Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
Char. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 37
Joan. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
Bur. What sayst thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.
Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words. 40
Joan. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
Joan. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 44
And see the cities and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
As looks the mother on her lowly babe
When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 48
See, see the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
Which thou thyself hast giv'n her woeful breast.
O! turn thy edged sword another way; 52
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, 56
And wash away thy country's stained spots.
Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Joan. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, 60
47 lowly: lying low (?)
