The Same. Before one of the Gates. |
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Alarum. Skirmishings. Enter TALBOT, pursuing the DAUPHIN; drives him in, and exit: then enter JOAN 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. |
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Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE. |
Here, here she comes. 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. |
Joan. 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. |
Joan. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: |
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. [A short alarum; then LA PUCELLE enters the town with Soldiers. |
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. [Exit. |
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. [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 treacherous 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 entered 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. |
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