Bed.
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry's death!
Henry ^note the fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo.
England ne'er had a king, until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams ^note;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzl'd and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:

He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.

Exe.
We mourn in black, Why mourn we not in blood?
Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mis-hap,
That plotted thus our glories' overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verses ^note have contriv'd his end?

Win.
He was a king blest of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

Glo.
The church! where is it? Had not church-men pray'd,
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom like a school-boy you may over-awe.

Win.
Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector;
And lookest to command the prince, and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God, or religious church-men, may.

Glo.
Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.

Bed.
Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace!
Let's to the altar:—Heralds, wait on us:—
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.—

Posterity, await for wretched years,
When at their mother's moist eyes ^note babes shall suck;
Our isle be made a marish ^note of salt tears,
And none but women left to wail the dead.—
Henry the fifth, thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
Than Julius Cæsar, or bright14Q0766— Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guienne,14Q0767 Champaigne, Rheims, Roan, Orleans,
Paris, Gisors, Poitiers, are all quite lost.

Bed.
What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.

Glo.
Is Paris lost? is ^note Roan yielded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

Exe.
How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?

Mes.
No treachery; but want of men, and money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,—
That here you máintain several factions;
And, whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man ^note thinks, without expence at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English ^note nobility;

Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot:
Cropt are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Exe.
Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth their flowing ^note tides.

Bed.
Me they concern, regent I am of France:—
Give me my steeled ^note coat, I'll fight for France.—
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
Wounds will I lend the French, instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter another Messenger.

2. M.
Lords, view these &dagger2; letters, full of bad mischance.
France is revolted from the English quite;
Except some petty towns, of no import:
The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
Reignier, duke of Anjou, takes ^{note note} his part;
The duke of Alenson flyeth to his side.

Exe.
The dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

Glo.
We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats:—
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

Bed.
Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is over-run. Enter a third Messenger.

3. M.
My gracious lords,—to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,—
I must inform you of a dismal fight,
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.

Win.
What, wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

3. M.
O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'er-thrown:

The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having scarce full ^note six thousand in his troop,
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon:
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges,
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew ^note:
The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms;
All the whole ^note army stood agaz'd on him:
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot, a Talbot! ^note cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
If sir John Falstaff14Q0768 had not play'd the coward:
He being in the rere-ward ^note plac'd behind,
With purpose to relieve and follow them,
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
Enclosed were they with their enemies:
A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;
Whom all France, with their chief ^note assembl'd strength,
Durst not presume to look once in the face.

Bed.
Is Talbot slain then? I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease,
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foeman is betray'd.

3. M.
O, no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford:
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise.

Bed.
His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne,
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.—
Farewel, my masters, to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
To keep our great saint George's feast withal:
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

3. M.
So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
The English army is grown weak and faint:
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply;
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

Exe.
Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn;
Either to quell the dauphin utterly,
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

Bed.
I do remember it; and here take leave ^note,
To go about my preparation. [Exit.

Glo.
I'll to the tower with all the haste I can,
To view the artillery and munition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit.

Exe.
To Eltam will I, where the young king is,
Being ordain'd his special governor;
And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit.

Win.
Each hath his place and function to attend:
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office;
The king from Eltam I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of publick weal. [Exit. Scene closes. SCENE II. France. The English Posts before Orleans. Drums. Enter the Dauphin, Charles, and his Forces; Reignier, Alenson, and Others.

Cha.
Mars his true moving,14Q0769 even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known:
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have?
At pleasure here we lye, near Orleans;
The whiles ^note the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Ale.
They want their porridge, and their fat bull-beeves:
Either they must be dieted like mules,
And have their provender ty'd to their mouths;
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

Rei.
Let's raise the siege; Why sit we idly here? ^note
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
Remaineth none, but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war.

Cha.
Sound, sound alarum;—we will rush on them. [Charge sounded.
Now for the honour of the forlorn French:—
Him I forgive my death, that killeth me,
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt.

Alarums; Skirmishings; afterwards, a Retreat: Re-enter Charles, and the rest.

Cha.
Who ever saw the like? what men have I?—
Dogs! cowards! dastards—I would ne'er have fled,
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

Rei.
Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
He fighteth as one weary of his life.
The other ^note lords, like lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

Ale.
Froisard, a countryman of ours, records,
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred ^note,
During the time Edward the third did reign:
More truly now may this be verify'd;
For none but Sampsons, and Goliasses,
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose,
They had such courage and audacity?

Cha.
Let's leave this town; for they are hair-brain'd slaves,
And hunger will enforce them be ^note more eager:
Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.

Rei.
I think, by some odd gimmals ^note or device,
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;
Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone.

Ale.
Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans.

Bas.
Where's the prince dauphin? I have news for him.

Cha.
Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

Bas.
Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd;
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand:

A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege,
And drive the English forth the bounds of France:
The spirit of deep prophesy she hath,
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome;
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
For they are certain and unfallible ^note.

Cha.
Go, call her in: [Exit Bas.] But, first, to try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place:
Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern;—
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. [retires. Enter La Pucelle, usher'd.

Rei.
Fair maid, is't thou wilt ^note do these wond'rous feats?

Puc.
Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?—
Where is the dauphin?—come, come from behind;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me:
In private will I talk with thee apart;—
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while. [driving them back.

Rei.
She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Puc.
Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven, and our lady gracious, hath it pleas'd
To shine on my contemptible estate:
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me;

And, in a vision full of majesty,
Will'd me to leave my base vocation,
And free my country from calamity:
Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success:
In compleat glory she reveal'd herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before,
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me,
That beauty am I blest with, which you see ^note.
Ask me what question thou canst possible,
And I will answer unpremeditated:
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st,
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this, Thou shalt be fortunate,
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

Cha.
Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,—
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.

Puc.
I am prepar'd: here is my keen-edg'd sword, [drawing it.
Deck'd with fine flower-de-luces on each side;
The which at Touraine, in saint Catharine's church-yard,
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose. ^note

Cha.
Then come o'God's name, for I fear no woman. [addressing him to the Combat.

Puc.
And, while I live, I'll never fly no man ^note. [engaging him.

Cha.
Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Debora.

Puc.
Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

Cha.
Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:

Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French dauphin sueth to thee thus.

Puc.
I must not yield to any rites of love,
For my profession's sacred from above:
When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
Then will I think upon a recompence.

Cha.
Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

Rei.
My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

Ale.
Doubtless, he shrives this woman to her smock;
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

Rei.
Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

Ale.
He may mean more than we poor men do know:
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

Rei.
My lord, [to the Dauphin, advancing.] where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give o'er this Orleans, or no?

Puc.
Why, no, I say: distrustful recreants,
Fight 'till the last gasp; I will ^note be your guard.

Cha.
What she says, I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.

Puc.
Assign'd am I ^note to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect saint Martin's summer, Halcyon ^note days,
Since I have14Q0770 enter'd thus ^note into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water;
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
'Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought ^note:
With Henry's death, the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,

Which Cæsar and his fortune bare ^note at once.

Cha.
Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n ^note down on the earth,
How may I ever worship ^note thee enough?

Ale.
Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

Rei.
Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
Drive them from hence, ^note and be immortaliz'd.

Cha.
Presently we'll try:—Come, let's away about it:—
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. SCENE III. London. Hill before the Tower. Warders within, attending: Enter, to the Gates, the Duke of Gloster, and Servingmen in blue.

Glo.
I am come to survey the tower this day;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.—
Where be these warders, that they wait not here? [Servants knock at the Gates.
Open the gates; 'tis Glocester, that calls.

1. W.
Who's there, that knocketh ^note so imperiously?

1. S.
It is the noble duke of Glocester.

2. W.
Whoe'er he be, he may ^note not be let in.

1. S.
Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

1. W.
The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

Glo.
Who willed you? or whose will stands, but mine?
There's none protector of the realm, but I.—
Break up the ^note gates, I'll be your warrantize:
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghil grooms?

Servants rush at the Gates. Enter, to the Gates, within, Woodvile, the Lieutenant.

Woo.
What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

Glo.
Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear?
Open the gates; here's Gloster, that would enter.

Woo.
Have patience, noble duke; I may not open,
The cardinal of Winchester forbids:
From him I have express commandement,
That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

Glo.
Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate,
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king:
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Ser.
Open the gates unto the lord protector;
We'll burst them open, if you ^note come not quickly. Servants rush at the Gates again. Enter Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester; and Train of Servants, in tawny.

Win.
How now, ambitious Humphry ^note? ^note what means this?

Glo.
Piel'd priest, dost thou command me be ^note shut out?

Win.
I do, thou most usurping proditor,
And not protector of the king or realm.

Glo.
Stand back, thou manifest conspirator;
Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead ^note lord;
Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin:
I'll canvas thee14Q0771 in thy broad cardinal's hat,
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Win.
Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot;
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

Glo.
I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.

Win.
Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.

Glo.
What, am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?—
Draw, men, for all this priviledged place;
Blue-coats to tawny-coats.—Priest, beware thy beard; [Gloster, and his Men, attack the others.
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly:
Under my feet I'll stamp ^note thy cardinal's hat;
In spite of pope, or dignities of church,
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

Win.
Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope.

Glo.
Winchester goose, I cry—A rope! a rope!—
Now beat them hence, Why do you let them stay?—
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.—
Out, tawny-coats!—out, scarlet hypocrite! A great Tumult: Enter the Mayor of London, and Officers.

May.
Fie, lords! that you, being súpream magistrates,
Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

Glo.
Peace, mayor; for ^note thou know'st little of my wrongs:
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
Hath here distrain'd the tower to his use.

Win.
Here's Gloster too ^note, a foe to citizens;
One that still motions war, and never peace,
O'er-charging your free purses with large fines;
That seeks to overthrow religion,
Because he is protector of the realm;
And would have armour here out of the tower,
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.

Glo.
I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Tumult begins again.

May.
Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife,
But to make open proclamation:—
Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst.

Off.

All manner of men, assembl'd here in arms this day, against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.

Glo.
Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

Win.
Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear ^note cost, be sure:
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

May.
I'll call for clubs, if you will not away:—
This cardinal is ^note more haughty than the devil.

Glo.
Mayor, farewel: thou dost but what thou may'st.

Win.
Abominable Gloster! ;
For I intend to have it, ere't be long. [Exeunt either Party, severally.

May.
See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.—
Good God! that nobles ^note should such stomacks bear!
I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. France. Under Orleans. Enter, upon the Walls, above, a Gunner, and his Son.

Gun.
Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieg'd;
And how the English have the suburbs won.

Son.
Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

Gun.
But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me:
Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
Something I must do, to procure me grace.
The prince's 'spials have informed me,
How the Englsh, ^note14Q0772 in the suburbs close entrench'd,
Went, through a secret grate of iron bars
In yonder tower, to over-peer the city;
And thence discover, how, with most advantage,
They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
To intercept this inconvenience,
A piece of ord'nance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
And fully even these three days have I watch'd,
If I could see them: Now, boy ^note, do thou watch;
For I can stay no longer.
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit, from above.

Son.
Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
I'll never trouble you, if I may 'spy them. Enter the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, Sir Thomas Gargrave, Sir William Glansdale, and Others.

Sal.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handl'd, being prisoner?
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.

Tal.
The duke of ^note Bedford had a prisoner,
Called—the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him was I exchang'd and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far,
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me:
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,

Rather than I would be so pill'd esteem'd ^note.
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
But, o, the treacherous Falstaff wounds my heart!
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my power.

Sal.
Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd.

Tal.
With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts.
In open market-place produc'd they me,
To be a publick spectacle to all;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
The scare-scrow that affrights our children so:
Then broke I from the officers that led me;
And with my nails dig'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grizly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread ^note,
That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel,
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

Sal.
I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
Here, through this grate, I can count every one ^note,
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions,

Where is best place to make our battery next.

Gar.
I think, at the north gate; for there stand ^note lords.

Gla.
And I † here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

Tal.
For ought I see, this city must be famish'd;
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled: [Shot from the Town. Sal. and Sir Tho. Gar. fall.

Sal.
O Lord have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

Gar.
O Lord have mercy on me, woful man!

Tal.
What chance is this, that suddenly hath crost us?—
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!—
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand,
That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'er-came;
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars:
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.—
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace:
The sun14Q0773 with one eye vieweth all the world.—
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands.—
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.—
Salisbury, chear thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die, whiles—
He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.—
Plantagenet, I will; and Nero-like, ^{note note}

Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Thunder heard; afterwards, an Alarum.
What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens?
Whence cometh this alarum, and this noise ^note? Enter a Messenger, hastily.

Mes.
My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head:
The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,—
A holy prophetess, new risen up,—
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. [Salisbury groans.

Tal.
Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan;
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd.—
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:—
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dog-fish,
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingl'd brains.—
Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the Bodies. SCENE V. The same. Before one of the Gates. Alarums. Skirmishings. Enter Talbot.

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 ^note 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 chástise this high-minded strumpet. [fight again.

Puc.
Talbot, farewel; thy hour is not yet come: [quitting him, to head some Troops.
I must go victual Orleans forthwith ^note.
O'er-take me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, chear up thy hunger-starved ^note 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 ^note, 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 ^note 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. SCENE VI. The same. Enter, upon the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alenson, and Soldiers.

Puc.
Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves ^note:—
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Cha.
Divinest creature, bright ^note Astræa's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises14Q0774 are like Adonis' gardens, ^note
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.—
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!—
Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
More blessed hap did ne'er befal our state.

Rei.
Why ring not out the bells ^note throughout the town?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

Ale.
All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

Cha.
'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
For which, I will divide my crown with her:
And all the priests and friars in my realm

Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis ^note to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was:
In memory of her, when ^note she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius
Transported, shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France up-born.
No longer on saint Dennis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in; and let us banquet royally,
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt.

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