Mar. I were beft to leave him, for he will not hear.
Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.
Mar. He talks at random; fure the Man is mad.
Suf. 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: Tufh, that's a wooden thing.
Mar. He talks of Wood: It is fome Carpenter.
Suf. Yet fo my Fancy may be fatisfied,
'And Peace eftablished between thefe Realms;
But there remains a fcruple in that too:
For though her Father be the King of Naples,
Duke of Anjou and Main, yet he is poor,
And our Nobility will fcorn the Match.

Mar. Hear ye, Captain? are you not at leisure?
Suf. It fhall be fo, difdain they ne'er fo much:
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.
Madam, I have a Secret to reveal.

Mar. What, tho' I be inthrall'd, he seems a Knight,

And will not any way difhonour me.

Suf. Lady, vouchfáfe to liften what I fay.
Mar. Perhaps I fhall be refcu'd by the French,
And then I need not crave his Courtefie.

Suf. Sweet Madam, give me hearing in a cause.
Mar. Tufh, Women have been captivate ere now.
Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you fo?

Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Que.
Suf. Say, gentle Princefs, would you not fuppofe
Your Bondage happy, to be made a Queen?

Mar. To be a Queen in Bondage, is more vile, Than is a Slave in bafe fervility:

For Princes fhould be free.

Suf. And fo fhall you,

If happy England's Royal King be free.

To

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's Queen, puc a Golden Scepter in thy Hand, And fet a precious Crown upon thy Head, If thou wilt condefcend to be my—

Mar. What?.

Suf

Suf. His Love.

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's Wife.
Suf. No, gentle Madam, I unworthy am
To woo fo fair a Dame to be his Wife,
And have no Portion in the choice my felf.
How fay you, Madam, are you fo content?
Mar. And if my Father pleafe, I am content.
Suff. Then call our Captains and our Colours fort
And, Madam, at your Father's Caftle Walls,
We'll crave a Parley to confer with him.

Sound. Enter Reignier on the Walls,

See Reignier, fee, thy Daughter Prisoner.
Reig. To whom?

Suf. To me.

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,
Confent, and for thy Honour give confent,
Thy Daughter fhall be wedded to my King;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto :
And this her eafie-held Imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy Daughter Princely Liberty.
Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?

Suff. Fair Margaret knows,

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or fain.
Reig. Upon thy Princely Warrant, I defcend;
To give thee Answer of thy juft demand.
Suf. And here I will expect thy coming.
Trumpets found. Enter Reignier.

Reig. Welcome, brave Earl, into our Territories,
Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases.
Reig. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a Child,
Fit to be made Companion with a King:
What answer makes your Grace unto my fuit?
Reig. Since thou dost daign to woo her little worth,
To be the Princely Bride of fuch a Lord:
Upon condition I may quietly

Enjoy mine own, the Country Main and Anjou,
Free from oppreffion, or the stroke of War,

My Daughter fhall be Henry's, if he please.
Suf. That is her Ranfom, I deliver her;
And thofe two Counties, I will undertake,
Your Grace fhall well and quietly enjoy.
Reig. And I again in Henry's Royal Name,
As Deputy unto that gracious King,

Give thee her Hand for fign 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 cafe.
I'll over then to England with this News,
And make this Marriage to be folemniz'd:
So farewel Reignier, fet this Diamond safe.
In Golden Palaces as it becomes.

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Chriftian Prince King Henry, were he here.

[Afide.

Mar. Farewel my Lord, good wishes, praife, and prayers, Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.

[She is going. Suf. Farewel, fweet Madam; but hark you, Margaret, No Princely Commendations to my King?

Mar. Such Commendations as becomes a Maid,

A Virgin and his Servant, fay to him.

Suf. Words fweetly plac'd, and modeftly directed. But, Madam, I muft trouble you again,

No loving Token to his Majesty?

Mar. Yes, my good Lord, a pure unfpotted Heart, Never yet taint with Love, I fend the King.

Suf. And this withal.

[Kiffes her. Mar. That for thy felf-I will not fo prefume,

To fend fuch peevith Tokens to a King.

Suf. O wert thou for my felf-but Suffolk stay, Thou mayeft not wander in that Labyrinth, There Minotaurs, and ugly Treafons lurk. Sollicit Henry with her wondrous praise, Bethink thee on her Virtues that furmount, Made natural Graces that extinguish Art, Repeat their semblance often on the Seas, That when thou com'ft to kneel at Henry's Feet, 'Thou may'ft bereave him of his wits with wonder. [Exeunt.

Enter

Enter York, Warwick, a Shepherd, and Pucelle. York. Bring forth that Sorcerefs condemn'd to burn. Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy Father's Heart out-right; Have I fought every Country far and near, And now it is my chance to find thee out, Muft I behold thy timeless cruel Death! Ah Joan, fweet Daughter, I will die with thee. Pucel. Decrepit Mifer, bafe ignoble Wretch, I am defcended of a gentler Blood.

Thou art no Father, nor no Friend of mine.

:

Shep. Out, out---My Lords, and please you, 'tis not fo, I did beget her all the Parish knows:

Her Mother liveth yet, can teftifie

She was the firft Fruit of my Batch'lor-fhip.

War. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy Parentage?
York. This argues what her kind of Life hath been,
Wicked and vile, and fo her Death concludes.
Shep. Fie Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle:
God knows thou art a Collop of my Flesh,
And for thy fake have I fhed many a Tear;
Deny me not, I pray thee, gentle Joan.

Pucel. Peafant, avant. You have fuborn'd this Man
Of purpose to obfcure 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 Bleffing, good my Girl. Wilt thou not ftoop? Now curfed be the time

Of thy Nativity; I would the Milk

Thy Mother gave thee, when thou fuck'dft her Breaft,
Had been a little Ratsbane for thy fake:

Or elfe, when thou didst keep my Lambs afield,
I wish fome ravenous Wolf had eaten thee.

Doft thou deny thy Father, curfed Drab?
O burn her, burn her, hanging is too good.

York. Take her away, for the hath liv'd too long,

To fill the World with vitious Qualities.

[Exit.

Pucel. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd, Not me, begotten of a Shepherd Swain, But iffued from the Progeny of Kings, Virtuous and Holy, chofen from above,

By infpiration of Celeftial Grace,
To work exceeding Miracles on Earth.
I never had to do with wicked Spirits.
But you that are polluted with your Lufts,
Stain'd with the guiltlefs Blood of Innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand Vices,
Because you want the Grace that others have,
You judge it ftreight a thing impoffible
To compafs Wonders, but by help of Devils.
No, mifconceived Joan of Arc hath been
A Virgin from her tender Infancy,
Chafte, and immaculate in very thought,
Whofe Maiden-blood thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for Vengeance at the Gates of Heav'n.
York, Ay, ay; away with her to Execution.
War. And heark ye, Sirs; because the is a Maid,
Spare for no Faggots, let there be enow:
Place Barrels of Pitch upon the fatal Stake,
That fo her Torture may be fhortned.

Pucel. Will nothing turn your unrelenting Hearts?
Then Joan difcover 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 Heav'n forfend! the holy Maid with Child? War. The greatest Miracle that ere you wrought:

Is all your ftrict precifenefs 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, Efpecially fince Charles muft Father it.

Pucel. You are deceiv'd, my Child is none of his, It was Alenfon that enjoy'd my Love.

York. Alenfon, that notorious Machevile!

It dies, and if it had a thoufand Lives.

Pucel. 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.

War. A married Man! that's most intolerable.

Tork