_Puc._ Look on thy country, look on fertile France, And see the cities and the towns defaced   [acc045] By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. As looks the mother on her lowly babe   [acc047] When death doth close his tender dying eyes,   [acc048] See, see the pining malady of France; Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,   ·acc050· Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast. O, turn thy edged 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:   [acc055] Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, And wash away thy country’s stained spots. _Bur._ Either she hath bewitch’d me with her words, Or nature makes me suddenly relent. _Puc._ Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,   [acc060] Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. Who join’st thou with but with a lordly nation   [acc062] That will not trust thee but for profit’s sake? When Talbot hath set footing once in France And fashion’d thee that instrument of ill,   ·acc065· 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?   ·acc070· 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 slaughter-men.   ·acc075· Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms. _Bur._ I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers   [acc078] Have batter’d me like roaring cannon-shot, And made me almost yield upon my knees.   ·acc080· 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. _Puc._ [_Aside_] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!   [acc085] _Char._ Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh. _Bast._ And doth beget new courage in our breasts. _Alen._ Pucelle hath bravely play’d her part in this, And doth deserve a coronet of gold. _Char._ Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,   [acc090] And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV. _Paris. The Palace_. _Enter the_ KING, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER: VERNON, BASSET, _and others. To them with his_ Soldiers, TALBOT.