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His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,

One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.-
Heaven, 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.-
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die, whiles-

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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.

[SALISBURY lifts 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 puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 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.--ORLEANS. Before one of the Gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. Enter TALBOT, pursuing the Dauphin: drives him in, and exit: then enter LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them. Then re-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.
Here, here she comes.-

Re-enter LA PUCELLE.

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. 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.

[They fight again. Puc. [Retiring.] 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;

Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be.

[LA PUCELLE enters the town, with Soldiers. Tal. My thoughts are whirlèd like a potter's I know not where I am, nor what I do: [wheel: 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 timorous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the léopard, 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, &c.


SCENE VI.--The Same.

Enter, on the walls, LA 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


Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.
Char. '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 pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, of 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 Saint Dennis will we cr
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France
Come in, and let us banquet roy
After this golden day of victor



SCENE I.-ORLEANS. Before one of the Gates.
Enter to the Gate 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 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant. 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,

To join with witches and the help of hell!

Bur. Traitors have never other company.But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? Tal. A maid, they say.


A maid! and be so martial!

Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long;

If underneath the standard of the French
She carry armour, as she hath begun.

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:

God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
Tal. Not all together; better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.
Bed. Agreed: I'll to yon corner.

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The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready.

Alen. How now, my lords! what, all unready so? Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,

Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.

Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this.

Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.


Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain,

That now our loss might be ten times so much?
Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his

At all times will you have my power alike?
Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail,
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?—
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
This sudden mischief never could have fallen.

Char. Duke of Alençon, this was your default,
That, being captain of the watch to-night,
Did look no better to that weighty charge.
Alen. Had all your quarters been so safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd.
Bast. Mine was secure.

And so was mine, my lord. Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,

I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:

Then how, or which way, should they first break in?
Puc. Question, my lords, no farther of the case,
How, or which way: 'tis sure they found some


But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this,—
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new platforms to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, "A Talbot! a
Talbot!" They fly, leaving their clothes behind.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
For I have loaden me with many spoils,
Using no other weapon but his name.



Within the Town.

Enter TALBOT, Bedford, BurGUNDY, a Captain, and others.
Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded.

Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.-
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night
And that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corse shall be interr'd:
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans,
The treacherous manner of his mournful death.
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,

I muse we met not with the Dauphins grace,

His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began,

Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
They did, amongst the troops of armed men,
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke and dusky vapours of the night)
Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull,
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder, day or night.
After that things are set in order here,

We'll follow them with all the power we have.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Madam, it is. Count.

Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad,
That with his name the mothers still their babes
I see report is fabulous and false:

I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!

It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.


Count. What means he now?- Go ask him, whither he goes.

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves

Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely To know the cause of your abrupt departure.


Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

So much applauded through the realm of France? Tal. Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown,

By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies,
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.-
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

Tal. Ne'er trust me, then; for when a world of


Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd:-
And therefore tell her I return great thanks,
And in submission will attend on her.-
Will not your honours bear me company?

Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will:
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.-
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] You perceive
my mind.

Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.


SCENE III.—AUVERGNE. Court of the Castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter. Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Port. Madam, I will. [Exit.

Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,

I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account :
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports.

Enter Messenger and TALBOT.

Mess. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Count. And he is welcome. What is this the man?

Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here.

Re-enter Porter, with keys.

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
Tal. Prisoner! to whom?

To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs :

But now the substance shall endure the like,
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny, these many years,
Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha!

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall

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Count. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:

I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,

Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree? Tal. That will I show you presently.

He winds a horn.

Drums strike up; then a peal of ordnance. The gates being forced, enter Soldiers. How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry, that with reverence

I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake


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Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means
this silence?

Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud;
The garden here

more convenient.

Plan. Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth;
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?

Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.

Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then, be

tween us.

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher

Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
Between two blades, which bears the better temper;
Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;—
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment:
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

Plan. Tut, tut! here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,

So clear, so shining, and so evident,

That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

Plan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loath to


In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,

If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me!

War. I love no colours; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,

I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.

Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset ; And say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no


Till you conclude, that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree,
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected:
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

Plan. And I.

Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
And fall on my side so, against your will.


Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the side where still I am.
Som. Well, well, come on: who else?
Law. [To SOMERSET.] Unless my study and my
books be false,

The argument you held, was wrong in you;
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too.

Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that

Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

Plan. Meantime, your cheeks do counterfeit our
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing [roses;
The truth on our side.


No, Plantagenet,

'Tis not for fear, but anger, that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding


Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen,
That shall maintain what I have said is true,

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy faction, peevish boy.
Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him
and thee.

Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole!
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.
War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him,
Somerset ;

His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward, king of England.
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my

On any plot of ground in Christendom.
Was not thy father, Richard earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted;
•Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
-I'll note you in my book of memory,
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself,
To scourge you for this apprehension:
Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.

Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes,-
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.
Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear,
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.

[tion! [Exeunt.

Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambiAnd so, farewell, until I meet thee next.

Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewell, ambitious Richard. [Exit.

Plan. How I am brav'd, and, must perforce endure it!

War. This blot, that they object against your house,

Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster:
And if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
And here I prophesy,-this brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden,
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
Law. And so will I.

Plan. Thanks, gentle Sir..
Come,, let us.four to dinner: I dare say
This quarrel will drink blood another day.


SCENE V-LONDON. A Room in the Tower. Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair by two Keepers. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man new hailed from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor like aged, in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes,-like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent: Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief; And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground: Yet are these feet,-whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay,Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have.But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; And answer was return'd, that he will come.

Mor. Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.— Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, (Before whose glory I was great in arms) This loathsome sequestration have I had;

And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,·
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.

But now, the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,

With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
I would his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.



1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your nephew, late despisèd Richard, comes.

Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,

That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,

Why didst thou say-of late thou wert despis'd? Plan. First, lean thine agèd back against mine


And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death:
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him.
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,

And for alliance' sake, declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Plan. Discover more at large what cause that
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.


Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his nephew Richard,--Edward's son,
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
During whose reign the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne:.
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,
Was-for that (young king Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body)

I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am

From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the third; whereas he
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but fourth of that heroic line.
But mark: as, in this haughty great attempt,
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the fifth
(Succeeding his father Bolingbroke) did reign,
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army, weening to redeem
And have. install'd me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.

Plan Of which, my lord, your honour is the last,
Mor. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather:
But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic:
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;

As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.

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