Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, And run a tilt at death within a chair?

Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age,
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

Puc. Are ye so hot, sir?-yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;

If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.

[Talbot and the rest consult together. God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker? Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field? Puc. Belike your lordship takes us, then, for fools, To try if that our own be ours or no.

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecaté,

But unto thee, Alençon, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
Alen. Signior, no.

Tal. Signior, hang!-base muleters of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

Puc. Away, captains! (48) let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.—
God b' wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you
That we are here.

[Exeunt La Pucelle, &c. from the walls.

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!— Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house

(Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France), Either to get the town again or die;

And I, as sure as English Henry lives,

And as his father here was conqueror;
As sure as in this late-betrayèd town
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,-
So sure I swear to get the town or die.

Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant Duke of Bedford.-Come, my lord,

.

We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,

And will be partner of your weal or woe.

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read,

That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick,

Came to the field, and vanquishèd his foes:
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
Because I ever found them as myself.

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!—
Then be it so:-heavens keep old Bedford safe!—
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,

But gather we our forces out of hand,

And set upon our boasting enemy.

[Exeunt, into the town, Burgundy, Talbot, and

forces, leaving Bedford and others.

Alarum excursions; in one of which, enter Sir JOHN FASTOLFE and a Captain.

Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?
Fast. Whither away! to save myself by flight:

We are like to have the overthrow again.

Cap. What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?
Fast.

All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.

Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

Ay,

[Exit.

[Exit into the town.

Retreat: excursions. Re-enter, from the town, LA PUCELLE,
ALENÇON, CHARLES, &c. and exeunt flying.

Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,

For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.

What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They that of late were daring with their scoffs,
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

[Dies, and is carried off in his chair.

Alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and others.
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again!

This is a double honour, Burgundy:

Yet (49) heavens have glory for this victory!

Bur. Warlike and martial (50) Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects

Thy noble deeds, as valour's monuments.

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now? I think her old familiar is asleep:

Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks? What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief,

That such a valiant company are fled.

Now will we take some order in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers;

And then depart to Paris to the king,

For there young Henry with his nobles lie.(51)
Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.
Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget

The noble Duke of Bedford late deceas'd,
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen :
A braver soldier never couchèd lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court;
But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
For that's the end of human misery.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The plains near Rouen.

Enter CHARLES, the Bastard of Orleans, ALENÇON, La Pucelle, and forces.

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recoverèd:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic 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.

Char. 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 blessèd saint:
Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.

Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy

To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us,

But be extirpèd from our provinces.

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

Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work

To bring this matter to the wishèd end.

Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive

Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

[Drums heard.

An English march. Enter, and pass over at a distance, TALBOT and his forces.

There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,

And all the troops of English after him.

A French march. Enter the Duke of BURGUNDY and his forces.

Now in the rearward comes the duke and his :
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

[Trumpets sound a parley.
Char. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching

hence.

Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!

Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

Puc. 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 lovely (52) 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 thyself hast given her woful breast!
O, turn thy edgèd 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 foreign gore:
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.

Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,

Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.

Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation,
That will not trust thee but for profit's 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 spite 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 wandering lord;
Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

Bur. I am vanquishèd; 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 :