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Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight, And will not any way dishonour me.

[Aside.

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French.
And then I need not crave his courtesy.

[Aside.

Suf. Sweet Madam, give me hearing in a cause

Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now.
Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so?

Mar. I cry you mercy, 't is but quid for quo.

Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose

Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile

Than is a slave in base servility,

For princes should be free.

Suf.

And so shall you,

If happy England's royal king be free.

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?
Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen;

To put a golden sceptre in thy hand,

And set a precious crown upon thy head,

If thou wilt condescend to be my

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Mar. I am unworthy to be 'Henry's wife.
Suf. No, gentle Madam; I unworthy am

To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, Madam; are you so content?

His love.

Mar. An if my father please, I am content.
Suf. Then, call our captains, and our colours forth!
And, Madam, at your father's castle walls

We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.

[Aside

[Troops come forward.

A Parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER, on the Walls.
Suf. See, Reignier, see thy daughter prisoner.
Reig. To whom?

Suf.
Reig.

To me.

Suffolk, what remedy?

I am a soldier, and unapt to weep,

Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
Consent, and for thy honour give consent,
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king,
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto,
And this her easy-held imprisonment

Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.
Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?
Suf.

Fair Margaret knows,

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.

Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend

To give thee answer of thy just demand. [Exit, from the Walls. Suf. And here I will expect thy coming.

Trumpets sounded. Enter REIGNIER, below.

Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories: Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king:

What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth,

To be the princely bride of such a lord,

Upon condition I may quietly

Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou,

Free from oppression or the stroke of war,

My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.

Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her;

And those two counties, I will undertake,
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

Reig. And I again, in Henry's royal name,

As deputy unto that gracious king,

Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Because this is in traffic of a king:

And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case.

I'll over, then, to England with this news,
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd.
So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe
In golden palaces, as it becomes.

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.
Mar. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes,
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.

praise, and prayers, [Going.

Suf. Farewell, sweet Madam! But hark you, Margaret;

No princely commendations to my king?

Mar. Such commendations as become a maid,

A virgin, and his servant, say to him.

Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed.

But, Madam, I must trouble you again,

No loving token to his majesty?

Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

Suf. And this withal.

Mar. That for thyself: I will not so presume,

To send such peevish tokens to a king.

[Kisses her

[Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGAaret. Suf. O, wert thou for myself! — But, Suffolk, stay; Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth : There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise: Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, Mad, natural graces that extinguish art; Repeat their semblance often on the seas, That when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Camp of the Duke of YORK, in Anjou.

Enter YORK, WARWICK, and Others.

York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.

Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded; and a Shepherd.

Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart outright. Have I sought every country far and near,

And, now it is my chance to find thee out,

Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?

Ah, Joan! sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee.

Puc. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!

I am descended of a gentler blood:

Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine.

Shep. Out, out! - My lords, an please you, 't is not so;

I did beget her, all the parish knows:

Her mother liveth yet, can testify,

She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?
York. This argues what her kind of life hath been;

Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

Shep. Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle!

God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh,

And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:

Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.

Puc. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man, Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest,

The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk

Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast,
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake;

Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,

I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee.

Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?

O! burn her, burn her: hanging is too good.

[Exit

York. Take her away; for she hath lived too long,

To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd;

Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,

But issu'd from the progeny of kings:

Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above,
By inspiration of celestial grace,

To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits:
But you,
that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
Because you want the grace that others have,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders, but by help of devils.
No; misconceived Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd',
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

York. Ay, ay. — Away with her to execution!
War. And hark ye, Sirs; because she is a maid,

Spare for no fagots, let there be enow:

Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,

That so her torture may be shortened.

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,

That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.

I am with child, ye bloody homicides:

Murder not, then, the fruit within my womb,

Although ye hale me to a violent death.

York. Now, heaven forefend! the holy maid with child?

War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought!

Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

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