In spight 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.

[Exit TALBOT.

[Alarum, retreat, flourish.

SCENE VI.

Enter, on the Walls, PUCELLE, Dauphin, REIGNIER, ALENÇON, and Soldiers.

Pucel. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves :Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 570 Dau. 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,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

580

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and

joy,

When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

590

Dau. '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, or 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 St. Dennis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in; and let us banquet royally,

After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Before Orleans. Enter a French Serjeant with two Cen◄ tinels.

Serjeant.

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.

Cent. Serjeant, you shall. [Exit Serjeant.] Thus are

poor servitors

(When

(When others sleep upon their quiet beds) Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.

10

Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, and BURGUNDY, 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.

Bed. A maid! and be so martial!

21

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,

D

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That

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.

Bur. And I to this.

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his

grave.

Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.

[The English, scaling the Walls, cry, St. George!
A Talbot!

Cent. [Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make

assault!

40

The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. Enter several Ways, BASTARD, ALENÇON, 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 enterprize

More venturous, or desperate, than this.

Bast. I think, this Talbot is a fiend of hell.

Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel, how he

sped.

50 Enter