Bedford.
Hung be the heav'ns with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing ^{1 note}change of times and states,
^{2 note}Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,

That have consented unto Henry's death!
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a King of so much worth.

Glou.
England ne'er had a King until his time:
Virtue he had, deserving to command.
His brandish'd sword did blind men with its beams;
His arms spread wider than a Dragon's wings:
His sparkling eyes, repleat with awful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say; his deeds exceed all speech:
He never lifted up his hand, but conquer'd.

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 glorifie,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conj'rers and sorc'rers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verse have thus 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 pray'rs made him so prosperous.

Glou.
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.
Glo'ster, 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 churchmen may.

Glou.
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 babes shall suck;
^{3 note}Our isle be made a Marish 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,
^{4 note}Than Julius Cæsar, or bright—

SCENE II. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My honourable lords, health to you all;
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture;
Guienne, Champaign, and Rheims, and Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

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

Glou.
Is Paris lost, and 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?

Mess.
No treachery, but want of men and mony.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintain sev'ral factions;
And, whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your Generals.
One would have lingring wars with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings:
A third man thinks, without expence at all,
By guileful fair words, peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot;
Crop'd 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 tides.

Bed.
Me they concern, Regent I am of France.
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France.
Away with these disgraceful, wailing robes;

Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes,
^{5 note}To weep their intermissive miseries. SCENE III. Enter to them another Messenger.

2 Mess.
Lords, view these 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 Orleans with him is join'd:
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part,
The Duke of Alanson flies to his side. [Exit.

Exe.
The Dauphin crowned King? all fly to him?
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

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

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

3 Mess.
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 Mess.
O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown.
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 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, pluckt 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 flew:
The French exclaim'd, “The devil was in arms!
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him.
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot! Talbot! cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the Conquest fully been seal'd up,
If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward;
He being in the vaward, (plac'd behind,
With purpose to relieve and follow them)
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroak.
Hence grew the gen'ral 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 her chief assembled strength
Durst not presume to look once in the face.

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

3 Mess.
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 St. George's feast withal.
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.

3 Mess.
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 yoak.

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

Glou.
I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
To view th' artillery and ammunition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry King. [Exit Gloucester.

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 thus out of office:
The King from Eltam I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of publick weal. [Exit.

SCENE V. Before Orleans, in France. Enter Charles, Alanson, and Reignier, marching with a drum and Soldiers.

Char.
Mars his true moving, ev'n as in the heav'ns,
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:
Tho' still the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Alan.
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.

Reig.
Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?
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 mony, hath he to make war.

Char.
Sound, sound alarum: we will rush on them:
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. [Here Alarm, they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter Charles, Alanson, and Reignier.

Char.
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.

Reig.
Salisbury is a desp'rate homicide,
He fighteth as one weary of his life:
The other lords, like lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

Alan.
Froysard, a countryman of ours, records,
^{6 note}England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
During the time Edward the Third did reign:
More truly now may this be verified;
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!

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

Reig.
I think, ^{7 note}by some odd gimmals or device
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on;
Else they could ne'er hold out so, as they do:
By my consent we'll e'en let them alone.

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

Bast.
Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.

Dau.
Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.

Bast.
Methinks, your looks are sad, your chear appal'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 heav'n,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege;
And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecie she hath,
Exceeding the ^{8 note}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 infallible.

Dau.
Go, call her in; 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. SCENE VI. Enter Joan la Pucelle.

Reig.
Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous feats?

Pucel.
Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
Where is the Dauphin? come, come from behind,
I know thee well, tho' 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 awhile.

Reig.
She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Pucel.
Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter.
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art:
Heav'n, 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 her self;
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.
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.

Dau.
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.

Pucel.
I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword,
Deck'd with fine Flow'r-de-luces on each side;
The which, at Tourain in St. Catharine's church,
Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth.

Dau.
Then come o' God's name, for I fear no woman.

Pucel.
And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. [Here they fight, and Joan la Pucelle overcomes.

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

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

Dau.
Who-e'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.

Pucel.
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.

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

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

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

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

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

Reig.
My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans or no?

Pucel.
Why, no I say; distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp, for I'll be your guard.

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

Pucel.
Assign'd I am to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect Saint Martin's summer, Halcyon days,
Since I have enter'd thus into these wars.
&plquo;Glory is like a circle in the water;
&plquo;Which never ceaseth to enlarge it self,
&plquo;Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.&prquo;
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 bore at once.

Dau.
Was Mahomet inspired with a Dove?
Thou with an Eagle art inspired then.
Helen the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet St. Philip's daughters, were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee?

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

Reig.
Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.

Dau.
Presently try: come, let's away about it.
No prophet will I trust, if she proves false. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Tower-gates, in London. Enter Gloucester, with his Serving-men.

Glou.
I am this day come to survey the Tower;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
Open the gates. 'Tis Gloucester, that calls.

1 Ward.
Who's there, that knocketh so imperiously?

1 Man.
It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

2 Ward.
Who e'er he be, you may not be let in.

1 Man.
Villains, answer you so the Lord Protector?

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

Glou.
Who willed you? or whose will stands, but mine?
There's none Protector of the realm but I.
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize;
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghil grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower-gates, and Woodvile the Lieutenant speaks within.

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

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

Wood.
Have patience, noble Duke; I may not open;
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids;
From him I have express commandment,

That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.

Glou.
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 gate, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

Serv.
Open the gates there to the Lord Protector;
We'll burst them open, if you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower-gates, Winchester and his men in tawny coats.

Win.
How now, ambitious Umpire, what means this?

Glou.
^{9 note}Piel'd Priest, dost thou command me be shut out?

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

Glou.
Stand back, thou manifest conspirator;
Thou, that contriv'st to murder our dead lord;
Thou, that ^{1 note}giv'st whores indulgences to sin;
I'll canvas thee in thy broad Cardinal's hat,
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Win.
Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:
^{2 note}This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

Glou.
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.

Glou.
What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?
Draw, men, for all this privileged place.
Blue coats to tawny. Priest, beware thy beard;
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly.
Under my feet I'll stamp thy Cardinal's hat:
In spight of Pope or dignities of Church,
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

Win.
Glo'ster, thou'lt answer this before the Pope.

Glou.
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! Here Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's; and enter in the hurly-burly the Mayor of London, and his Officers.

Mayor.
Fy, Lords; that you, being supreme magistrates,
Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

Glou.
Peace, Mayor, for thou know'st little of my wrongs:
Here's Beauford, that regards not God nor King,
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

Win.
Here's Glo'ster too, 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.

Glou.
I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Here they skirmish again.

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

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

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

Win.
Glo'ster, we'll meet to thy dear cost, be sure?
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.

Mayor.
I'll call for clubs, if you will not away:
This Cardinal is more haughty than the devil.

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

Win.
Abominable Glo'ster, guard thy head,
For I intend to have it, ere be long. [Exeunt.

Mayor.
See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.

Offic.
Good God! ^{2 note}
that nobles should such stomachs bear!
I my self fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to Orleans in France. Enter the Master-gunner of Orleans, and his Boy.

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

Boy.
Father, I know, and oft have shot at them,
How e'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

M. 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,
The English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
Went thro' a secret grate of iron bars,
In yonder tow'r, 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 ev'n these three days have I watch'd,
If I could see them. Now, Boy, 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.

Boy.
Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. SCENE IX. Enter Salisbury and Talbot on the turrets, with others.

Sal.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handled, 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 Bedford had a prisoner,
Called the brave Lord Ponton de Santraile.
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 vile esteem'd.

In fine, redeem'd I was, as I desir'd.
But, oh! the treach'rous Fastolfe wounds my heart;
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my pow'r.

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-crow, that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me,
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure:
So great a fear my name amongst them spread,
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;
They walk'd about me ev'ry minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed,
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy, with a Linstock.

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 thro' this grate I can count every one,
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 batt'ry next?

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

Glan.
And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

Tal.
For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,

Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. [Here they shoot, and Salisbury falls down.

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 tow'r, accursed fatal hand,
That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame:
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? tho' thy speech doth fail,
One eye thou hast to look to heav'n for grace.
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Heav'n, 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.
O Salisb'ry, chear thy spirit with this comfort,
Thou shalt not die, while—
—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,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Here an alarm, and it thunders and lightens.
What stir is this? what tumults in the heav'ns?
Whence cometh this alarum and this noise? Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
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. [Here Salisbury lifteth himself up, and 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 Pussel, Dauphin or Dog-fish,
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my Horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey brave Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. [Alarm. Exeunt, bearing Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave out. SCENE X. Here an alarm again; and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then 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 Pucelle.
Here, here, she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch;
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Pucel.
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.

Pucel.
Talbot, farewel, thy hour is not yet come,
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. [A short alarm. Then enter the town with soldiers.

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 Pucelle.

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 noisom stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driv'n away.
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs,
Now, like their whelps, we crying run away. [A short alarm.
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 tim'rous from the Wolf,
Or Horse or Oxen from the Leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarm. Here another Skirmish.
It will not be: retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spight of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Exit Talbot. [Alarm, Retreat, Flourish. SCENE XI. Enter on the Wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alanson, and Soldiers.

Pucel.
Advance our waving colours on the walls,
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English Wolves:
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Dau.
Divinest creature, bright Astrea's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success!
Thy promises are ^{3 note}

France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
Recover'd is the town of Orleans;
More blessed hap did ne'er befal our state.

Reig.
Why ring not out the bells throughout the town?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets;
To celebrate the joy, that God hath giv'n us.

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

Dau.
'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 pyramid to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was!
In memory of her, when 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.
No longer on St. 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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