York.
Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.

Shep.
Ah, Joan! This kills thy father's heart outright.
Have I sought ev'ry 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, I will die with thee.

Pucel.
^{5 note}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, living yet, can testify,
She was the first-fruit of my batch'lorship.

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 obstacle:
God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh,
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear;
Deny me not, I pray thee, gentle Joan.

Pucel.
Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man
Of purpose 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.
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 did'st keep my lambs a-field,
I wish some rav'nous 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 vitious qualities.

Pucel.
First, let me tell you, whom you have condemn'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 rig'rously 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 she is a maid,
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:
Place pitchy barrels on the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.

Pucel.
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 heav'n forefend! the holy maid with child!

War.
The greatest miracle that ere you 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.

Pucel.
You are deceiv'd, my child is none of his;
It was Alanson that enjoy'd my love.

York.
Alanson! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand 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.

York.
Why, here's a girl; I think, she knows not well,
(There were so many) whom she may accuse.

War.
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 intreaty, for it is in vain.

Pucel.
Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse.
May never glorious sun reflect his beams
Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Inviron you, 'till mischief and despair
Drive you to break your necks, or hang your selves! [Exit guarded.

York:
Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes,
Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

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