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Enter Fiends. This speedy quick appearance argues proof Of your accustom'd diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cullid Out of the powerful regions under earth. Help me this once, that France may get the field.

[They walk about, and speak not. O, hold me not with silence over-long! Where? I was wont to feed you with my blood, I'll lop a member off, and give it you, In earnest of a further benefit; So you do condescend to help me now.

[They hang their heads. No hope to have redress ?-My boily shall ; Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.

[They shake their heads. Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all, Before that England give the French the foil.

[They depart. See! they forsake me. Now the time is come, That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with: Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting. LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand. LA Pucelle is taken. The French fly. York. Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast:

to be the particular habitation of bad spirits. Milton, therefore, assembles the rebel angels in the north. Johnson... 2 Where--] i, e. whereas.

vail her-lofty plumed crest,] i. e. lower it.

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Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,
And try if they can gain your liberty.
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.

Puc. Chang’d to a worser shape thou canst not be.

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! And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds! York. Fell, banning hag !* enchantress, hold thy

tongue. Puc. I pr’ythee, give me leave to curse a while. York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.


Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady

Suf. 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,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
I kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.] for eternal

peace: Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king, The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

Suf. 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 prisoners underneath her wings.

Fell, banning hag] To ban is to curse.

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