Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,

I muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,

Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men, Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern, For smoke, and dusty vapours of the night) Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull; When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,

Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,

That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,

We'll follow them with all the power we have.
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely train

Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts

So much applauded through the realm of France? Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, [safe By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchTo visit her poor castle where she lies; That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comick sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.-
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world
of men

Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet bath a woman's kindness overrul'd :-
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her.-
Will not your honours bear me company?

Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said,-Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]-You perceive my mind.

Capt. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter the Countess and her Porter. Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;

[me,

And, when you have done so, bring the keys to Port. Madam, I will.

[Exit.

Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,

I shall as famous be by this exploit,

As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,

And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and TALBOT.

Mess. Madam,

According as your ladyship desir'd,

By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Mess. Madam, it is.

Count.

Is this the scourge of France?

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, That with his name the mothers still their babes?

I see report is fabulous and false:

I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:

It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:

But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count. What means he now?-Go ask him, whither he goes.

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady

craves

To know the cause of your abrupt departure. Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her, Talbot's here.

Re-enter Porter, with Keys.

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. Tal. Prisoner! to whom?

Count.

To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs;

But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny, these many years,
Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha!

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall

turn to moan.

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, To think that you have aught but Talbot's shaWhereon to practise your severity. Count. Why, art not thou the man? Tal.

[dow,

I am indeed. Count. Then have I substance too.

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; For what you see, is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity:

I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,

Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. Count. This is a riddling merchant for the

nonce;

He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal. That will I show you presently.

He winds a Horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Sol

diers.

How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself?

These are his substance, sinews, arms, and

strength,

With which he yoketh your rebellious necks; Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry, that with reverence

I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor miscon

strue

The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done, hath not offended me:
No other satisfaction do I crave,

But only (with your patience) that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
Count. With all my heart: and think me ho

noured

To feast so great a warrior in my house.

[Exeunt,

SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden. Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer.

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence?

Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suff. Within the Temple hall we were too loud: The garden here is more convenient.

Plan. Then say at once, if I maintain❜d the truth;

r, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? Suff. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law; And never yet could frame my will to it; And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between us.

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch,

Betweentwo dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,

Between two blades, which bears the better

temper,

Between two horses, which doth bear him best,
Between two girls, which bath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judg-
ment;

But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. [ance:
Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbear-
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som. And on my side, it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining, and so evident,

That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to speak,

In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,

From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,

But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
War. I love no colours; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,

I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet.
Suff. I pluck this red rose, with young Somer-
set;

And say withal, I think he held the right.
Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen: and pluck
no more,

Till you conclude that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree,
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected;
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
Plan. And I.

Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the

case,

I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so against your will.