*

Whilst any trump did found, or drum ftruck up,
His fword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
Yet liv'ft thou, Salisbury tho' thy fpeech do fail,
One eye thou haft to look to heaven for grace.
Heav'n be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, haft thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
O Salib'ry, cheer thy fpirit with this comfort,
Thou shalt not die, while

He beckons with his hand, and finiles on me,
As who fhould fay, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.
Flantagenet, I will; and, Nero-like,

Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched fhall France be only in my name.

[Here an alarm, and it thunders and lightens. What ftir is this? what tumult's in the heav'ns? Whence cometh this alarm and this noife?

Enter a Mefenger.

Meff. My Lord, my Lord, the French have gather'd The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, [head, A holy prophetefs new rifen up,

Is come with a great power to raise the fiege.

[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up, and grones. Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth grone! It irks his heart he cannot be revenge'd.

Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. †

Convey brave Salisbury into his tent,

And then we'll try what daftard Frenchmen dare. [Alarm. Exeunt, bearing Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave out.

*To heaven for grace.

The fun with one eye vieweth all the world,

Heavn, be thou, &c.

+ a Salisbury to you,

Pucelle or Puffet, Dauphin, or Dog-fish,

Your hearts I'l ftamp out with my horfe's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey brave, T.

SCENE

SCENE X.

Ermira igla, mi Talutar krth the Dauphin, Tim enten Fiana Pacelle driving

Eng Para neplne ten. Tiener Talbot.

T... Where's my irength, my valeur, and my force? Cur English treeps retire, I cannot hay them :

A woman dad in armeur, chaleth them.

Devi, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:

Flood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,
And traightway give thy foul to him thou ferv'it.
Farzi. Come, come, 'tis only I that mult difgrace
[They Äget.*
Talbot, farewel, thy hour is not yet come;

thee.

I must go vidual Orleans forthwith.

Dagbert Larm. Then enter the town with soldiers. O'ertake me if then canit, I fcorn thy ftrength. Go, go, chear up thy hunger-starved men,

Help Saltbury to make his teftament:

This day is ours, as many more thail be. [Exit Pucelle. 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 the lifts.
So bees with imoak, and doves with noisome ftench,
Are from their hives and houies driv`n away.
They call'd us for our fierceneis Englith dogs,
Now like their whelps we crying run away.

[A jhort alarm,

Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat :
Renounce your foil, give theep in lions' ftead:
Sheep run not half to tim`rous from the wolf,
Or horie or oxen from the leopard,

Tai. Heaven's, can you fuffer hell fo to prevail?
My breath 1 il burft with raining of my courage,
And from my shoulders crack my arms alunder,
But I will chafhie this high-minded thumpst
Pucet. Talbot, farewel, &c.

As

As you fly from your oft fuladued flaves;

[Alarm. Here ametler Bir mijie,

It will not be : retire into your from hea
You all confented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would flrike a Broke in his revenge,
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,

In fight of us, or ought that we enu'd do,
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!

The thame hereof will make me hide my head,

Butor on the wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alan: Ion, and Soldier:

Purel. Advance our waving colours on the walls, Rofeu'd is Orleans from the Englith wolves: Thus Juan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word, Dae, Divinell creature, bright Allrea's daughter, How thall I honour thes for this fuccets!

Thy promiles are like Adonis' gardens",

That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next, France, triumph in thy glorious prophetels! Recover'd is the town of Orleans;

More bleflod hap did ne'er helal our fats,

Reig, Why ring not out the hells throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, And feall and banquet in the open frosts, To celebrate the joy that God hath giv'n na.

Alan: All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they hall hear how we have play d the men, Dan. "Íis Juan, not we, by whom the day is woni

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