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 Poole! 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.
MAR. Say, earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so,
What ransom must I pay before I pass?
For I perceive I am thy prisoner.
SUF. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit,
Before thou make a trial of her love?
MAR. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?
SUF. She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
She is a woman; therefore to be won.
MAR. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no?
SUF. Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife;
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?
MAR. I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.
SUF. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.
MAR. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.
Sur. And yet a dispensation may be had.
MAR. And yet I would that you would answer me.
SUF. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom?
Why, for my king: Tush! that 's a wooden thing.
MAR. He talks of wood: it is some carpenter.
SUF. Yet so my fancy a 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.
MAR. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure?
SUF. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much :
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.
Madam, I have a secret to reveal.
MAR. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,
And will not any way dishonour me.
SUF. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
MAR. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;
And then I need not crave his courtesy.
SUF. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause—————
MAR. Tush! women have been captivate ere now.
A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER, on the walls.
SUF. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.
REIG. To whom?
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 solemnis'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, praise, and prayers,
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.
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.
[Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET.
MAR. That for thyself; I will not so presume,
To send such peevish tokens to a king.
SUF. 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:
Mada, 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.
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 obstacles!
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.
Puc. Peasant, avaunt!-You have suborn'd this man,
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
SHEP. T is 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
a Mad. Steevens thinks this epithet is used in the sense of wild.
Miser-wretch, miserable creature.
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.
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 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 every 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:
Murther 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?
YORK. She and the dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine what would be her refuge.
WAR. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live;
Especially, since Charles must father it.
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