SCENE VIII.
Enter the Duke of Burgundy marching.
Dau.
A parley with the Duke of Burgundy.—
Burg.
Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
Pucel.
The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
Burg.
What sayst thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.
Dau.
Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
Pucel.
Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble hand-maid speak to thee.
Burg.
Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
-- 547 --
Pucel.
Look on thy country, look on fertile France;
And see the cities, and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
As looks the mother on her lowly babe,2 note
When death doth close his tender dying eyes;
See, see the pining malady of France.
Behold the wounds, the most unnat'ral wounds,
Which thou thyself hast giv'n her woful breast.
Oh, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt; and hurt not those that help:
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of common gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.
Burg.
Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Pucel.
Besides, all French and France exclaim on thee;
Doubting thy birth, and lawful progeny.
Whom join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of Ill;
Who then but English Henry will be Lord,
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof;
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was not he in England prisoner?
But when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free without his ransom paid;
In spight of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen;
And join'st with them, will be thy slaughter-men.
-- 548 --
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring Lord:
Charles, and the rest will take thee in their arms.
Burg.
I'm vanquished. These haughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,3 note
And made me almost yield upon my knees.
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen;
And, Lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
My forces and my pow'r of men are yours.
So farewel, Talbot, I'll no longer trust thee.
Pucel.
Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!4 note
Dau.
Welcome, brave Duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.
Bast.
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
Alan.
Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
And doth deserve a Coronet of gold.
Dau.
Now let us on, my Lords, and join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
