All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…

  • 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

  • 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.

  • Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

  • Here they fight

  • 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

  • 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.

  • 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