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S CE N E X. Here an alarm again;

and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him. Then enter Joan la Pucelle driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot.

Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them : A woman clad in armour, chaseth them.

Enter 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 serv'ft. Pucel. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee:

[They fight. * Talbot, farewel, thy hour is not yet come ; I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

[Ă short alarm. Then enter the town with soldiers. O’ertake me if thou canst, I scorn thy strength. Go, go, chear up thy hunger-starved men, Help Salisbury to make his teftament: This day is ours, as many more shall 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 fhe lists. So bees with smoak, and doves with noisome stench, Are from their hives and houses driv'n away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs, Now like their whelps we crying run away.

[ A short alarni, Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat : Renounce your foil, give theep in lions' stead : Sheep run not half so tim'rous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard,

* They fight.

Tal. Heaven's, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with ffraining of my courage,
And from my shoulders «rack my arms arunder,
But I will chastite this high-minded trumpet.
Pucet. Talbot, farewel, &C.

As

As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

[Alarm. 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 spight of us, or ought that we cou'd do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! The shame hereof will make me hide

my

head.

[Exit Talbot. [Alarm, Retreat, Flourish.

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Enter on the wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alan

fon, and Soldiers. Pucel. Advance our waving colours on the walls, Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Dau. Divinelt creature, bright Astrea'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 lessed hap did ne'er befal 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 giv'n us.

Alan. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

Dau. 'Tis Joan; not we, by whom the day is won:

* The gardens of Adonis were never represented under any local de. feription, nor is any such thing implied in this place. They were on ly beds of earth put into poriable cases of Glver or cther matter, in which were raised such flowers and herbs as were of quick growth and short continuance, the production and maturity of them being also haftened by artificial means. Upon this quickness of growth the allufion here is founded : though anciently the gardens of Adonis was a proverbial expression to fignity tranfitory Aceting pleasures, and persons also of a flight trifling account, Şce Eraf. adar. Oxford Editor.

For

For which I will divide my crown with her,
And all the prieits and friars in my realm
Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramid to her l'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-jewel'd coffer of Darius,
Transported shall be at high festivals,
Before the Kings and Queens of France.
No longer on St. Dennis 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.

A C Τ ΙΙ.

S CE N E I.

Before Orleans.
Enter a Serjeant of a band with two Centinels.
Serj.

S'TE
Irs, take your places, and be vigilant.

If any noise or soldier you perceive
Near to the wall, by fome apparent sign
Let us have knowledge at the court of

guard. Cent. Serjeant, you shall. Thus are poor servitors (When others sleep upon their quiet beds) Constrain’d to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy, 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 beft to quittance their deceit, -
Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.

Bed. Coward of France ! how much. he wrongs his
Despairing of his own arms' fortitude,
To join with witches and the help of hell !
Bur. Traitors have never other company.

[fame,

But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure ?

Tat. A maid, they say.
Bed. A maid ? and be so martial ?

Bur. Pray God, the 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 conqu’ring name Let us refolve to scale their finty bulwarks.

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot, we will follow thee.

Tal. Not all together: better far I guess,
That we do make our entrance feveral ways:
That if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.

Bed. Agreed ; I'll to yon corner.
Bur. I to this.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his

grave.
Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, thall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.
Cent. [within] Arm, arm; the enemy doth make

assault. [The English scaling the walls, cry, St. George !

A Talbot !

S CE N E II. The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts. Enter',

several ways, Bastard, Alanfon, Reignier, half ready and balf unready. Alan. How now, my Lords? what, all unready fo ? Baft. Unready? I, and glad we 'scap'd so well.

Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake, and leave our Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. [beds,

Alan. Of all exploits, fince first I follow'd arms,
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
More venturous or desperate than this.

Baft. I think this Talbot is a fiend of hell.
Reig. If not of hell, the heav'ns, sure, favour him.
Alan. Here cometh Charles, I marvel how he sped.

Enter Dauphin and Joan.
Baft. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
VOL. IV.

Dau

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Dau. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
Didit thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain,
That now our loss might be ten times as much ?

Pucel. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? At all times will you have my

i'r alike? Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail?

Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
Improvident foldiers, had your watch been good,
This sudden mischief never cou'd have fallin.

Dau. Duke of Alanson, this was your default,
That, being captain of the watch to-night,
Did look no better to that weighty charge.

Alan. Had all your quarters been as 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.

Dau. And for my self, most part of all this night,
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,
I was employ'd in pasting to and fro,
About relieving of the centinels.
Then how or which way should they first break in?

Pucel. Question my Lords, no further of the case, How, or which way ; 'tis sure they found some part But weakly guarded, where the breach was made; And now there rests no other shift but this, To gather our foldiers, scatter'd and dispers’d, And lay new platforms, to indamage them. [Exeunt.

SCENE IH. Within the walls of Orleans. Alarm. Enter a Soldier crying, A Talbot! A Talbot!

the French fly, leaving their cloaths bebind. Sol. I'll be so bold to take what they have left: The cry of Talbot serves me for a 1word; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit.

Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy. Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.

Here

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