120 Thy noble deeds as valour’s monuments.
Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
I think her old familiar is asleep:
[♦] Now where’s the Bastard’s braves, and Charles his gleeks?
What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
125 That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers,
And then depart to Paris to the king,
[♦] For there young Henry with his nobles lie.