To compass wonders but by help of devils. 48
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, 52
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: 56
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
That so her torture may be shortened.
Joan. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 60
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. 64
York. Now, heaven forfend! 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: 68
I did imagine what would be her refuge.
War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live;
Especially since Charles must father it.
Joan. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his: 72
It was Alençon that enjoy'd my love.
York. Alençon! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies an if it had a thousand lives.
Joan. O! give me leave, I have deluded you: 76
49 misconceived: deluded ones
61 warranteth: offers security
74 that notorious Machiavel; cf. n.
