JOAN LA PUCELLE: I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.
[…] YORK: She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine what would be her refuge.
[…] JOAN LA PUCELLE: You are deceived; my child is none of his:
It was Alanson that enjoy’d my love.
YORK: Alanson! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.
JOAN LA PUCELLE: O, give me leave, I have deluded you:
‘Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail’d.
[…] YORK: Why, here’s a girl! I think she knows not well,
There were so many, whom she may accuse.
WARWICK: It’s sign she hath been liberal and free.
YORK: And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.