Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

Which I, disdaining, scorn’d; and craved death,

  Rather than I would be so vile esteem’d.

  In fine, redeem’d I was as I desired.

  But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,

  Whom with my bare fists I would execute,

  If I now had him brought into my power.

  Salisbury

  Yet tell’st thou not how thou wert entertain’d.

  Talbot

  With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.

  In open market-place produced they me,

  To be a public spectacle to all:

  Here, said they, is the terror of the French,

  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 ground,

  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 supposed I could rend bars of steel,

  And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:

  Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,

  That walked 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

  Salisbury

  I grieve to hear what torments you endured,

  But we will be revenged 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.

  Gargrave

  I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

  Glansdale

  And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

  Talbot

  For aught I see, this city must be famish’d,

  Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

  Here they shoot. Salisbury and Gargrave fall

  Salisbury

  O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

  Gargrave

  O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

  Talbot

  What chance is this that suddenly hath cross’d us?

  Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:

  How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?

  One of thy eyes and thy cheek’s side struck off!

  Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand

  That hath contrived this woful tragedy!

  In thirteen battles Salisbury o’ercame;

  Henry the Fifth he first train’d to the wars;

  Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,

  His sword did ne’er leave striking in the field.

  Yet livest 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.

  Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens

  What stir is this? what tumult’s in the heavens?

  Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

  Enter a Messenger

  Messenger

  My lord, my lord, the French have gathered 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 siege.

  Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans

  Talbot

  Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!

  It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.

  Frenchmen, I’ll be a Salisbury to you:

  Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,

  Your hearts I’ll stamp out with my horse’s heels,

  And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.

  Convey me Salisbury into his tent,

  And then we’ll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

  Alarum. Exeunt

  SCENE V. THE SAME.

  Here an alarum again: and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him: then enter Joan La Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter Talbot

  Talbot

  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:

  Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,

  And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

  Joan La Pucelle

  Come, come, ’tis only I that must disgrace thee.

  Here they fight

  Talbot

  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 La Pucelle

  Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:

  I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

  A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers

  O’ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.

  Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;

  Help Salisbury to make his testament:

  This day is ours, as many more shall be.

  Exit

  Talbot

  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 she lists:

  So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench

  Are from their hives and houses driven away.

  They call’d us for our fierceness English dogs;

  Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

  A short alarum

  Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,

  Or tear the lions out of England’s coat;

  Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions’ stead:

  Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,

  Or horse or oxen from the leopard,

  As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

  Alarum. Here another skirmish

  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.

  Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat; flourish

  SCENE VI. THE SAME.

  Enter, on the walls, Joan La Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alencon, and Soldiers

  Joan La Pucelle

&
nbsp; Advance our waving colours on the walls;

  Rescued is Orleans from the English

  Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform’d her word.

  Charles

  Divinest creature, Astraea’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.

  Reignier

  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.

  Alencon

  All France will be replete with mirth and joy,

  When they shall hear how we have play’d the men.

  Charles

  ’Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;

  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-jewel’d 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.

  Flourish. Exeunt

  ACT II

  SCENE I. BEFORE ORLEANS.

  Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels

  Sergeant

  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 Sentinel

  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

  Talbot

  Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,

  By whose approach the regions of Artois,

  Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,

  This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,

  Having all day caroused and banqueted:

  Embrace we then this opportunity

  As fitting best to quittance their deceit

  Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.

  Bedford

  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!

  Burgundy

  Traitors have never other company.

  But what’s that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

  Talbot

  A maid, they say.

  Bedford

  A maid! and be so martial!

  Burgundy

  Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,

  If underneath the standard of the French

  She carry armour as she hath begun.

  Talbot

  Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:

  God is our fortress, in whose conquering name

  Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

  Bedford

  Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

  Talbot

  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.

  Bedford

  Agreed: I’ll to yond corner.

  Burgundy

  And I to this.

  Talbot

  And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.

  Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right

  Of English Henry, shall this night appear

  How much in duty I am bound to both.

  Sentinels

  Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!

  Cry: ‘St. George,’ ‘A Talbot.’

  The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the Bastard Of Orleans, Alencon, and Reignier, half ready, and half unready

  Alencon

  How now, my lords! what, all unready so?

  Bastard Of Orleans

  Unready! ay, and glad we ’scaped so well.

  Reignier

  ’Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,

  Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

  Alencon

  Of all exploits since first I follow’d arms,

  Ne’er heard I of a warlike enterprise

  More venturous or desperate than this.

  Bastard Of Orleans

  I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

  Reignier

  If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

  Alencon

  Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.

  Bastard Of Orleans

  Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

  Enter Charles and Joan La Pucelle

  Charles

  Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?

  Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,

  Make us partakers of a little gain,

  That now our loss might be ten times so much?

  Joan La Pucelle

  Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!

  At all times will you have my power alike?

  Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,

  Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?

  Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,

  This sudden mischief never could have fall’n.

  Charles

  Duke of Alencon, this was your default,

  That, being captain of the watch to-night,

  Did look no better to that weighty charge.

  Alencon

  Had all your quarters been as safely kept

  As that whereof I had the government,

  We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

  Bastard Of Orleans

  Mine was secure.

  Reignier

  And so was mine, my lord.

  Charles

  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 La Pucelle

  Question, my lords, no further of the case,

  How or which way: ’tis sure they found some place

  But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.

  And now there rests no other shift but this;

  To gather our soldiers, scatter’d and dispersed,

  And lay new platforms to endamage them.

  Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying ‘A Talbot! a Talbot!’ They fly, leaving their clothes behind

  Soldier

  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.

  Exit

  SCENE II. ORLEANS. WITHIN THE TOWN.

  Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, and others

  Bedford

  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

  Talbot

  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 tonight.

  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 engraved 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.

  Bedford

  ’Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,

  Roused 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.

  Burgundy

  Myself, as far as I could well discern

  For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,

  Am sure I scared 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

  Messenger

  All hail, my lords! which of this princely train

  Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

  So much applauded through the realm of France?

  Talbot

  Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?

  Messenger

  The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,

  With modesty admiring thy renown,

  By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe

  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.

  Burgundy

  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.

  Talbot

  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-ruled:

  And therefore tell her I return great thanks,