SCENE VI.

Within the walls of Roan.

An alarm: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and the rest.
Tal. Loft and recover'd in a day again?
This is a double honour, Burgundy ;
Yet, Heav'ns have glory for this victory!
Burg. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Infhrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as Valour's monuments.
Tal. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pu
celle now?

I think her old familiar is afleep.

Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his glikes?

What, all a-mort? Roan hangs her head for grief That fuch a valiant company are fled.

Now we will take fome order in the town,

Placing therein fome expert officers,

And then depart to Paris to the King;
For there young Henry with his nobles lyes.

Burg. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgandy.
Tal. But yet before we go let's not forget
The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd;
But fee his exequies fulfill'd in Roan.
A braver foldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court.
But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
For that's the end of human mifery.

SCEN E VII.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dauphin, Bastard, Alanson, and Joan la
Pucelle.

Pucel. Difmay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Roan is lo recovered.
Gare is no cure, but rather corrofive,
For things that are not to be remedy'd.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while,

And, like a peacock, fweep along his tail;

We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train,
If Dauphin and the reft will be but rul'd.
Dau. We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence.
One fudden foil fhall never breed distrust.

Paft. Search out thy wit for fecret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.
Alan. We'll fet thy ftatue in fome holy place,
And have thee reverenc'd like a bleffed faint.
Employ thee then, fweet virgin, for our good.
Pucel. Then thus it must be, this doth Joan devife:
By fair perfuafions mix'd with fugar'd words,
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy

To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.

Dau. Ay, marry, fweeting, if we could do that, France were no place for Henry's warriors; Nor fhall that nation boaft it fo with us, But be extirped from our provinces.

Alan. For ever fhould they be expuls'd from France,

And not have title of an earldom here.

Pucel. Your honours fhall perceive how I will work, To bring this matter to the wished end.

[Drum beats afar off. Hark, by the found of drum you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

[Here beat an English march. There goes the Talbot with his colours spread, And all the troops of English after him.

[French marck. Now, in the rereward, comes the Duke and his; Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.

Summon a parley, we will talk with him.

[Trumpets found a parley.

SCENE VIII.

Enter the Duke of Burgundy marching.

Dau. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy.-
Burg. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
Pucel. The princely Charles of France thy coun-

tryman.

Burg. What fay'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.

Dau. Speak, Pucelle, and inchant him with thy words.

Pucel. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of
France!

Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Burg. Speak on, but be not over-tedious.
Pucel. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And fee the cities and the towns defac'd
By wafting ruin of the cruel foe.

As looks the mother on her lowly babe,
When death doth close his tender dying eyes;
See, fee the pining malady of France,

Behold the wounds, the most unnatʼral wounds
Which thou thyself haft giv'n her woful breast.
Oh, turn thy edged fword another way;

Strike those that hurt, and hurt not thofe that help;
One-drop of blood drawn from thy country's bofom
Should grieve thee more than ftreams of common
gore:

Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.

Burg. Either the hath bewitch'd me with her er nature makes me suddenly relent. words, Pucel. Befides, all French and France exclaim on thee,

Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Whom join'ft thou with, but with a lordly nation,
That will not truft thee but for profit's fake?
When Talbot hath fet footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill;
Who then but English Henry will be Lord,
And thou be thruft out like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof;
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was not he in England prifoner?
But when they heard he was thine enemy,
They fet him free without his ranfom paid,
In fpight of Burgundy and all his friends.
See then thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
And join'st with them will be thy flaughter-men.
VOL VI.
E

Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring Lord: Charles and the reft will take thee in their arms.

Burg. I'm vanquished. Thefe haughty words of Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-flot, [hers And made me almoft yield upon my knees. Forgive me, country, and fweet countrymen ; And, Lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. My forces and my pow'r of men are yours. So farewell, Talbot, I'll no longer trust thee. Pucel. Done like a Frenchman: turn and turn again!

Dau. Welcome, brave Duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.

Baft. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. Alan. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this, And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Dau. Now let us on, my Lords, and join our powers,

And feek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt.

Enter King Henry, Gloucefter, Winchefter, York Suffolk, Somerfet, Warwick, Exeter, &c. To them Talbot, with his foldiers.

Tal. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers, Hearing of your arrival in this realm,

I have a while giv'n truce unto my wars,

To do my duty to my Sovereign.

In fign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortrefses,

Twelve cities and fev'n walled towns of ftrength,
Befide five hundred prifoners of esteem,

Lets fall the fword before your Highness' feet;
And with fubmiffive loyalty of heart

Afcribes the glory of his conqueft got,

First to my God, and next unto your Grace.

K. Henry. Is this the fam'd Lord Talbot, uncle Glo'fter,

That hath fo long been refident in France?

Glou. Yes, if it please your Majefty, my Liege. K. Henry. Welcome, brave Captain, and victo rious Lord.

When I was young, as yet I am not old,
I do remember how my father faid,
A ftouter champion never handled sword.
Long fince we were refolved of your truth,
Your faithful fervice and your toil in war;
Yet never have you tafted your reward,
Or been reguerdon'd with fo much as thanks,
Because till now we never faw your face;
Therefore stand up, and for these good deferts,
We here create you Earl of Shrew bury,
And in our coronation take your place. [Exeunt,
Manent Vernon and Baffet.

Ver. Now, Sir, to you that were fo hot at sea, Difgracing of these colours that I wear

In honour of my noble Lord of York,

Dar'ft thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
Baf. Yes, Sir, as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your faucy tongue
Against my Lord the Duke of Somerfet..
Ver. Sirrah, thy Lord I honour as he is.
Baf. Why, what is he? as good a man as York.
Ver. Hark ye; not fo: in witness, take you that.
[Strikes him

Baf. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such,
That whofo draws a fword 'tis prefent death +;
Or else this blow fhould, broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his Majefty, and crave

I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
When thou fhalt fee I'll meet thee to thy coft.
Ver. Well, mifcreant, I'll be there as foon as you;
And, after, meet you fooner than you would.

[Exeunt.

+ The verse ought to be written and pronounced thus ? That whofe draws a fword in th' prefence, 'tis death.

Revifal