ALENÇON.
Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
Else ne’er could he so long protract his speech.
REIGNIER.
Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?
ALENÇON.
He may mean more than we poor men do know.
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
REIGNIER.
My lord, where are you? What devise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans, or no?
PUCELLE.
Why, no, I say. Distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.
CHARLES.
What she says I’ll confirm. We’ll fight it out.
PUCELLE.
Assign’d am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I’ll raise.
Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon’s days,
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
With Henry’s death the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship
Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.
CHARLES.
Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet Saint Philip’s daughters, were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall’n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee enough?
ALENÇON.
Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
REIGNIER.
Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.