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 with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch^{8 note},
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 chastise this high-minded strumpet.

Puc.
Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men^{9 note};
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers.

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 to whelps, we crying run away. [A short Alarum.
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 treacherous from the wolf^{1 note},
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard,
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. 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 spite 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. [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his Forces.

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