Dau.
These news, my Lords, may chear our drooping spirits:
'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt,
And turn again unto the warlike French.

Alan.
Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
And keep not back your Pow'rs in dalliance.

Pucel.
Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us,
Else Ruin combat with their Palaces.

Enter Scout.

Scout.
Success unto our valiant General,
And happiness to his accomplices!

Dau.
What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, speak.

Scout.
The English army, that divided was
Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one;
And means to give you battle presently.

Dau.
Somewhat too sudden, Sirs, the warning is;
But we will presently provide for them.

Burg.
I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there;
Now he is gone, my Lord, you need not fear.

Pucel.
Of all base passions fear is most accurst.
Command the Conquest, Charles, it shall be thine:
Let Henry fret and all the world repine.

Dau.
Then on, my Lords; and France be fortunate. [Exeunt. Alarm: excursions. Enter Joan la Pucelle.

Pucel.
The Regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
Now help, ^{8 note}ye charming Spells and Periapts;
And ye, choice Spirits, that admonish me,
And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder.
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly ^{9 note}monarch of the North,
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize. Enter Fiends.
This speedy quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd diligence to me.

Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
^{1 note}Out of the pow'rful regions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field. [They walk, and speak not.
Oh, hold me not with silence over long,
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off, and give it you
In earnest of a further benefit,
So you do condescend to help me now. [They hang their heads.
No hope to have redress? my body shall
Pay recompence, if you will grant my suit. [They shake their heads.
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice,
Intreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Then, take my soul; my body, soul and all;
Before that England give the French the foil. [They depart.
See, they forsake me. Now the time is come,
That France must vail her lofty plumed crest,
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak,
And Hell too strong for me to buckle with.
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. Excursions. Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. Pucelle is taken. The French fly.

York.
Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast.
Unchain your spirits now with spelling Charms,
And try if they can gain your liberty.
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's Grace!
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.

Pucel.
Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.

York.
Oh, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;

No shape, but his, can please your dainty eye.

Pucel.
A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds.

York.
Fell, banning hag! inchantress, hold thy tongue.

Pucel.
I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a-while.

York.
Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. [Exeunt.

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