| [Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT] |
|
| TALBOT | Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. |
| [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 servest. |
|
| JOAN LA PUCELLE | Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. |
| [Here they fight] | |
| TALBOT | 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 LA PUCELLE | Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. |
| [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers] | |
| O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. |
|
| [Exit] | |
| TALBOT | 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. Here 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 enter'd 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. |
|
| [Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish] |