Thy noble deeds as valour’s monuments.

TALBOT

Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?

I think her old familiar is asleep.

Now where’s the Bastard’s braves, and Charles his

gleeks?

What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief

That such a valiant company are fled.

Now will we take some order in the town,

Placing therein some expert officers,

And then depart to Paris, to the King,

For there young Henry with his nobles lie.

BURGUNDY

What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.

TALBOT

But yet, before we go, let’s not forget

The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,

But see his exequies fulfilled in Rouen.

A braver soldier 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 misery. Exeunt

3.7 Enter Charles the Dauphin, the Bastard of Orléans, the Duke of Alençon, Joan la Pucelle, ⌈and French soldiers⌉

JOAN

Dismay not, princes, at this accident,

Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.

Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,

For things that are not to be remedied.

Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while,

And like a peacock sweep along his tail;

We’ll pull his plumes and take away his train,

If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

CHARLES

We have been guided by thee hitherto,

And of thy cunning had no diffidence.

One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

BASTARD (to Joan)

Search out thy wit for secret policies,

And we will make thee famous through the world.

ALENÇON (to Joan)

We’ll set thy statue in some holy place

And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint.

Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

JOAN

Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:

By fair persuasions mixed with sugared words

We will entice the Duke of Burgundy

To leave the Talbot and to follow us. 20

CHARLES

Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that

France were no place for Henry’s warriors,

Nor should that nation boast it so with us,

But be extirpèd from our provinces.

ALENÇON

For ever should they be expulsed from France

And not have title of an earldom here.

JOAN

Your honours shall perceive how I will work

To bring this matter to the wished end.

Drum sounds afar off

Hark, by the sound of drum you may perceive

Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

Here sound an English march

There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,

And all the troops of English after him.

Here sound a French march

Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his;

Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.

Summon a parley. We will talk with him.

Trumpets sound a parley

CHARLES ⌈calling⌉

A parley with the Duke of Burgundy.

⌈Enter the Duke of Burgundy⌉

BURGUNDY

Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

JOAN

The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

BURGUNDY

What sayst thou, Charles?—for I am marching hence.

CHARLES

Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

JOAN

Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France,

Stay. Let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

BURGUNDY

Speak on, but be not over-tedious.

JOAN

Look on thy country, look on fertile France,

And see the cities and the towns defaced

By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.

As looks the mother on her lowly babe

When death doth close his tender-dying eyes,

See, see the pining malady of France;

Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,

Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.

O turn thy edged sword another way,

Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.

One drop of blood drawn from thy country’s bosom

Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.

Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears,

And wash away thy country’s stained spots.

BURGUNDY ⌈aside⌉

Either she hath bewitched me with her words,

Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

JOAN

Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,

Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.

Who join‘st thou with but with a lordly nation

That will not trust thee but for profit’s sake?

When Talbot hath set footing once in France

And fashioned thee that instrument of ill,

Who then but English Henry will be lord,

And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?

Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof:

Was not the Duke of Orléans thy foe?

And was he not in England prisoner?

But when they heard he was thine enemy

They set him free, without his ransom paid,

In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.

See, then, thou fight’st against thy countrymen,

And join’st with them will be thy slaughtermen.

Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord,

Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

BURGUNDY ⌈aside⌉

I am vanquished. These haughty words of hers

Have battered me like roaring cannon-shot

And made me almost yield upon my knees.