Retreat: Excursions. 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: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and Others. Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again! This is a double honour, Burgundy: Yet, heavens have glory for this victory!

Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.

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? Roüen 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, lies.

Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Bur

gundy.

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 Roüen;
A braver soldier never couched 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 SAME. THE PLAINS NEAR THE CITY.

Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alençon, La Pucelle, and Forces.

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedy'd.
Let frantick 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 blessed 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 extirped 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 wished end.

[Drums heard. Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

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 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.

[A parley sounded.

Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun

tryman.

Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am march

ing 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 lowly 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 edged sword another
way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bo-

som,

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 betwitch'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 slaughtermen.
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring
lord;

Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their

arms.

Bur. I am vanquished; 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:
My forces and my power of men are yours;-
So, farewel, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.
Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn
again!

Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our

breasts.