York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
40 And may ye both be suddenly surprised
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!
York. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!
Puc. I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.
[♦] York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. [Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand.
[45] Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [Gazes on her.