Before he'll buy again at such a rate. 'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste? Burg. Scoffon, vile fiend, and fhameless curtizan! I truft, ere long to choke thee with thine own; And make thee curfe the harveft of that corn. Dau. Your grace may ftarve, perhaps, before that time. Bed. Oh let not words, but deeds, revenge this treafon ! Pucel. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, And run a'tilt at death within a chair? Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all defpight, Incompafs'd with thy luftful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, Pucel. Are you fo hot? yet, Pucelle, hold thy Peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. [They whisper together in councel. God fpeed the parliament! who fhall be the speaker? Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field? Pucel. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours, or no. Tal. I fpeak not to that railing Hecate, But unto thee, Alanfon, and the reft. Will ye, like foldiers, come and fight it out? Tal. Seignior, hang :-base muleteers of France! Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. Pucel. Captains, away; let's get us from the walls, For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. God be wi" you, my lord: we came, Sir, but to tell you That we are here. [Exeunt from the walls. Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame! Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy Houfe, Burg. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. Tal. But ere we go, regard this dying Prince, The valiant Duke of Bedford: come, my lord, We will bestow you in some better place; Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me: Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! [Exit. An alarm: excurfions: Enter Sir John Faftolfe, and a Captain. Cap. Whither away, Sir John Faflolfe, in fuch hafte? Faft. Whither away? to fave myfelf by flight. We are like to have the overthrow again. Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? life. Cap. Cowardly Knight, ill fortune follow thee! [Exit. Retreat Retreat: excurfions. Pucelle, Alanfon, and Dauphin fly. Bed. Now, quiet foul, depart when heav'n fhall please ; For I have feen our enemies' overthrow. What is the truft or ftrength of foolish man? [Dies; and is carried off in his chair. SCENE VI. Within the Walls of Roan. An Alarm: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and the rest. OST and recovered in a day again? Tal. a This is a double honour, Burgundy; Tal. Thanks, gentle Duke; but where is Pucelle now ? I think, her old Familiar is afleep. Now where's the Baftard'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: Burg. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. [Exeunt. SCENE Enter Dauphin, Baftard, Alanson, and Joan la Pucelle. Pucel. ISMAY not, Princes, at this accident, DISMAY Care is no cure, but rather corrofive, Baft. Search out thy wit for fecret policies, 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 should 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 wifhed 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 fpread, And all the troops of English after him.[Fren. March. Now Now, in the rereward, comes the Duke and his : [Trumpets found a parley. Enter the Duke of Burgundy marching. Dau. A Parley with the Duke of Burgundy. Burg. Who craves a parley with the Bur gundy? [man, Pucel. The princely Charles of France, thy countryBurg. What fayft thou, Charles? for I am march ing hence. [words. Dau. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy Pucel. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! Stay, let thy humble hand-maid fpeak to thee. Burg. Speak on, but be not over-tedious. Pucel. Look on thy country, look on fertile France; As looks the mother * on her lovely babe, Behold the wounds, the most unnat'ral wounds, Strike thofe that hurt; and hurt not those that help: Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, *on her lowly babe,] It is plain Shakespear wrote, lovely babe, it anfwering to fertile France above, which this domeftic Image is brought to illuftrate. Burg. |