King Henry VI, First Part. Уильям Шекспир

      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.

      I am prepared: here is my keen-edg'd sword,

      Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side,

      The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's church-yard,

      Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

      Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.

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

      Here they fight, and Joan La Pucelle overcomes.

      Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,

      And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

      Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak.

      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.

      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.

      Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

      My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

      Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;

      Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

      Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

      He may mean more than we poor men do know:

      These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

      My lord, where are you? what devise you on?

      Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

      Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!

      Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

      What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out:

      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.

      Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?

      Thou with an eagle art inspired then.

      Helen, the mother of great Constantine,

      Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.

      Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,

      How may I reverently worship thee enough?

      Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

      Woman, do what thou canst to save our honors;

      Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

      Presently we 'll try: come, let's away about it:

      No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.

      I am come to survey the Tower this day:

      Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.

      Where be these warders that they wait not here?

      Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.

      [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously?

      It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

      [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.

      Villains, answer you so the lord protector?

      [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him:

      We do no otherwise than we are will'd.

      Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?

      There's none protector of the realm but I.

      Break up the gates, I 'll be your warrantize:

      Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

      Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and Woodvile the

      Lieutenant speaks within.

      What noise is this? what traitors have we here?

      Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?

      Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.

      Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;

      The Cardinal of Winchester forbids:

      From him I have express commandment

      That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

      Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?

      Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate

      Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?

      Thou art no friend to God or to the King.

      Open the gates, or I 'll shut thee