TALBOT: Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass’d with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I’ll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

[…] Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?

JOAN LA PUCELLE: Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours or no.

TALBOT: I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alanson, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

ALANSON: Signior, no.

TALBOT: Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.