Pucell. Besides, all French and France exclaimes on thee,
Doubting thy Birth and lawfull Progenie.
Who ioyn'st thou with, but with a Lordly Nation,
That will not trust thee, but for profits sake?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that Instrument of Ill,
Who then, but English Henry, will be Lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a Fugitiue?
Call we to minde, and marke but this for proofe:
Was not the Duke of Orleance thy Foe?
And was he not in England Prisoner?
But when they heard he was thine Enemie,
They set him free, without his Ransome pay'd,
In spight of Burgonie and all his friends.
See then, thou fight'st against thy Countreymen,
And ioyn'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, returne; returne thou wandering Lord,
Charles and the rest will take thee in their armes
Burg. I am vanquished:
These haughtie wordes of hers
Haue batt'red me like roaring Cannon-shot,
And made me almost yeeld vpon my knees.
Forgiue me Countrey, and sweet Countreymen:
And Lords accept this heartie kind embrace.
My Forces and my Power of Men are yours.
So farwell Talbot, Ile no longer trust thee
Pucell. Done like a Frenchman: turne and turne againe
Charles. Welcome braue Duke, thy friendship makes
vs fresh
Bastard. And doth beget new Courage in our
Breasts
Alans. Pucell hath brauely play'd her part in this,
And doth deserue a Coronet of Gold
Charles. Now let vs on, my Lords,
And ioyne our Powers,
And seeke how we may preiudice the Foe.
Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta.
Enter the King, Gloucester, Winchester, Yorke, Suffolke,
Somerset,
Warwicke, Exeter: To them, with his Souldiors, Talbot.