Speeches (Lines) for Joan la Pucelle
in "Henry VI, Part I"
Total: 46

1

I,2,262

Reignier. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?

Joan la Pucelle. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:
In private will I talk with thee apart.
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

2

I,2,269

Reignier. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Joan la Pucelle. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased
To shine on my contemptible estate:
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me
And in a vision full of majesty
Will'd me to leave my base vocation
And free my country from calamity:
Her aid she promised and assured success:
In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before,
With those clear rays which she infused on me
That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.
Ask me what question thou canst possible,
And I will answer unpremeditated:
My courage try by combat, if thou darest,
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

3

I,2,295

Charles, King of France. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,
And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise I renounce all confidence.

Joan la Pucelle. I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's
churchyard,
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

4

I,2,301

Charles, King of France. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

Joan la Pucelle. And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

5

I,2,305

Charles, King of France. Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon
And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

Joan la Pucelle. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.

6

I,2,312

Charles, King of France. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:
'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

Joan la Pucelle. I must not yield to any rites of love,
For my profession's sacred from above:
When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
Then will I think upon a recompense.

7

I,2,325

Reignier. My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

Joan la Pucelle. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

8

I,2,328

Charles, King of France. What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.

Joan la Pucelle. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
With Henry's death the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship
Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

9

I,5,588

Lord Talbot/Earl of Shrewsbury. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:
A woman clad in armour chaseth them.
[Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]
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.

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

10

I,5,595

(stage directions). [They fight again]

Joan la Pucelle. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
[A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be.

11

I,6,629

(stage directions). [Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,]
REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers]

Joan la Pucelle. Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescued is Orleans from the English
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

12

II,1,726

Charles, King of France. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain,
That now our loss might be ten times so much?

Joan la Pucelle. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!
At all times will you have my power alike?
Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

13

II,1,745

Charles, King of France. And, for myself, most part of all this night,
Within her quarter and mine own precinct
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:
Then how or which way should they first break in?

Joan la Pucelle. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this;
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,
And lay new platforms to endamage them.
[Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A]
Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
clothes behind]

14

III,2,1440

(stage directions). [Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers]
with sacks upon their backs]

Joan la Pucelle. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
Through which our policy must make a breach:
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

15

III,2,1454

Watch. [Within] Qui est la?

Joan la Pucelle. Paysans, pauvres gens de France;
Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.

16

III,2,1457

Watch. Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.

Joan la Pucelle. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.
[Exeunt]
[Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON,]
REIGNIER, and forces]

17

III,2,1471

Reignier. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.
[Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a]
torch burning]

Joan la Pucelle. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
But burning fatal to the Talbotites!

18

III,2,1494

Lord Talbot/Earl of Shrewsbury. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
That hardly we escaped the pride of France.
[Exit]
[An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick]
in a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without:
within JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS,
ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls]

Joan la Pucelle. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?

19

III,2,1503

Duke of Bedford. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!

Joan la Pucelle. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
And run a tilt at death within a chair?

20

III,2,1511

Lord Talbot/Earl of Shrewsbury. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

Joan la Pucelle. Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
[The English whisper together in council]
God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

21

III,2,1516

Lord Talbot/Earl of Shrewsbury. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

Joan la Pucelle. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours or no.

22

III,2,1525

Lord Talbot/Earl of Shrewsbury. Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

Joan la Pucelle. Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
God be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you
That we are here.

23

III,3,1606

(stage directions). [Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN]
LA PUCELLE, and forces]

Joan la Pucelle. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

24

III,3,1622

Duke of Alencon. We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

Joan la Pucelle. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot and to follow us.

25

III,3,1632

Duke of Alencon. For ever should they be expulsed from France
And not have title of an earldom here.

Joan la Pucelle. Your honours shall perceive how I will work
To bring this matter to the wished end.
[Drum sounds afar off]
Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
[Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over]
at a distance, TALBOT and his forces]
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
And all the troops of English after him.
[French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces]
Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley; we will talk with him.

26

III,3,1648

Duke of Burgundy. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?

Joan la Pucelle. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.

27

III,3,1651

Charles, King of France. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.

Joan la Pucelle. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.

28

III,3,1654

Duke of Burgundy. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.

Joan la Pucelle. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defaced
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
As looks the mother on her lowly babe
When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
See, see the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
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:
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
And wash away thy country's stained spots.

29

III,3,1670

Duke of Burgundy. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

Joan la Pucelle. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation
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,
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?
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 joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:
Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.

30

III,3,1695

Duke of Burgundy. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees.
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.

Joan la Pucelle. [Aside] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

31

IV,7,2292

Bastard of Orleans. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!

Joan la Pucelle. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:
'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:'
But, with a proud majestical high scorn,
He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born
To be the pillage of a giglot wench:'
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

32

IV,7,2329

Sir William Lucy. But where's the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;
Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;
Great marshal to Henry the Sixth
Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Joan la Pucelle. Here is a silly stately style indeed!
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.

33

IV,7,2344

Sir William Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life!
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left amongst you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
And give them burial as beseems their worth.

Joan la Pucelle. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
For God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them here,
They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

34

V,2,2428

Duke of Alencon. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
And keep not back your powers in dalliance.

Joan la Pucelle. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
Else, ruin combat with their palaces!

35

V,2,2441

Duke of Burgundy. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

Joan la Pucelle. Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,
Let Henry fret and all the world repine.

36

V,3,2447

(stage directions). [Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE]

Joan la Pucelle. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
And ye choice spirits that admonish me
And give me signs of future accidents.
[Thunder]
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north,
Appear and aid me in this enterprise.
[Enter Fiends]
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
Out of the powerful regions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field.
[They walk, and speak not]
O, hold me not with silence over-long!
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off and give it you
In earnest of further benefit,
So you do condescend to help me now.
[They hang their heads]
No hope to have redress? My body shall
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.
[They shake their heads]
Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Then take my soul, my body, soul and all,
Before that England give the French the foil.
[They depart]
See, they forsake me! Now the time is come
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak,
And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.
[Exit]
[Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand]
to hand with YORK. JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The
French fly]

37

V,3,2492

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
And try if they can gain your liberty.
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
As if with Circe she would change my shape!

Joan la Pucelle. Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.

38

V,3,2495

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

Joan la Pucelle. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
And may ye both be suddenly surprised
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

39

V,3,2499

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!

Joan la Pucelle. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.

40

V,4,2677

Shepherd. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
Have I sought every country far and near,
And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!

Joan la Pucelle. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
I am descended of a gentler blood:
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

41

V,4,2691

Shepherd. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!
God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.

Joan la Pucelle. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man,
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

42

V,4,2707

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). Take her away; for she hath lived too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Joan la Pucelle. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
But issued from the progeny of kings;
Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
By inspiration of celestial grace,
To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits:
But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
Because you want the grace that others have,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders but by help of devils.
No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

43

V,4,2730

Earl of Warwick. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.

Joan la Pucelle. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.
I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.

44

V,4,2743

Earl of Warwick. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
Especially since Charles must father it.

Joan la Pucelle. You are deceived; my child is none of his:
It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.

45

V,4,2747

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

Joan la Pucelle. O, give me leave, I have deluded you:
'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

46

V,4,2757

Richard Plantagenet (Duke of Gloucester). And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

Joan la Pucelle. Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode;
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you, till mischief and despair
Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!