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Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know’st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won.
Master-Gunner Sirrah, you know how Orleans is surrounded, And how the English have taken the suburbs.
Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe’er unfortunate I miss’d my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince’s espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench’d, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance ’gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch’d, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy’st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor’s.
Father, I know; and I’ve often shot at them, Though I’ve been unlucky and missed my mark. Master-Gunner But now you won’t miss. Listen to me: I am the chief master-gunner of this town; I need to do something to earn my honor. The prince’s spies have told me How the English, closely entrenched in the suburbs, Are accustomed to peeking through a secret grate of iron bars In that tower over there, to overlook the city, And from there figure out how best to attack us With gunfire or a direct assault. To block this threat, I’ve placed a piece of artillery against it; And for the past three days, I’ve been watching, Waiting to see them. Now you watch, because I can’t stay any longer. If you see anything, run and tell me; You’ll find me at the governor’s.
Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I’ll never trouble you, if I may spy them.
Father, I promise you; don’t worry; I won’t bother you if I see them.
Talbot, my life, my joy, again return’d! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got’st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret’s top.
Talbot, my life, my joy, returned again! How were you treated when you were a prisoner? And how did you manage to escape? Please, tell me about it, from up here on this tower.
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.
The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Called the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; I was exchanged and ransomed for him. But with a far inferior man of arms They had once tried to trade me in contempt: Which I, disgusted, refused; and asked for death, Rather than be treated so dishonorably. In the end, I was redeemed as I wanted. But, oh! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, I would kill him with my bare hands If I had him in my power right now.
Yet tell’st thou not how thou wert entertain’d.
But you haven’t told me how they treated you.
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 walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
With insults, mockery, and disgraceful taunts. They brought me out in the open marketplace, To be a public spectacle for everyone to see: "Here," they said, "is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that frightens our children so." Then I broke free from the officers who were leading me, And with my nails, I dug up stones from the ground, To throw at the people who were watching my humiliation: My horrible face made others run away; No one dared come near for fear of sudden death. Even in iron cages, they didn’t think I was safe; Such great fear of my name spread among them, That they thought I could tear through steel bars, And smash adamantine posts to pieces: So I had a guard of handpicked soldiers, Who walked around me every minute; And if I so much as moved out of bed, They were ready to shoot me through 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’m sorry to hear what you went through, But we’ll get our revenge soon enough. Now it’s supper-time in Orleans: Look here, through this grate, I see the Frenchmen and how they’re fortifying: Let’s take a look; it will delight you. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, I need your expert opinions On where we should set up our next attack.
I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.
I think at the north gate; because that’s where the lords are.
And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
And I, here, by the bridge’s stronghold.
For aught I see, this city must be famish’d, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
From what I can see, this city will either starve, Or be weakened by minor skirmishes.
O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!
Oh Lord, have mercy on us, miserable sinners!
O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!
Oh Lord, have mercy on me, poor wretch!
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 livest 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 my name.
What is this terrible fate that has struck us? Speak, Salisbury; at least if you can speak: How are you, the greatest warrior of them all? One of your eyes and part of your cheek have been struck off! Damnable tower! cursed, deadly hand That has caused this tragic fate! In thirteen battles Salisbury was victorious; Henry the Fifth he first trained for war; As long as any trumpet sounded, or drum beat, His sword never stopped striking in the field. Yet you live, Salisbury? Even though you cannot speak, You still have one eye, to look to heaven for mercy: The sun, with only one eye, sees the whole world. Heaven, may you be gracious to no one alive, If Salisbury does not find mercy at your hands! Take his body away; I will help bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, are you still alive? Speak to Talbot; no, look up at him. Salisbury, take comfort in this thought; You will not die while-- He gestures with his hand and smiles at me. As if to say, ’When I am gone, Remember to take vengeance on the French.’ Plantagenet, I will; and like you, Nero, I will play the lute while watching the cities burn: France will suffer, but only in my name.
What stir is this? what tumult’s in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?
What is happening? What’s all this noise in the sky? Where is this alarm and this thunder coming from?
My lord, my lord, the French have gathered 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.
My lord, my lord, the French have gathered their forces: The Dauphin, with a woman named Joan la Pucelle, A newly risen holy prophetess, Has come with a great army to lift 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.
Listen, listen to how dying Salisbury groans! It hurts him that he can’t get revenge. Frenchmen, I’ll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzle, dolphin or dogfish, I’ll crush your hearts with my horse’s hooves, And turn your mixed-up brains into a muddy swamp. Take me to Salisbury in his tent, And then we’ll see what these cowardly Frenchmen dare to do.