France. Plains in Anjou. |
|
Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENÇON, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and Forces, marching. |
Char. These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits; |
'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt, |
And turn again unto the war-like French. |
Alen. Then, march to Paris, royal Charles of France, |
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. |
Joan. Peace be amongst them if they turn to us; |
Else, ruin combat with their palaces! |
|
Enter a Scout. |
Scout. Success unto our valiant general, |
And happiness to his accomplices! |
Char. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak. |
Scout. The English army, that divided was |
Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, |
And means to give you battle presently. |
Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is: |
But we will presently provide for them. |
Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there: |
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. |
Joan. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd. |
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; |
Let Henry fret and all the world repine. |
Char. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! [Exeunt. |
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