PUCELLE.
I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.
YORK.
Curse, miscreant, when thou com’st to the stake.
[Exeunt.]
Alarum. Enter Suffolk with Margaret in his hand.
SUFFOLK.
Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
[Gazes on her.]
O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands,
I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.
MARGARET.
Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
The King of Naples, whosoe’er thou art.
SUFFOLK.
An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call’d.
Be not offended, nature’s miracle,
Thou art allotted to be ta’en by me.
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
Go and be free again as Suffolk’s friend.
[She is going.]