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.
Dead March. Enter with the body of Salisbury.
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 everyone 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.
[Exit Funeral.]
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,
Rous’d 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 vapors 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.