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:
^{b note}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.

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. 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:
Two other lords, like Lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.

Alan.
Froysard a countryman of ours records,
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 by some odd † ^notegimmals 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 prophesie 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 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.

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