Before Orleans. |
|
Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and two Sentinels. |
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. |
First 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 yond corner. |
Bur. And I to this. |
Tal. 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, 'Saint George!' 'A Talbot!' and all enter the town. |
First Sent. Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault! |
|
The French leap over the Walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENÇON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready. |
Alen. How now, my lords! what! all unready so? |
Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. |
Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, |
Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. |
Alen. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, |
Ne'er heard I of a war-like enterprise |
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. |
Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. |
|
Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE. |
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? |
Joan. 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 so safely kept |
As that whereof I had the government, |
We had not been thus shamefully surpris'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? |
Joan. 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. |
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. |
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; |
For I have loaden me with many spoils, |
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. |
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