LITMIR.BIZ

      The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner

      Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;

      For him was I exchanged and ransomed.

      But with a baser man of arms by far

      Once in contempt they would have barter'd me:

      Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death

      Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd.

      In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.

      But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,

      Whom with my bare fists I would execute,

      If I now had him brought into my power.

      Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.

      With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.

      In open market-place produced they me,

      To be a public spectacle to all:

      Here, said they, is the terror of the French,

      The scarecrow that affrights our children so.

      Then broke I from the officers that led me,

      And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground

      To hurl at the beholders of my shame;

      My grisly countenance made others fly;

      None durst come near for fear of sudden death.

      In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;

      So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread

      That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,

      And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:

      Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,

      That walk'd about me every minute while;

      And if I did but stir out of my bed,

      Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

      I grieve to hear what torments you endured,

      But we will be revenged sufficiently.

      Now it is supper-time in Orleans:

      Here, through this grate, I count each one,

      And view the Frenchmen how they fortify:

      Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.

      Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,

      Let me have your express opinions

      Where is best place to make our battery next.

      I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.

      And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

      For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,

      Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

      O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

      O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!

      What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?

      Speak, Salisbury: at least, if thou canst speak:

      How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?

      One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!

      Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand

      That hath contrived this woful tragedy!

      In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;

      Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;

      Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,

      His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.

      Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,

      One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:

      The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.

      Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,

      If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!

      Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it,

      Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?

      Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.

      Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,

      Thou shalt not die whiles —

      He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,

      As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,

      Remember to avenge me on the French.'

      Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,

      Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn;

      Wretched shall France be only in thy name.

      What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?

      Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

      My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head:

      The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,

      A holy prophetess new risen up,

      Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

      Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!

      It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.

      Frenchmen, I 'll be a Salisbury to you:

      Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,

      Your hearts I 'll stamp out with my horse's heels,

      And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.

      Convey me Salisbury into his tent,

      And then we 'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

      Where is my strength, my valor, and my force?

      Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:

      A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

      Here, here she comes. I 'll have a bout with thee;

      Devil or devil's dam, I 'll conjure thee:

      Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,

      And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.

      Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.

      Heavens, can you suffer hell

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