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 the lifts:
So Bees with fmoak, and Doves with noisom stench,
Are from their Hives and Houfes driven away.
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English Dogs,
Now like the Whelps, we crying run away.
Hark Countrymen, either renew the fight,
Or tear the Lions out of England's Coat.
Renounce your Soil, give Sheep in Lions ftead:
Sheep run not half fo treacherous from the Wolf,
Or Horse or Oxen from the Leopard,
As you fly from your oft-fubdued Slaves.
[Alarum. Here another Skirmish.
It will not be, retire into your Trenches.:
You all confented unto Salisbury's Death,
For none would ftrike a ftroke in his Revenge.
Pucelle is entred into Orleans,
In fpight of us, or ought that we could do.
O would.I were to die with Salisbury,
The fhame hereof will make me lile my head.
[Alarum, Retreat, Flourish. Enter on the Wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alenson,
Pucel. Advance our waving Colours on the Walls,
Refcu'd is Orleans from the English Wolves:
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.
Dan. Divineft Creature, bright Aftrea's Daughter,
How fhall I honour thee for this Succefs!
Thy Promises are like Adonis Garden,
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.
France, Triumph in thy glorious Prophetess,
Recover'd is the Town of Orleans;
More bleffed hap did ne'er befal our State.
Reig. Why ring not out the Bells aloud,
Throughout the Town?
Dauphin, command the Citizens make Bonfires,
And feaft and banquet in the open Streets.
To celebrate the Joy that God hath given us.
Alen. All France will be repleat with Mirth and Joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the Men.
Dan. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won:
For which, I will divide my Crown with her,
And all the Priests and Fryers in my Realm,
Shall in Proceffion fing her endless Praise.
A ftatelier Pyramid 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 gracious
Than the Rich-jewel'd Coffer of Darius,
Tranfported fhall be, at high Feftivals,
Before the Kings and Queens of France.
No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle fhall be France's Saint.
Come in, and let us Banquet Royally,
After this Golden day of Victory.
Enter a Serjeant of a Band, with two Centinels.
Ser. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:
If any Noife or Soldier you perceive
Near to the Wall, by fome apparent fign
Let us have knowledge at the Court of Guard.
Cent. Serjeant, you fhall. Thus are poor Servitors
(When others fleep upon their quiet Beds)
Constrain'd to watch in Darkness, Rain, and Cold.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy, with scaling
Ladders. Their Drums beating a Dead March.
Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
By whofe 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 banquetted.
Embrace we then this opportunity,
As fitting beft to quittance their deceit,
Contriv'd by Art, and baleful Sorcery.
E e 2
Bed. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his Fame, Defpairing of his own Arms fortitude,
To join with Witches, and the help of Hell.
Bur. Traitors have never other company.
But what's that Pucel, whom they term fo pure?
Tal. A Maid, they lay.
Bed. A Maid? And be fo Martial?
Bur. Pray God, the prove not Mafculine e'er long: If underneath the Standard of the French
She carry Armour, as the hath begun.
Tal. Well, let them practife and converfe with Spirits,
God is our Fortrefs, in whofe Conquering Name
Let us refolve to fcale their flinty Bulwarks.
Bed. Afcend, brave Talbot, we will follow thee.
Tal. Not all together: Better far I guess,
That we do make our entrance feveral ways:
That if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rife against their force.
Bed. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his Grave. Now Salisbury for thee and for the right Of English Henry, fhall this night appear How much in duty, I am bound to both.
Cent. Arm, Arm, the Enemy doth make afsaut.
[Cry, S. George! A Talbot! The French leap o'er the Walls in their fhirts. Enter feveral ways, Baftard, Alenfon, Reignier, half ready, and half unready.
Alen. How now, my Lords? what all unready fo?
Bust. Unready? I and glad we fcape fo well.
Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our Beds, Hearing Alarums at our Chamber doors.
Alen. Of all Exploits fince firft I follow'd Arms, Ne'er heard I of a Warlike Enterprize
More venturous, or defperate than this.
Baft. I think this Talbot be a Fiend of Hell.
Reig. If not of Hell, the Heavens fure favour him.
Alen. Here cometh Charles, I marvel how he sped.
Enter Charles and Joan.
Baft. Tut, holy Joan was his defenfive Guard.
Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful Dame ? Didft thou at firft, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain,
That now our lofs might be ten times fo much?
Pucel. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his Friend?
At all times will you have my power alike?
S'eeping or Waking, muft I ftill prevail,
Or will you blaine and lay the fault on me?
Improvident Soldiers, had your Watch been good,
This fudden mifchief never could have faln.
Char. Duke of Alenfon, this was your default.
That being Captain of the Watch to Night,
Did look no better to that weighty Charge.
Alen. Had all our Quarter been as fafely kept,
As that, whereof I had the Government,
We had not been thus fhamefully furpriz'd.
Baft. Mine was fecure.
Reig. And fo was mine, my Lord.
Char. And for my felf, moft part of all this Night
Within her Quarter, and mine own Precinct,
I was employ'd in paffing to and fro,
About relieving of the Centinels.
Then how, or which way, fhould they firft break in?
Puz. Queftion, my Lord, no further of the cafe,
How, or which way; 'tis fure they found fome place,
But weakly Guarded, where the Breach was made:
And now there refts no other fhift, but this
To gather our Soldiers, fcatter'd and difperft,
And lay new Plat-forms to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter a Soldier, crying, a Talbot! a Talbot! they fly, leaving their Cloaths behind.
Sol. I'll be fo bold to take what they have left:
The Cry of Talbot ferves me for a Sword,
For I have loaden me with many Spoils,
Ufing no other Weapon but his Name.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy.
Bed. The Day begins to break, and Night is Aid,
Whofe pitchy Mantle over-vail'd the Earth.
Here found Retreat, and ceafe our hot Purfuit.
Tal. Bring forth the Body of old Salisbury,
And here advance it in the Market place,
The middle Centre of this curfed Town.
Now have I pay'd my Vow unto his Soul,
For every drop of Blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen dy'd to night,
And that hereafter Ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within the chiefeft Temple I'll ere&
A Tomb, wherein his Corps fhall 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 terrour he had been to France.
But, Lords, in all our bloody Maffacre,
I muse we met not with the Dauphin's Grace,
His new-come Champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
of his falfe Confederates.
Bed. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Rouz'd on the fudden from their drowfie Beds,
They did amongst the Troops of armed Men,
Leap o'er the Walls for refuge in the Field.
Bur. My felf, as far as I could well discern,
For Smoak, and dufty Vapours of the Night,
Am fure I fcar'd the Dauphin and his Trull,
When Arm in Arm they both came fwiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving Turtle Doves,
That could not live afunder Day or Night.
After that things are fet in order here,
We'll follow them with all the Power we have.
Meff. 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?
Mef. The virtuous Lady, Countess of Auvergne,
With modefty admiring thy Renown,
By me intreats, great Lord, thou would'ft vouchfafe
To vifit her poor Cafle where she lyes;
That the may boast she hath beheld the Man,
Whofe Glory fills the World with loud report.
Bur. Is it even fo? Nay, then I fee our Wars
Will turn into a peaceful Comick Sport,
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