Here an Alarum, and it Thunders and Lightens.
What stirre is this? what tumult's in the Heauens? Whence commeth this Alarum, and the noyse? Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My Lord, my Lord, the French haue gather'd head. The Dolphin, with one Ioane de Puzel ioyn'd, A holy Prophetesse, new risen vp, Is come with a great Power, to rayse the Siege.
Here Salisbury lifteth himselfe vp, and groanes.
Talb. Heare, heare, how dying Salisbury doth groane, It irkes his heart he cannot be reueng'd. Frenchmen, Ile be a Salisbury to you. Puzel or Pussel, Dolphin or Dog-fish, Your hearts Ile stampe out with my Horses heeles, And make a Quagmire of your mingled braines. Conuey me Salisbury into his Tent, And then wee'le try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.
Here an Alarum againe, and Talbot pursueth the Dolphin, and driueth him: Then enter Ioane de Puzel, driuing Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot.
Talb. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English Troupes retyre, I cannot stay them, A Woman clad in Armour chaseth them. Enter Puzel.
Here, here shee comes. Ile haue a bowt with thee: Deuill, or Deuils Dam, Ile coniure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a Witch, And straightway giue thy Soule to him thou seru'st
Puzel. Come, come, 'tis onely I that must disgrace thee.
Here they fight.
Talb. Heauens, can you suffer Hell so to preuayle? My brest Ile burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my Armes asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded Strumpet.
They fight againe.
Puzel. Talbot farwell, thy houre is not yet come, I must goe Victuall Orleance forthwith:
A short Alarum: then enter the Towne with Souldiers.
O're-take me if thou canst, I scorne thy strength. Goe, goe, cheare vp thy hungry-starued men, Helpe Salisbury to make his Testament, This Day is ours, as many more shall be. Enter.
Talb. My thoughts are whirled like a Potters Wheele, I know not where I am, nor what I doe: A Witch by feare, not force, like Hannibal, Driues back our troupes, and conquers as she lists: So Bees with smoake, and Doues with noysome stench, Are from their Hyues and Houses driuen away. They call'd vs, for our fiercenesse, English Dogges, Now like to Whelpes, we crying runne away.
A short Alarum.
Hearke Countreymen, eyther renew the fight, Or teare the Lyons out of Englands Coat; Renounce your Soyle, giue Sheepe in Lyons stead: Sheepe run not halfe so trecherous from the Wolfe, Or Horse or Oxen from the Leopard, As you flye from your oft-subdued slaues.
Alarum. Here another Skirmish.
It will not be, retyre into your Trenches: You all consented vnto Salisburies death, For none would strike a stroake in his reuenge. Puzel is entred into Orleance, In spight of vs, or ought that we could doe. O would I were to dye with Salisbury, The shame hereof, will make me hide my head.
Alarum, Retreat, Flourish.
Enter on the Walls, Puzel, Dolphin, Reigneir, Alanson, and Souldiers.
Puzel. Aduance our wauing Colours on the Walls, Rescu'd is Orleance from the English. Thus Ioane de Puzel hath perform'd her word
Dolph. Diuinest Creature, Astrea's Daughter, How shall I honour thee for this successe? Thy promises are like Adonis Garden, That one day bloom'd, and fruitfull were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious Prophetesse, Recouer'd is the Towne of Orleance, More blessed hap did ne're befall our State
Reigneir. Why ring not out the Bells alowd, Throughout the Towne? Dolphin command the Citizens make Bonfires, And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the ioy that God hath giuen vs
Alans. All France will be repleat with mirth and ioy, When they shall heare how we haue play'd the men
Dolph. 'Tis Ioane, not we, by whom the day is wonne: For which, I will diuide my Crowne with her, And all the Priests and Fryers in my Realme, Shall in procession sing her endlesse prayse. A statelyer Pyramis to her Ile reare, Then Rhodophe's or Memphis euer was. In memorie of her, when she is dead, Her Ashes, in an Vrne more precious Then the rich-iewel'd Coffer of Darius, Transported, shall be at high Festiuals Before the Kings and Queenes of France. No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry, But Ioane de Puzel shall be France's Saint. Come in, and let vs Banquet Royally, After this Golden Day of Victorie.