The Same. |
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Flourish. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENÇON, and Soldiers. |
Joan. Advance our waving colours on the walls; |
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English: |
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. |
Char. Divinest creature, 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. |
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, |
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. |
Char. '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-jewell'd coffer of Darius, |
Transported shall be at high festivals |
Before the kings and queens of France. |
No longer on Saint Denis 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. |
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