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The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread
That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel
Enter the Boy with a linstock.
Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Here, through this grate, I count each one
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
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:
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace:
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,
An alarum; it thunders and lightens. What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise ?
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.
Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE.
Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
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
It will not be retire into your trenches:
In spite of us or aught that we could do.
SCENE VI.-The Same.
For which I will divide my crown with her;
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
As fitting best to quittance their deceit
Bed. Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
Bed. 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 spirits;
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, 30 That if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.
And I to this.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
The English scale the walls, crying 'Saint George !'
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, ALENÇON, 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. Rei. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
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.
SCENE I.-Before Orleans.
Enter to the gates, a French Sergeant, and two Sentinels.
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. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead march.
Tul. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,
Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.
Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.
Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE
Did look no better to that weighty charge.
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name.
Within the Town.
SCENE II.-Orleans. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and Others.
Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded.
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,
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
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.
According as your ladyship desir'd,
By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. Count. And he is welcome. What is this the man?
Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady
To know the cause of your abrupt departure 30
Re-enter Porter with keys.
Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. Tal. Prisoner! to whom?
But now the substance shall endure the like,
Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall
He winds his horn. Drums strike up; a peal of
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
Count. Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse:
I did not entertain thee as thou art.
Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster The mind of Talbot as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done hath not offended me; No other satisfaction do I crave,
But only, with your patience, that we may Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 80 Count. With all my heart, and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house.
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?
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,
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Som. 'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away! good William de la Pole: We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset: 82
His grandfather was Lionel, Duke of Clarence,
On any plot of ground in Christendom.
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
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
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,
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
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: