Sent. [Within.] assault!

Arm, arm! the enemy doth make

[The French leap over the walls in their shirts.

Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENÇON, REIGNIER, half ready and half unready.

Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready1 so? Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we 'scaped 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 followed arms, Never heard I of a warlike 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, favor him. Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.

Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE.

Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 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? Puc. 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 fallen.
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 as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

1 Unready is undressed.

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 employed in passing to and fro,

About relieving of the sentinels.

Then how, or which way, should they first break in?
Puc. 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, scattered and dispersed,
And lay new platforms1 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.

SCENE II. Orleans. Within the Town.

[Exit.

Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and

others.

Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veiled the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded.

Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury;
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.-
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.

1 Plans, schemes.

And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happened in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect

A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interred;
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,

I muse, we met not with the dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began,

Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
They did amongst the troops of armed men,
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke and dusky vapors of the night)
Am sure I scared the dauphin, and his trull;
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,

That could not live asunder day or night.

After that things are set in order here,

We'll follow them with all the power we have.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

So much applauded through the realm of France? Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown,

By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies; 1
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

1 i. e. where she dwells.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful, comic sport,

When ladies crave to be encountered with.

You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory,

Yet hath a woman's kindness overruled.-
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her.-

Will not your honors bear me company?

Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will

And I have heard it said,—unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal. Well, then, alone, since there's no remedy,

I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.

Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]-You perceive my

mind.

Capt. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Auvergne. Court of the Castle.

Enter the Countess and her Porter.

Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Port. Madam, I will.

[Exit.

Count. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,

I shall as famous be by this exploit,

As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.

Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,

And his achievements of no less account.

Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure1 of these rare reports.

Enter Messenger and TALBOT.

Mess. Madam,

According as your ladyship desired,

By message craved, so is lord Talbot come.

1 i. e. judgment, opinion.

Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Mess. Madam, it is.

Count.

Is this the scourge of France?

Is this the Talbot, so much feared abroad,

That with his name the mothers still their babes?

I see report is fabulous and false;

I thought I should have seen some Hercules,

A second Hector, for his grim aspect,

And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf.

It cannot be, this weak and writhled1 shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,

I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count. What means he now?-Go ask him, whither

he goes.

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

I

Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,

go to certify her, Talbot's here.

Re-enter Porter, with keys.

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner
Tal. Prisoner! to whom?

Count.
To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs;

But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny, these many years,

Wasted our country, slain our citizens,

And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha!

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall

turn to moan.

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,

1 Writhled for wrinkled.