May God Have pity on our land, and save the king! In two great battles we have lost the day; Our foes are stationed in the heart of France, Far as the river Loire our lands are theirs-- Now their whole force they have combined, and lay Close siege to Orleans. (THIBAUT: God protect the king!) Artillery is brought from every side, And as the dusky squadrons of the bees Swarm round the hive upon a summer day, As clouds of locusts from the sultry air Descend and shroud the country round for miles, So doth the cloud of war, o'er Orleans' fields, Pour forth its many-nationed multitudes, Whose varied speech, in wild confusion blent, With strange and hollow murmurs fill the air. For Burgundy, the mighty potentate, Conducts his motley host; the Hennegarians, The men of Liege and of Luxemburg, The people of Namur, and those who dwell In fair Brabant; the wealthy men of Ghent, Who boast their velvets, and their costly silks; The Zealanders, whose cleanly towns appear Emerging from the ocean; Hollanders Who milk the lowing herds; men from Utrecht, And even from West Friesland's distant realm, Who look towards the ice-pole--all combine, Beneath the banner of the powerful duke, Together to accomplish Orleans' fall. (THIBAUT: Oh, the unblest, the lamentable strife, Which turns the arms of France against itself!) E'en she, the mother-queen, proud Isabel Bavaria's haughty princess--may be seen, Arrayed in armor, riding through the camp; With poisonous words of irony she fires The hostile troops to fury 'gainst her son, Whom she hath clasped to her maternal breast.

Bertrand Monologue from The Maid of Orleans: A Tragedy

Rehearse Bertrand's monologue