And fpurn in pieces pofts of adamant.
Wherefore a guard of chofen fhot I had;
They walk'd about me ev'ry minute-while;
And if I did but ftir out of my bed,
Ready they were to fhoot me to the heart.
Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd,
But we will be reveng'd fufficiently.
Now it is fupper-time in Orleans:
Here thro' this grate I can count every one,
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify:
Let us look in, the fight will much delight thee.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glanfdale,
Let me have your exprefs opinions,
Where is beft place to make our batt'ry next?
Gar. I think at the north gate, for there ftand lords.
Glan. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
Tal. For ought I fee this city must be famish'd,
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
[Here they fboot, and Salisbury falls down.
Sal. O Lord have mercy on us, wretched finners.
Gar. O Lord have mercy on me, woful man.
Tal. What chance is this that fuddenly hath croft us ?
Speak, Salisbury; at leaft if thou canst fpeak;
How far'ft thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes and thy cheeks fide ftruck off!
Accurfed tow'r, accurfed fatal hand
That hath contriv'd this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battels Salisbury o'ercame :
Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars.
Whilft any trump did found, or drum ftruck
up,
His fword did ne'er leave ftriking in the field.
Yet liv'ft thou, Salisbury? tho thy fpeech doth fail,
One eye thou haft to look to heav'n for grace.
Heav'n be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
The fun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Heav'n be thou,
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, haft thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot, nay look up to him.
O Salisb'ry, chear thy fpirit with this comfort,
Thou shalt not die, while-
-He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me,
As who should say, when I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.
Plantagenet, I will, and Nero-like,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched fhall France be only in my name.
[Here an alarm, and it thunders and lightens. What ftir is this? what tumult's in the heav'ns? Whence cometh this alarum and this noise?
Meff. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head.
The Dauphin with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
A holy prophetess new risen up,
Is come with a great power to raise the fiege.
[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans. Tal. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan, It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. Convey brave Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what daftard Frenchmen dare.
Here an alarum again; and Talbot purfueth the Danphin, and driveth him: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot.
Puzel or Puffel, Dolphin or Dog-fish,
Your hearts I'll ftamp out with my Horfes heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey brave, c.
Tal. Where is my ftrength, my valour and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them.
Here, here the 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 ftraitway give thy foul to him thou fery'ft.
Pucel. Come, come, 'tis only I that muft difgrace thee. [They fight.* Talbot farewel; thy hour is not yet come,
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
A fhort alarum. Then enter the town with foldiers. O'ertake me if thou canft, I fcorn thy ftrength. Go, go, chear up thy hunger-ftarved men,
Help Salisbury to make his teftament:
This day is ours, as many more fhall 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 lifts:
So Bees with fmoak, and Doves with noisom stench,
Are from their hives and houses driv'n away.
They call'd us for our fiercenefs English dogs,
Now like their whelps we crying run away.
Hark countrymen, either renew the fight,
Or tear the Lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your foil, give Sheep in Lions ftead:
Sheep run not half fod tim'rous from the Wolf,
Tal. Heavens, can you fuffer hell fo to prevail?
My breast I'll burft with ftraining of my courage,
And from my fhoulders crack my arms afunder,
But I will chaftife this high-minded ftrumpet.
Pucel. Talbot farewel, c.
d treacherous.
Or Horfe or Oxen from the Leopard,
As you fly from your oft-fubdued flaves.
[Alarum. Here another skirmish.
It will not be retire into your trenches:
You all confented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In fpight of us, or ought that we could do.
O would I were to die with Salisbury !
The fhame hereof will make me hide my head.
[Exit Talbot. [Alarum, Retreat, Flourish.
Enter on the wall, Pucelle, Dauphin, Reignier, Alan-
fon, and Soldiers.
Pucel. Advance our waving colours on the walls,
Refcu'd is Orleans from the English Wolves:
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word..
Dau. Divineft creature, bright Aftrea's daughter,
How fhall I honour thee for this fuccefs!
Thy promifes are like Adonis' garden,
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetefs;
Recover'd is the town of Orleans;
More bleffed hap did ne'er befal our state.
Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the town?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feaft 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 fhall hear how we have play'd the men,
Dau. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won:
For which I will divide my crown with her,
And all the priests and friers in my
Shall in proceffion fing her endless praife.
A statelier pyramid to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's or Memphis ever was!
In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her afhes, in an urn more gracious
Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius,
Transported fhall be at high feftivals,
Before the Kings and Queens of France.
No longer on St. Dennis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle fhall be France's Saint.
Come in, and let us banquet royally,
After this golden day of victory.
Enter a Serjeant of a Band, with two Centinels.
IRS take your places, and be vigilant :
If any noife or foldier you perceive
Near to the wall, by fome apparent fign
Let us have knowledge at the court of
guard.
Cent. Serjeant, you fhall. Thus are poor fervitors (When others fleep upon their quiet beds)
Conftrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy, with fcaling
ladders. Their Drums beating a dead march.
Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
By whofe approach the regions of Artois,
Walloon, and Picardy are friends to us :
This happy night the Frenchmen are fecure,
Having all day carous'd and banquetted.
Embrace we then this opportunity,
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