Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, La Pucelle and forces.
PUCELLE.
Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We’ll pull his plumes and take away his train,
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.
CHARLES.
We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence.
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust
BASTARD.
Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.
ALENÇON.
We’ll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint.
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
PUCELLE.
Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions mix’d with sugar’d words
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot and to follow us.
CHARLES.
Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry’s warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
But be extirped from our provinces.
ALENÇON.
For ever should they be expulsed from France,
And not have title of an earldom here.
PUCELLE.
Your honours shall perceive how I will work
To bring this matter to the wished end.
[Drum sounds afar off.]