Bedf. Oh let no words, but deedes, reuenge this Treason
Pucell. What will you doe, good gray-beard?
Breake a Launce, and runne a-Tilt at Death,
Within a Chayre
Talb. Foule Fiend of France, and Hag of all despight,
Incompass'd with thy lustfull Paramours,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant Age,
And twit with Cowardise a man halfe dead?
Damsell, Ile haue a bowt with you againe,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame
Pucell. Are ye so hot, Sir: yet Pucell hold thy peace,
If Talbot doe but Thunder, Raine will follow.
They whisper together in counsell.
God speed the Parliament: who shall be the Speaker?
Talb. Dare yee come forth, and meet vs in the field?
Pucell. Belike your Lordship takes vs then for fooles,
To try if that our owne be ours, or no
Talb. I speake not to that rayling Hecate,
But vnto thee Alanson, and the rest.
Will ye, like Souldiors, come and fight it out?
Alans. Seignior no
Talb. Seignior hang: base Muleters of France,
Like Pesant foot-Boyes doe they keepe the Walls,
And dare not take vp Armes, like Gentlemen
Pucell. Away Captaines, let's get vs from the Walls,
For Talbot meanes no goodnesse by his Lookes.
God b'uy my Lord, we came but to tell you
That wee are here.
Exeunt. from the Walls.