« ПредишнаНапред »
Tho'still the familh'd English, like pale ghosts,
Alan. They want their porridge, and their fat bull-
Reig. Let's raise the fiege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, And he may well in fretting spend his gall; Nor men nor money hath he to make war.
Char. Sound, sound alarm: we will ruth on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French. Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt. [Here alarm, they are beaten back by the English
with great lofso
Reig. Salisbury is a desp’rate homicide,
Alan. Froysard, a countryman of ours, records,
Char. Let's leave this town, for they are hair-brain'd. And hunger will inforce them be more eager. [flaves,
* These were two of the moft famous in the list of Charlemagne's twelve peers; and their exploits are render'd foridicul viv and equally extravagant by the old romancers, that from thenie arcfe that favi. amongit cur plain and sensible ance?tors, of giving Rowland jor bis Oliver, to signify the matching one incredible lye with another. Mr. Waburigra.
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth
Reig. I think, by some old gimmals or device,
Enter the Bastard of Orleans.
Dau. Go, call her in; but first, to try her skill,
SCENE VI. Enter Joan la Pucelle.
* There were no nine Sibyls of Rome: but he confrunds things, and mistakes thje for the nire books of Sibylline oracics, brought to one of the Targuins. Mr W'urburton.
Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
Pucel. Dauphin, I am by birth a fhepherd's daughter,
Dau. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
Pucei. 'I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword, Deckd with fine fow'r-de-luces on each side; The which, at Tourain, in St. Catharine's church, Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. [man. Dau. Then come o'God's name, for I fear no voPucel. And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.
[Here they fight, and Joan la Pucelle overcomes, Dan. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, And fightest with the sword of Debora. Pucel. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too
weak. Dau. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help Impatiently I burn with thy defire;
[me: My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu’d; Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be fo,
Let me thy fervant and not sovereign be ;
Pucel. I must not yield to any rites of love,
thrall. Reig. My Lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
Alan. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.
Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? Alan. He may mean more than we poor men do
know; These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
Reig. My Lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans or no?
Pucel. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp, for I'll be your guard.
Dau. What the fays I'll confirm ; we'll fight it out.,
Pucel. Align'd I am to be the English (courge.
Glory is like a circle in the water ;
Dau. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ?
Alan. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
* Meaning the four daughters of Philip, mentioned Afts xxi, who; had all the gift of prophelying; he bring there also called Pbilip the Evangelift.
Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our ho
Dau. Presently try; come, let's away about it.
SCENE VII. The Tower-gates in London.
Enter Gloucester, with his serving-men. Glou. I am this day come to survey the Tower; Since Henry's death, I fear there is conveyance *. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates. 'Tis Gloucester that calls. i Ward. Who's there that knocketh fo imperiously? i Man. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. 2 Ward. Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. 1 Mar. Villains, answer you so the Lord Protector?
I Ward. The Lord protect him ! so we answer him; We do no otherwise than we are will’d.
Glou. Who willed you? or whose will stands but
ville the Lieutenant speaks within.
Glo. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
Wood. Have patience, Noble Duke; I may not open;
Glou. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him'fore me?
Serv. Open the gates there to the Lord Protector ;
come not quickly.