The First Part of Henry the Sixth

SCENE 6

A field of battle

Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd about, and TALBOT rescues him

  TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.    The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word    And left us to the rage of France his sword.    Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath;    I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death.  JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!    The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done    Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,    To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.  TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck    fire,    It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire    Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,    Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,    Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,    And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.    The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood    From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood    Of thy first fight, I soon encountered    And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed    Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace    Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base,    And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,    Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine    Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.'    Here purposing the Bastard to destroy,    Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;    Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?    Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,    Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?    Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:    The help of one stands me in little stead.    O, too much folly is it, well I wot,    To hazard all our lives in one small boat!    If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,    To-morrow I shall die with mickle age.    By me they nothing gain an if I stay:    'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day.    In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,    My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.    All these and more we hazard by thy stay;    All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away.  JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;    These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.    On that advantage, bought with such a shame,    To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,    Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,    The coward horse that bears me fall and die!    And like me to the peasant boys of France,    To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!    Surely, by all the glory you have won,    An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son;    Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;    If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.  TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete,    Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.    If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;    And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. Exeunt

SCENE 7

Another part of the field

Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT

  TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.    O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?    Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,    Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.    When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee,    His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,    And like a hungry lion did commence    Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;    But when my angry guardant stood alone,    Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none,    Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart    Suddenly made him from my side to start    Into the clust'ring battle of the French;    And in that sea of blood my boy did drench    His overmounting spirit; and there died,    My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT

  SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!  TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,    Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,    Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,    Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,    In thy despite shall scape mortality.    O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,    Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!    Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;    Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.    Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,    Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day.    Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms.    My spirit can no longer bear these harms.    Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,    Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies]

Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD, LA PUCELLE, and forces

  CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,    We should have found a bloody day of this.  BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,    Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!  PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said:    'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.'    But with a proud majestical high scorn    He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born    To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'    So, rushing in the bowels of the French,    He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.  BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.    See where he lies inhearsed in the arms    Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!  BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,    Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.  CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled    During the life, let us not wrong it dead.  BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,    Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!  PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said:    'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.'    But with a proud majestical high scorn    He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born    To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'    So, rushing in the bowels of the French,    He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.  BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.    See where he lies inhearsed in the arms    Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!  BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,    Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.  CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled    During the life, let us not wrong it dead.

Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH HERALD preceding

  LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,    To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.  CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?  LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! 'Tis a mere French word:    We English warriors wot not what it means.    I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,    And to survey the bodies of the dead.  CHARLES. For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is.    But tell me whom thou seek'st.  LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field,    Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,    Created for his rare success in arms    Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,    Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,    Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,    Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,    The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,    Knight of the noble order of Saint George,    Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,    Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth    Of all his wars within the realm of France?  PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed!    The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,    Writes not so tedious a style as this.    Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides,    Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.  LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge,    Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?    O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd,    That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!    O that I could but can these dead to life!    It were enough to fright the realm of France.    Were but his picture left amongst you here,    It would amaze the proudest of you all.    Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence    And give them burial as beseems their worth.  PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,    He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.    For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here,    They would but stink, and putrefy the air.  CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.  LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be    rear'd    A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.  CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou    wilt.    And now to Paris in this conquering vein!    All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE 1

London. The palace

Sennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER

  KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope,    The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?  GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:    They humbly sue unto your Excellence    To have a godly peace concluded of    Between the realms of England and of France.  KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?  GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means    To stop effusion of our Christian blood    And stablish quietness on every side.  KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought    It was both impious and unnatural    That such immanity and bloody strife    Should reign among professors of one faith.  GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect    And surer bind this knot of amity,    The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,    A man of great authority in France,    Proffers his only daughter to your Grace    In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.  KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young    And fitter is my study and my books    Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.    Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please,    So let them have their answers every one.    I shall be well content with any choice    Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.

Enter in Cardinal's habit BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS

  EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd    And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?    Then I perceive that will be verified    Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy:    'If once he come to be a cardinal,    He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'  KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits    Have been consider'd and debated on.    Your purpose is both good and reasonable,    And therefore are we certainly resolv'd    To draw conditions of a friendly peace,    Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean    Shall be transported presently to France.  GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master,    I have inform'd his Highness so at large,    As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,    Her beauty, and the value of her dower,    He doth intend she shall be England's Queen.  KING HENRY. [To AMBASSADOR] In argument and proof of    which contract,    Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.    And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded    And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd,    Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE

  WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive    The sum of money which I promised    Should be delivered to his Holiness    For clothing me in these grave ornaments.  LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.  WINCHESTER. [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I    trow,    Or be inferior to the proudest peer.    Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive    That neither in birth or for authority    The Bishop will be overborne by thee.    I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,    Or sack this country with a mutiny. Exeunt

SCENE 2

France. Plains in Anjou

Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces

  CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping    spirits:    'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt    And turn again unto the warlike French.  ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,    And keep not back your powers in dalliance.  PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;    Else ruin combat with their palaces!

Enter a SCOUT

  SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general,    And happiness to his accomplices!  CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak.  SCOUT. The English army, that divided was    Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one,    And means to give you battle presently.  CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;    But we will presently provide for them.  BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there.    Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.  PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd.    Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,    Let Henry fret and all the world repine.  CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!Exeunt

SCENE 3

Before Angiers

Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE

  PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly.    Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;    And ye choice spirits that admonish me    And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder]    You speedy helpers that are substitutes    Under the lordly monarch of the north,Appear and aid me in this enterprise!

Enter FIENDS

    This speedy and quick appearance argues proof    Of your accustom'd diligence to me.    Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd    Out of the powerful regions under earth,    Help me this once, that France may get the field.                                       [They walk and speak not]    O, hold me not with silence over-long!    Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,    I'll lop a member off and give it you    In earnest of a further benefit,    So you do condescend to help me now.                                         [They hang their heads]    No hope to have redress? My body shall    Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.                                        [They shake their heads]    Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice    Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?    Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all,    Before that England give the French the foil.                                                   [They depart]    See! they forsake me. Now the time is come    That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest    And let her head fall into England's lap.    My ancient incantations are too weak,    And hell too strong for me to buckle with.    Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. Exit

Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting.

LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE is taken. The French fly

  YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast.    Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,    And try if they can gain your liberty.    A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!    See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows    As if, with Circe, she would change my shape!  PUCELLE. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.  YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man:    No shape but his can please your dainty eye.  PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee!    And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd    By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!  YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue.  PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile.  YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.Exeunt

Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand

  SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.                                                  [Gazes on her]    O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!    For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;    I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,    And lay them gently on thy tender side.    Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.  MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,    The King of Naples-whosoe'er thou art.  SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.    Be not offended, nature's miracle,    Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me.    So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,    Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.    Yet, if this servile usage once offend,    Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She is going]    O, stay! [Aside] I have no power to let her pass;    My hand would free her, but my heart says no.    As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,    Twinkling another counterfeited beam,    So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.    Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak.    I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.    Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;    Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner?    Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?    Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such    Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.  MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so,    What ransom must I pay before I pass?    For I perceive I am thy prisoner.  SUFFOLK. [Aside] How canst thou tell she will deny thy    suit,    Before thou make a trial of her love?  MARGARET. Why speak'st thou not? What ransom must I    pay?  SUFFOLK. [Aside] She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;    She is a woman, therefore to be won.  MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no?  SUFFOLK. [Aside] Fond man, remember that thou hast a    wife;    Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?  MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.  SUFFOLK. [Aside] There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling    card.  MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.  SUFFOLK. [Aside] And yet a dispensation may be had.  MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.  SUFFOLK. [Aside] I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?    Why, for my King! Tush, that's a wooden thing!MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.  SUFFOLK. [Aside] Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,    And peace established between these realms.    But there remains a scruple in that too;    For though her father be the King of Naples,    Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,    And our nobility will scorn the match.  MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure?  SUFFOLK. [Aside] It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.    Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.    Madam, I have a secret to reveal.  MARGARET. [Aside] What though I be enthrall'd? He seems    a knight,    And will not any way dishonour me.  SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.  MARGARET. [Aside] Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French;    And then I need not crave his courtesy.  SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause  MARGARET. [Aside] Tush! women have been captivate ere    now.  SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?  MARGARET. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.  SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose    Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?  MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile    Than is a slave in base servility;    For princes should be free.  SUFFOLK. And so shall you,    If happy England's royal king be free.  MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?  SUFFOLK. 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-  MARGARET. What?  SUFFOLK. His love.  MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.  SUFFOLK. 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 ye so content?  MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.  SUFFOLK. 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.

Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls

    See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!  REIGNIER. To whom?  SUFFOLK. To me.  REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy?    I am a soldier and unapt to weep    Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.  SUFFOLK. 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.  REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?  SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows    That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.  REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend    To give thee answer of thy just demand.                                    Exit REIGNIER from the wallsSUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.

Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below

  REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories;    Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases.  SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,    Fit to be made companion with a king.    What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?  REIGNIER. 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 country Maine and Anjou,    Free from oppression or the stroke of war,    My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.  SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her.    And those two counties I will undertake    Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.  REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry's royal name,    As deputy unto that gracious king,    Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.  SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,    Because this is in traffic of a king.    [Aside] 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.  REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace    The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.  MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and    prayers,    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 plac'd and modestly directed.    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. [Kisses her]  MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume    To send such peevish tokens to a king.

Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET

  SUFFOLK. 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,    And 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. Exit

SCENE 4

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

  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!  PUCELLE. 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 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. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?  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.  PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man    Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.  SHEPHERD. '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 afield,    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 liv'd too long,    To fill the world with vicious qualities.  PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:    Not me 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,    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!  WARWICK. 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.  PUCELLE. 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 forfend! The holy maid with child!  WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:    Is all your strict preciseness come to this?  YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling.    I did imagine what would be her refuge.  WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;    Especially since Charles must father it.  PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his:    It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.  YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel!    It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.  PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you.    'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd,    But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd.  WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable.  YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well    There were so many-whom she may accuse.  WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free.  YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.    Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee.    Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.  PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my    curse:    May never glorious sun reflex his beams    Upon the country where you make abode;    But darkness and the gloomy shade of death    Environ you, till mischief and despair    Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!                                                   Exit, guarded  YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,    Thou foul accursed minister of hell!  WARWICK. 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.  PUCELLE. 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 forfend! The holy maid with child!  WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:    Is all your strict preciseness come to this?  YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling.    I did imagine what would be her refuge.  WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;    Especially since Charles must father it.  PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his:    It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.  YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel!    It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.  PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you.    'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd,    But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd.  WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable.  YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well    There were so many-whom she may accuse.  WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free.  YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.    Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee.    Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.  PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my    curse:    May never glorious sun reflex his beams    Upon the country where you make abode;    But darkness and the gloomy shade of death    Environ you, till mischief and despair    Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!                                                   Exit, guarded  YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,    Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended