mish'd,

Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

Shot from the Town. Salisbury and
Sir Tho. Gargrave fall.

Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath

cross'd us?

Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!-
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand,
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars;
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
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-

He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.-
Plantagenet, I will; and, Nero-like,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name.

[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.

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,

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.

[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,
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.
LA 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 leopard,
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!

men dare.

[Exeunt, bearing out the bodies.

Alarum. Retreat. Excunt Talbot and his forces, &c.

SCENE VI.-The same.

Enter, on the walls, PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, 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 befal 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.

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 Saint 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.

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.

Bed. 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. Bur. And I to this.

Tul. 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 scale the walls, crying
St George! a Talbot! and all enter
by the town.

Sent. Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault!

The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, Bastard, ALENCON, REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready. Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so?

Bast. Unready?ay, and glad we 'scap'd se well.

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

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

Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE. 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

friend?

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 fall'n.
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 as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd.
Bast. Mine was secure.

Reig. 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 further of the case, How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some place

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.

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 corpse 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 Dauphin's 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. All hail, my lords! which of this princely train

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, good 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 men

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 per-
ceive my mind.

Capt. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly. [Exeunt.

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

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 aspéct,
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 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 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?

Count. 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,

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, Whereon to practise your severity.

Count. Why, art not thou the man?
Tal. I am indeed.

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 heard; 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 mis