JOHANNA. Say, who art thou, Whom his bad genius sendeth in my way? Princely thy port, no Briton dost thou seem, For the Burgundian colors stripe thy shield, Before the which my sword inclines its point. KNIGHT. Vile castaway! Thou all unworthy art To fall beneath a prince's noble hand. The hangman's axe should thy accursed head Cleave from thy trunk, unfit for such vile use The royal Duke of Burgundy's brave sword. JOHANNA. Art thou indeed that noble duke himself? KNIGHT (raises his visor). I'm he, vile creature, tremble and despair! The arts of hell shall not protect thee more. Thou hast till now weak dastards overcome; Now thou dost meet a man. SCENE X. DUNOIS and LA HIRE. The same. DUNOIS. Hold, Burgundy! Turn! combat now with men, and not with maids. LA HIRE. We will defend the holy prophetess; First must thy weapon penetrate this breast. BURGUNDY. I fear not this seducing Circe; no, Nor you, whom she hath changed so shamefully! Oh, blush, Dunois! and do thou blush, La Hire To stoop thy valor to these hellish arts-- To be shield-bearer to a sorceress! Come one--come all! He only who despairs Of heaven's protection seeks the aid of hell. [They prepare for combat, JOHANNA steps between. JOHANNA. Forbear! BURGUNDY. Dost tremble for thy lover? Thus Before thine eyes he shall---- [He makes a thrust at DUNOIS. JOHANNA. Dunois, forbear! Part them, La Hire! no blood of France must flow: Not hostile weapons must this strife decide, Above the stars 'tis otherwise decreed. Fall back! I say. Attend and venerate The Spirit which hath seized, which speaks through me! DUNOIS. Why, maiden, now hold back my upraised arm? Why check the just decision of the sword? My weapon pants to deal the fatal blow Which shall avenge and heal the woes of France. [She places herself in the midst and separates the parties. JOHANNA. Fall back, Dunois! Stand where thou art, La Hire! Somewhat I have to say to Burgundy. [When all is quiet. What wouldst thou, Burgundy? Who is the foe Whom eagerly thy murderous glances seek? This prince is, like thyself, a son of France,-- This hero is thy countryman, thy friend; I am a daughter of thy fatherland. We all, whom thou art eager to destroy, Are of thy friends;--our longing arms prepare To clasp, our bending knees to honor thee. Our sword 'gainst thee is pointless, and that face E'en in a hostile helm is dear to us, For there we trace the features of our king. BURGUNDY. What, syren! wilt thou with seducing words Allure thy victim? Cunning sorceress, Me thou deludest not. Mine ears are closed Against thy treacherous words; and vainly dart Thy fiery glances 'gainst this mail of proof. To arms, Dunois! With weapons let us fight, and not with words. DUNOIS. First words, then weapons, Burgundy! Do words With dread inspire thee? 'Tis a coward's fear, And the betrayer of an evil cause.