The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil’d the earth.
Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.
The day is breaking and the darkness is fleeing. Sound the retreat and stop our pursuit.
It's getting light. Stop chasing them. Pull back.
day breaks night fled stop pursuit retreat
Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town.
Dead March. Enter with the body of Salisbury.
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him
There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.
And that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen’d in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I’ll erect
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr’d;
Upon the which, that everyone may read,
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,
The treacherous manner of his mournful death
And what a terror he had been to France.
Bring out the body of old Salisbury and place it here in the center of this cursed town's marketplace. Now I have kept my vow to his memory. For every drop of his blood spilled, five Frenchmen have died tonight. And so that future generations may see what ruin came from avenging him, I will build a tomb inside their greatest church. His body will rest there, and upon it will be carved the story of Orleans's capture, the treacherous manner of his terrible death, and the terror he brought to France.
Get Salisbury's body and put it in the center of town. I promised him vengeance, and we've delivered—five Frenchmen for every drop of his blood. I'm going to build a tomb in their cathedral with the whole story carved on it—how he died, what he meant, how much France feared him.
Salisbury body marketplace cursed town vow paid five French for every drop tomb in temple carved forever terror to France
’Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
Rous’d on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
They did amongst the troops of armed men
Leap o’er the walls for refuge in the field.
I believe, Lord Talbot, that when the fighting began and we pulled them from their beds, they were so confused they leaped over the walls and fled into the open fields.
I think when we came at them in bed, they just panicked and jumped over the walls to escape.
woke from beds sudden leaped walls refuge field
Talbot's plan for Salisbury's tomb — carved with 'the sack of Orleans, the treacherous manner of his mournful death' — is about more than honoring a friend. It's about what history owes its dead. The word 'treacherous' is doing real work here: Salisbury was killed by a boy through a window, not in honorable single combat. Talbot wants that fact preserved — not sanitized into a heroic death but recorded as the unfair, mechanical accident it was. The inscription will name the method. This is historical witness-bearing, and Talbot takes it seriously. There's a deeper irony that the play develops: Talbot himself will die in similar circumstances — not through treachery but through bureaucratic abandonment. No one in the play makes him a tomb. Lucy reads his titles like an elegy over his corpse, and Joan mocks them. The memorial Talbot wants to give Salisbury, nobody gives to him.
Myself, as far as I could well discern
For smoke and dusky vapors of the night,
Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,
We’ll follow them with all the power we have.
As far as I could see through the smoke and darkness, I'm sure I scared the Dauphin and his woman when they came running together, arm in arm like a pair of inseparable lovers. After we finish organizing things here, we'll pursue them with all our strength.
I swear I saw the Dauphin and his girl running arm-in-arm like they were madly in love, trying to escape through all the smoke. Once we get organized, we're chasing them down.
scared Dauphin running arm in arm loving turtle-doves inseparable day or night follow them
All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of France?
All hail to you, my lords. Which one of you is the famous Talbot, the one whose deeds are so much praised throughout France?
Greetings, my lords. Which one of you is Talbot? The one France keeps talking about?
all hail which is Talbot warlike deeds applauded France
Here is the Talbot. Who would speak with him?
I am Talbot. What is it you want?
That's me. What do you need?
Talbot who wants me
The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown,
By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies,
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
The noble and virtuous Countess of Auvergne, impressed by your reputation, asks me to invite you to her castle. She hopes to host you so she can boast that she has seen the man whose fame spreads throughout the world.
The Countess of Auvergne—she's heard all about you, and she wants to invite you to her castle. She thinks it'll be amazing to tell everyone she met the great Talbot.
Countess of Auvergne admiring reputation visit castle boast seen the man grace fills world
Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter’d with.
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
Really? Then I see our wars are turning into peaceful entertainment for the ladies. My lord, you shouldn't refuse her polite invitation.
So now the ladies want to socialize with generals? This is funny. You can't say no to her.
wars peaceful comic sport ladies want can't refuse gentle suit
Ne’er trust me then; for when a world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman’s kindness over-ruled.
And therefore tell her I return great thanks,
And in submission will attend on her.
Will not your honours bear me company?
If that's not true, never trust me again—but when a woman shows kindness, no amount of argument from men can stop it. Tell her I'm grateful and will visit her gladly. Won't you gentlemen come with me?
Never trust me again if I'm wrong—but yeah, a woman asking nicely beats every argument men can make. Tell her I'll be there. You coming too?
trust me not woman's kindness overrules men all oratory return thanks visit her will you come
No, truly, it is more than manners will;
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.
No, really—good manners say we shouldn't intrude. Besides, we've all heard it said that uninvited guests are most welcome when they're gone.
Nah, it wouldn't be right. People always say uninvited guests are best when they leave.
no manners uninvited guests welcome when gone proverb
Well then, alone, since there’s no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady’s courtesy.
Come hither, Captain. [_Whispers_.] You perceive my mind?
Well then, since there's no choice, I'll test this lady's hospitality. Come here, Captain. (Whispers) You understand my meaning?
Alright, I guess I'm going alone. I'll see what this lady wants. Captain, come here. (Whispers) You get what I'm saying?
alone no remedy prove lady's courtesy whisper understand mind
I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.
Yes, my lord. I understand exactly what you mean.
Yes, sir. I get it. I know what to do.
yes understand mean accordingly
The Reckoning
The scene pivots between two moods: the formal, ceremonial honoring of the dead (Talbot's elegy over Salisbury's body is the quietest and most dignified thing he does in the play) and the lighter, almost comic setup for the Countess of Auvergne trap. Burgundy's description of Charles and Joan running 'arm in arm like loving turtle-doves' is the play's funniest joke at their expense — the warrior-prophetess and the Dauphin fleeing together in their nightshirts, apparently inseparable. Talbot's whispered instruction to the captain ('You perceive my mind?') is theatrical gold: the audience knows he's planning something but doesn't know what.
If this happened today…
A general, the morning after retaking a city, walks the enemy's cathedral to stand over his fallen commander's coffin. He gives a short speech about building a memorial in the cathedral itself — testimony to what happened here. Then a messenger hands him an invitation from a local noblewoman who wants to meet the famous general. His staff think it's cute, almost a joke — a lady-fan visit in the middle of a war. Talbot accepts, but quietly tells his aide something the audience can't hear.