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The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me,
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the

To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;

So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread

That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant :
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute-while;
And if I did but stir out of my bed
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

Enter the Boy with a linstock.


Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;

But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans:


Here, through this grate, I count each one
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify:
Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions

Where is best place to make our battery next. Gar. I think at the north gate; for there stand lords.

Glan, And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

Here they shoot. SALISBURY and Sir THOMAS GARGRAVE fall. Sal. O Lord! have mercy on us, wretched

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Gar. O Lord! have mercy on me, woeful man. Tal. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?

Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck

Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; 79
Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up,
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech
doth fail,

One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace:
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die whiles---


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 like thee, Nero,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name.

An alarum; it thunders and lightens. What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise ?

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SCENE V.-The Same. Before one of the Gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. TALBOT pursues the DAUPHIN, drives him in and exit: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them. Then re-enter TALBOT. Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?

Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; A woman clad in armour chaseth them.


Here, here she 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 straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.
Joan. Come, come; 'tis only I that must dis-
grace thee.
They fight.

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again.

Joan. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet

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It will not be retire into your trenches:
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans

In spite of us or aught that we could do.
O! would I were to die with Salisbury.
The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt TALBOT
and his Forces.

SCENE VI.-The Same.

Flourish. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE,
Joan. Advance our waving colours onthe walls;
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English.
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Cha. Divinest creature, Astræa's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,
That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.
Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud
throughout the town?


Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth
and joy,
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.
Cha. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is


For which I will divide my crown with her;
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:
In memory of her when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewell'd coffer of Darius,
Transported shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in, and let us banquet royally
After this golden day of victory.


SCENE I.-Before Orleans.

Enter to the gates, a French Sergeant, and two


Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,

This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
Having all day carous'd and banqueted :
Embrace we then this opportunity,


Serg. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.
If any noise or soldier you perceive
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.
First Sent. Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant.
Thus are poor servitors,
When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.
Forces, with scaling-ladders; their drums beating

a dead march.

As fitting best to quittance their deceit
Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.

Bed. Coward of France! how much he wrongs
his fame,

Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
To join with witches and the help of hell!
Bur. Traitors have never other company.
But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure!
Tal. A maid, they say.



A maid, and be so martial!
If underneath the standard of the French
Bur. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
She carry armour as she hath begun.

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with

God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
Tal. Not all together: better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways,
That if it chance the one of us do fail,

The other yet may rise against their force.
Bed. Agreed. I'll to yond corner.
And I to this.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his

Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

Alen. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms.
Ne'er heard I of a war-like enterprise
Flourish. Exeunt. More venturous or desperate than this.

Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour

Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.



Cha. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame!
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
That now our loss might be ten times so much!
Make us partakers of a little gain,
Joan. Wherefore is Charles impatient with
his friend?

Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
How much in duty I am bound to both.
Of English Henry, shall this night appear

The English scale the walls, crying 'Saint George !'
A Talbot' and all enter the town.

Sent. Within. Arm, arm! the enemy doth

make assault!

The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the Bastard of ORLEANS, ALENCON, REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready. Alen. How now, my lords! what! all unready so! Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. Reij. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,


Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
At all times will you have my power alike?
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me!
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good.
This sudden mischief never could have fallen.

Cha. Duke of Alençon, this was your default.
That, being captain of the watch to-night,


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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 surpris'd.
Bast. Mine was secure.

And so was mine, my lord.
Cha. And for myself, most part of all this night,
Within her quarter and mine own precinct
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:
Then how or which way should they first break in?
Joan. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How or which way: 'tis sure they found some


But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this;
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new platforms to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying
Talbot! A Talbot! They fly, leaving their


clothes behind.

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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. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engrav'd 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,

Rous'd 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 vapours of the night, Am sure I scar'd 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! princely train



Which of this

Call ye the war-like 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, great lord, thou would'st vouch


To visit her poor castle where she lies,
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd 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 over-rul'd.
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks,
And in submission will attend on her.
Will not your honours bear me company?
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. Cap. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 60 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 Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and TALBOT.


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Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady


To know the cause of your abrupt departure 30
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I 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?


To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd 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 To think that you have aught but Talbot's


Whereon to practise your severity.
Count. Why, art not thou the man?
I am, indeed.
Count. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity.
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.
Count. This is a riddling merchant for the


He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal. That will I show you presently.



He winds his horn. Drums strike up; a peal of ordnance. The gates being forced, enter Soldiers.

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SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden. Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and a Lawyer.

Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?

Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient.

Plan. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth,

Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?
Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And therefore frame the law unto my will.
Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then,
between us.


War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;

Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; Between two blades, which bears the better


Between two horses, which doth bear him best; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye; I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment; But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.


Plan. Tut, tut! here is a mannerly forbearance: The truth appears so naked on my side That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
So clear, so shining, and so evident,
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
Plan. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath
to speak,

In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true-born gentleman
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.


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On any plot of ground in Christendom.
Was not thy father, Richard, Earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days? 91
And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted,
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted, Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. For your partaker Pole and you yourself, I'll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension : Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.

Som. Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still, And know us by these colours for thy foes; For these my friends in spite of thee shall



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War. This blot that they object against your house

Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
And if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose.
And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction in the Temple garden,
Shall send between the red rose and the white
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

Plan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Law. And so will I.


Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say This quarrel will drink blood another day.



SCENE V. The Tower of London. Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair by two Gaolers.

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground: Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,


Unable to support this lump of clay,
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
First Gaol. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will


We sent unto the temple, unto his chamber, And answer was return'd that he will come.

Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Before whose glory I was great in arms, This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, Depriv'd of honour and inheritance: But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. I would his troubles likewise were expir'd, That so he might recover what was lost.


Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET. First Gaol. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:

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