Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd.
Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father’s heart outright!
Have I sought every country far and near,
And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
[5] Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
[♦] Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with thee!
Puc. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
I am descended of a gentler blood:
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
[10] Shep. Out, out! My lords, an please you, ’tis not so;