Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.

She is going

SUFFOLK

Farewell, sweet madam; but hark you, Margaret—

No princely commendations to my king?

MARGARET

Such commendations as becomes a maid,

A virgin, and his servant, say to him.

SUFFOLK

Words sweetly placed, and modestly directed.

⌈She is going ⌉

But madam, I must trouble you again—

No loving token to his majesty?

MARGARET

Yes, my good lord : a pure unspotted heart,

Never yet taint with love, I send the King.

SUFFOLK And this withal.

He kisses her

MARGARET

That for thyself; I will not so presume

To send such peevish tokens to a king.

⌈Exeunt René and Margaret⌉

SUFFOLK ⌈aside⌉

O, wert thou for myself!—but Suffolk, stay.

Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth.

There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.

Solicit Henry with her wondrous 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 mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.

⌈Exeunt⌉

5.6 Enter Richard Duke of York, the Earl of Warwick, and a Shepherd

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

Bring forth that sorceress condemned to burn.

⌈Enter Joan la Pucelle guarded⌉

SHEPHERD

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.

JOAN

Decrepit miser, base ignoble wretch,

I am descended of a gentler blood.

Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.

SHEPHERD

Out, out!—My lords, an’t please you, ‘tis not so.

I did beget her, all the parish knows.

Her mother liveth yet, can testify

She was the first fruit of my bach’lorship.

WARWICK (to Joan)

Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

This argues what her kind of life hath been—

Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

SHEPHERD

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 prithee, gentle Joan.

JOAN

Peasant, avaunt! (To the English) You have suborned

this man

Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

SHEPHERD (to the English)

‘Tis true I gave a noble to the priest

The morn that I was wedded to her mother.

(To Joan) 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 sucked’st her breast

Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake.

Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield,

I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee.

Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?

(To the English) O burn her, burn her! Hanging is too

good. Exit

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK (to guards)

Take her away, for she hath lived too long,

To fill the world with vicious qualities.

JOAN

First let me tell you whom you have condemned:

Not one begotten of a shepherd swain,

But issued 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,

Stained 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 effused

Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

Ay, ay, (to guards) away with her to execution.

WARWICK (to guards)

And hark ye, sirs: because she is a maid,

Spare for no faggots. Let there be enough.

Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,

That so her torture may be shortened.

JOAN

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.

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

Now heaven forfend—the holy maid with child?

WARWICK (to Joan)

The greatest miracle that e’er ye wrought.

Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

She and the Dauphin have been ingling.

I did imagine what would be her refuge.

WARWICK

Well, go to, we will have no bastards live,

Especially since Charles must father it.

JOAN

You are deceived. My child is none of his.

It was Alençon that enjoyed my love.

RICHARD DUKE OF YORK

Alençon, that notorious Machiavel?

It dies an if it had a thousand lives.

JOAN