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 scepter in thy hand,
And set a precious crown upon thy head,
If thou wilt condescend to be my-
Mar.

What?
Suf. His love.
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?

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.

[Troops come forward.

To me.

A Parley sounded. Enter Reignier, on the Walls.

Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.
Reig. To whom?
Suf.
Reig

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 inine 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 ransome, 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 traffick of a king:
And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside.
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

'- face,] To face is to carry a false appearance; to play the bypocrite.

The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.

Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise,

and prayers,

Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [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.

Kisses her. Mar. That for thyself;—I will not so presume, To send such peevish tokens? to a king.

Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET, 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. 2 To send such peevish tokens-] Peevish, for childish.

• Mad,-) i. e. wild, if mad be the word that ought to stand here, which some of the commentators doubt.

Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd.
Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart out-

right!
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, 'tis

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. Fye, 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

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.

5

timeless-] is untimely. Decrepit miser!] Miser has no relation to avarice in this passage, but simply

means a miserable creature.

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 liv'd too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.
Puc. First, let me tell

you
whom

you have con-
demn’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 enough: Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,

? No, misconceived!] i, e. No, ye misconceivers, ye who mistake me and my qualities.