Read William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition Online

Authors: William Shakespeare

Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare

William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (75 page)

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⌈
Exit Master Gunner at one door
⌉

I’ll never trouble you, if I may spy them.

Exit
⌈
at the other door
⌉

1.6
Enter the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Talbot above on the turrets with others, among them Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glasdale

SALISBURY

Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned?
How wert thou handled, being prisoner?
Or by what means got’st thou to be released?
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret’s top.

TALBOT

The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner,
Called the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him was I exchanged and ransomed.
But with a baser man-of-arms by far
Once in contempt they would have bartered me—
Which I, disdaining, scorned, and craved death
Rather than I would be so pilled esteemed.
In fine, redeemed I was, as I desired.
But O, the treacherous Fastolf 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 entertained.

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 digged 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 deemed me not secure:
So great fear of my name ’mongst them were 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.

The Boy
⌈
passes over the stage
⌉
with a linstock

SALISBURY

I grieve to hear what torments you endured.
But we will be revenged sufficiently.
Now it is supper time in Orléans.
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 Glasdale,
Let me have your express opinions
Where is best place to make our batt’ry next.

⌈
They look through the grate
⌉

GARGRAVE

I think at the north gate, for there stands Lou.

GLASDALE

And I here, at the bulwark of the Bridge.

TALBOT

For aught I see, this city must be famished
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

Here they shoot off chambers
⌈
within
⌉
and Salisbury and Gargrave fall down

SALISBURY

O Lord have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

GARGRAVE

O Lord have mercy on me, woeful man!

TALBOT

What chance is this that suddenly hath crossed 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 off?
Accursed tower! Accursed fatal hand
That hath contrived this woeful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o’ercame;
Henry the Fifth he first trained to the wars;
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.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot. Nay, look up to him.—
Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.

⌈
Exit
one with Gargrave’s
body
⌉

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 joined,
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 pucelle, Dauphin or dog-fish,
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 carrying Salisbury

1.7
Here an alarum again, and Lord Talbot pursueth the Dauphin and driveth him. Then enter Joan la Pucelle driving Englishmen before her and
⌈
exeunt
⌉
. Then enter Lord 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 men.

Enter Joan la Pucelle

Here, here she comes. (
To Joan
) 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 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

Talbot, farewell. Thy hour is not yet come.
I must go victual Orléans forthwith.

A short alarum, then
⌈
the French pass over the stage and
⌉
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 into the town

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 called us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

A short alarum.
⌈
Enter English soldiers
⌉

Hark, countrymen: either renew the fight
Or tear the lions out of England’s coat.
Renounce your style; 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-subduèd 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 entered into Orléans
In spite of us or aught that we could do.

⌈
Exeunt Soldiers
⌉

O would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

Exit. Alarum. Retreat

1.8
Flourish. Enter on the walls Joan la Pucelle, Charles the Dauphin, René Duke of Anjou, the Duke of Alençon and French Soldiers
⌈
with colours
⌉

JOAN

Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescued is Orléans from the English.
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath performed her word.

CHARLES

Divinest creature, Astraea’s daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis’ garden,
That one day bloomed and fruitful were the next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
Recovered is the town of Orléans.
More blessed hap did ne’er befall our state.

RENÉ

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.

ALENÇON

All France will be replete with mirth and joy
When they shall hear how we have played 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 pyramid to her I’ll rear
Than Rhodope’s of Memphis ever was.
In memory of her, when she is dead
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewelled 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.
Flourish. Exeunt

2.1
Enter
⌈
on the walls
⌉
a French 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.

⌈A SENTINEL⌉

Sergeant, you shall.
Exit Sergeant
Thus are poor servitors,

When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
Constrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.

Enter Lord Talbot, the Dukes of Bedford and Burgundy, and soldiers 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 arms’ 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