Pucel.
Dismay not, Princes, at this Accident,
Nor grieve that Roan is so recovered.
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedy'd.
Let frantick Talbot triumph for a while,
And like a Peacock sweep along his Tail,
We'll pull his Plumes, and take away his Train,
If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd.

Dau.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy Cunning had no diffidence.
One sudden Foil shall never breed distrust.

Bast.
Search out thy Wit for secret Policies,
And we will make thee famous through the World.

Alen.
We'll set thy Statue in some Holy Place,
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed Saint.
Employ thee then, sweet Virgin, for our good.

Pucel.
Then thus it must be, this doth Joan devise:
By fair Persuasions, mixt with sugar'd Words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.

Dau.
Ay, marry, Sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's Warriors;
Nor shall that Nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our Provinces.

Alen.
For ever should they be expuls'd from France,
And not have Title of an Earldom here.

Pucel.
Your Honours shall perceive how I will work,
To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drum beats afar off.
Hark, by the sound of Drum you may perceive
Their Powers are marching unto Paris ward. [Here beat an English March.
There goes the Talbot with his Colours spread,
And all the Troops of English after him. [French March.
Now in the Rereward comes the Duke and his:
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
Summon a Parley, we will talk with him. [Trumpets sound a Parley. 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 say'st 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.

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,
When Death doth close his tender-dying Eyes;
See, see the pining Malady of France:
Behold the Wounds, the most unnatural Wounds,
Which thou thy self hast given her woful Breast.
Oh, turn the 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 exclaims 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 Profits 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 he not 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.
Come, come, return, return thou wandring Lord
Charles and the rest will take thee in their Arms.

Burg.
I am vanquished. These haughty Words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring Cannon-shot,
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 Power of Men are yours.
So farewel Talbot, I'll no longer trust thee.

Pucel.
Done like a Frenchman: Turn, and turn again.

Dau.

Welcome, brave Duke, thy Friendship makes us fresh.

Bast.
And doth beget new Courage in our Breasts.

Alen.
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. [Exit.

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