Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I can count every one, Where is best place to make our battery 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 slight skirmishes enfeebled. [Shot from the town. Salisbury and Sir "Thomas Gargrave fall. Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak; One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: Thou shalt not die, whiles He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me; Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: [Thunder heard; afterwards an alarum. What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head: The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,- Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. SCENE V-The same. Before one of the gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him in: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot. Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; (1) Dirty wench. Enter La Pucelle. Here, here she comes:-I'll have a bout with thee: thee. 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. Pue. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come : I must go victual Orleans forthwith. O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 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, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. Another skirmish. It will not be :--Retire into your trenches: (1) The superstition of those times taught, that he who could draw a witch's blood was free from her power You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.- In spite of us, or aught that we could do. The shame hereof will make me hide my head. SCENE VI.-The same. Enter, on the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alençon, and soldiers. Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves:Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. Char. Divinest creature, bright Astræa's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 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 befall our state. Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry, After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exe. ACT II. SCENE I.-The same. Enter, to the gates, a French Sergeant, and two Sentinels. Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, Near to the walls, by some apparent sign, Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.1 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Serg.] Thus are poor servitors (When others sleep upon their quiet beds,) Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and forces, with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead march. Tal. Lord regent,--and redoubted Burgundy,By whose approach, the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous'd and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity; As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. Bed. Coward of France!-how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, Bur. Traitors have never other company.- VOL. V. (1) The same as guard-room. |