_Alen._ All France will be replete with mirth and joy,   ·aaf015· When they shall hear how we have play’d the men. _Char._ ’Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise.   ·aaf020· A statelier pyramis to her I’ll rear   [aaf021] Than Rhodope’s or Memphis’ ever was:   [aaf022] In memory of her when she is dead,   [aaf023] Her ashes, in an urn more precious   [aaf024] Than the rich-jewel’d coffer of Darius,   [aaf025] Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France.   [aaf027] No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France’s saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally,   ·aaf030· After this golden day of victory. [_Flourish. Exeunt._ ACT II. SCENE I. _Before Orleans_. _Enter a_ Sergeant _of a band, with two_ Sentinels. _Serg._ Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:   [aba001] If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. _First Sent._ Sergeant, you shall. [_Exit Sergeant_.] Thus are poor servitors,   ·aba005· When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain’d to watch in darkness, rain and cold.   [aba007] _Enter_ TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, _and forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march_. _Tal._ Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,   ·aba010· This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.   ·aba015· _Bed._ Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm’s fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! _Bur._ Traitors have never other company. But what’s that Pucelle whom they term so pure?   ·aba020· _Tal._ A maid, they say. _Bed._ A maid! and be so martial! _Bur._ Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. _Tal._ Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:   ·aba025· God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. _Bed._ Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. _Tal._ Not all together: better far, I guess,   [aba029] That we do make our entrance several ways;   ·aba030· That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. _Bed._ Agreed: I’ll to yond corner. _Bur._ And I to this.   [aba033] _Tal._ And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right   ·aba035· Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both.   [aba037]