BEDFORD.
O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
PUCELLE.
What will you do, good graybeard? Break a lance
And run a tilt at Death within a chair?
TALBOT.
Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,
Encompass’d with thy lustful paramours,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I’ll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
PUCELLE.
Are ye so hot? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
[The English whisper together in council.]
God speed the Parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?
TALBOT.
Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?
PUCELLE.
Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours or no.
TALBOT.
I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alençon, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
ALENÇON.
Seignieur, no.