Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?

Pucelle
Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege:
I am with child, you bloody homicides.
Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
Although you hale me to a violent death.
York
Now heaven forfend, the holy maid with child?

May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode,
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you

Warwick, to Pucelle
The greatest miracle that e’er you wrought!
Is all your strict preciseness come to this?
York
She and the Dauphin have been juggling.
I did imagine what would be her refuge.
Warwick
Well, go to, we’ll have no bastards live,
Especially since Charles must father it.
Pucelle
You are deceived; my child is none of his.
It was Alanson that enjoyed my love.
York
Alanson, that notorious Machiavel?
It dies an if it had a thousand lives!
Pucelle
O, give me leave! I have deluded you.
’Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I named,
But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevailed.
Warwick
A married man? That’s most intolerable.
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.
Pucelle
Then lead me hence, with whom I leave my curse:
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode,
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you, till mischief and despair
Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
 She exits, led by Guards.