The Plains near Rouen.
 Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENON, LA PUCELLE, and SOLDIERS.

La Pucelle	Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
	Nor grieve that Rouen is so recoverd:
	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.

Alenon	We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
	And have thee reverenced like a blessd saint.
	Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.

La Pucelle	Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
	By fair persuasions, mixed with sugared 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 extirpd from our provinces.

Alenon	For ever should they be expulsed from France,
	And not have title of an earldom here.

La Pucelle	Your honours shall perceive how I will work
	To bring this matter to the wishd end.
													[Drum sounds afar off.
	Hark! - by the sound of drum you may perceive
	Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
									  [Here sound an English march.
	There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
	And all the troops of English after him.
										 [Here sound a French march.
	Now in the rearward comes the duke and his;
	Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
	Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
												[Trumpets sound a parley.

Charles	A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!

                     Enter BURGUNDY and his SOLDIERS.

Burgundy	Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

La Pucelle	The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

Burgundy	What sayst thou, Charles, for I am marching hence?

Charles	Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

La Pucelle	Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France,
	Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

Burgundy	Speak on, but be not overtedious.

La Pucelle	Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
	And see the cities and the towns defaced
	By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
	As looks the mother on her lowly babe
	When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
	See, see the pining malady of France;
	Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
	Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.
	O, turn thy edgd sword another way;
	Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
	One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
	Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.
	Return thee therefore, with a flood of tears,
	And wash away thy country's staind spots.

Burgundy	[Aside.] Either she hath bewitched me with her words,
	Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

La Pucelle	Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
	Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
	Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation
	That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
	When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
	And fashioned thee that instrument of ill,
	Who then but English Henry will be lord,
	And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
	Call we to mind - and mark but this for proof-
	Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe,
	And was he not in England prisoner?
	But when they heard he was thine enemy
	They set him free, without his ransom paid,
	In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
	See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
	And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
	Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
	Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

Burgundy	[Aside.] I am vanquishd; these haughty words of hers
	Have battered me like roaring cannon-shot,
	And made me almost yield upon my knees.
	[Aloud.] Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen!
	And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
	My forces and my power of men are yours.
	So, farewell, Talbot. I'll no longer trust thee.

La Pucelle	Done like a Frenchman! - [Aside.] Turn and turn again.

Charles	Welcome, brave duke! Thy friendship makes us fresh.

Bastard	And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

Alenon	Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this,
	And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Charles	Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
	And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
													[Exeunt.
