing himself in her way.

Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw of thee, 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 chastise this high-minded strumpet* ^note. [Fight again.

Puc.
Talbot, farewel; thy hour is not yet come: [Quitting him to head some troops.
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, chear up thy hunger-starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Exit, with troops, to the town.

Tal.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
A witch, by fear, 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 the whelps, we crying run away. [A short Skirmish.
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 from the wolf,
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.— [Another skirmish.
It will not be:—Retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death, [Retreat sounded.
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.

Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us, or ought that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Exeunt, Talbot, and forces of both sides.

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