Now lift up thy head, give me men-at-arms, 
and let me get about my work.
You wish to have me examined first by 
theologians at Poitiers? 
I, who am come to be the English scourge?

Oh very well.  (to audience) 
They would know if my voices are God's or Satan's.

I willingly tell them anything, not all, that I 
know. But it is most tiresome. One Brother Séguin 
asked many nagging questions such as, "Did my 
voices speak good French?" Mon Dieu! I answered 
the sour little man speaking in his bastard Limousin 
tongue, "As to that, I believe I cannot say.  Still it 
was an improvement on yours."

Then they asked how St. Michael looked when he 
appeared to me.  I said I saw no crown and remember 
nothing of his clothes.  Pressed to say if he was naked, 
I retorted, "Do you think God cannot afford to 
clothe him?"

These wearisome questions!  And while the 
clerics ponder, Orléans starves and the English 
prevail.