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<title>Texts:Shakespeare/cw162316</title>



<h2>KING JOHN</h2>

<h4>DRAMATIS PERSONAE</h4>

<p>    KING JOHN<br/>

    PRINCE HENRY, his son<br/>

    ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of<br/>

      Britaine, the elder brother of King John<br/>

    EARL OF PEMBROKE<br/>

    EARL OF ESSEX<br/>

    EARL OF SALISBURY<br/>

    LORD BIGOT<br/>

    HUBERT DE BURGH<br/>

    ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge<br/>

    PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother<br/>

    JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge<br/>

    PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet<br/>

</p>

<p>    KING PHILIP OF FRANCE<br/>

    LEWIS, the Dauphin<br/>

    LYMOGES, Duke of Austria<br/>

    CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's legate<br/>

    MELUN, a French lord<br/>

    CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John<br/>

</p>

<p>    QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to<br/>

      King John<br/>

    CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur<br/>

    BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile<br/>

      and niece to King John<br/>

    LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge<br/>

</p>

<p>    Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers,<br/>

      Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE:

England and France</h4>

<h4>ACT I. SCENE 1</h4>

<p>KING JOHN's palace</p>

<p>Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others,

with CHATILLON</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?<br/>

  CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France<br/>

    In my behaviour to the majesty,<br/>

    The borrowed majesty, of England here.<br/>

  ELINOR. A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'!<br/>

  KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.<br/>

  CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf<br/>

    Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,<br/>

    Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim<br/>

    To this fair island and the territories,<br/>

    To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,<br/>

    Desiring thee to lay aside the sword<br/>

    Which sways usurpingly these several titles,<br/>

    And put the same into young Arthur's hand,<br/>

    Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.<br/>

  KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this?<br/>

  CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war,<br/>

    To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,<br/>

    Controlment for controlment- so answer France.<br/>

  CHATILLON. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth-<br/>

    The farthest limit of my embassy.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;<br/>

    Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;<br/>

    For ere thou canst report I will be there,<br/>

    The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.<br/>

    So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath<br/>

    And sullen presage of your own decay.<br/>

    An honourable conduct let him have-<br/>

    Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.<br/>

                                        Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE<br/>

  ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said<br/>

    How that ambitious Constance would not cease<br/>

    Till she had kindled France and all the world<br/>

    Upon the right and party of her son?<br/>

    This might have been prevented and made whole<br/>

    With very easy arguments of love,<br/>

    Which now the manage of two kingdoms must<br/>

    With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us!<br/>

  ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right,<br/>

    Or else it must go wrong with you and me;<br/>

    So much my conscience whispers in your ear,<br/>

    Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.<br/>

</p>

<p>                  Enter a SHERIFF</p>

<p>  ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy<br/>

    Come from the country to be judg'd by you<br/>

    That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men?<br/>

  KING JOHN. Let them approach.                          Exit SHERIFF<br/>

    Our abbeys and our priories shall pay<br/>

    This expedition's charge.<br/>

</p>

<p>     Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard<br/>

                     brother<br/>

</p>

<p>    What men are you?<br/>

  BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman<br/>

    Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,<br/>

    As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-<br/>

    A soldier by the honour-giving hand<br/>

    Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.<br/>

  KING JOHN. What art thou?<br/>

  ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?<br/>

    You came not of one mother then, it seems.<br/>

  BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king-<br/>

    That is well known- and, as I think, one father;<br/>

    But for the certain knowledge of that truth<br/>

    I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother.<br/>

    Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.<br/>

  ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,<br/>

    And wound her honour with this diffidence.<br/>

  BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-<br/>

    That is my brother's plea, and none of mine;<br/>

    The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out<br/>

    At least from fair five hundred pound a year.<br/>

    Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!<br/>

  KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,<br/>

    Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?<br/>

  BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land.<br/>

    But once he slander'd me with bastardy;<br/>

    But whe'er I be as true begot or no,<br/>

    That still I lay upon my mother's head;<br/>

    But that I am as well begot, my liege-<br/>

    Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-<br/>

    Compare our faces and be judge yourself.<br/>

    If old Sir Robert did beget us both<br/>

    And were our father, and this son like him-<br/>

    O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee<br/>

    I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!<br/>

  KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!<br/>

  ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;<br/>

    The accent of his tongue affecteth him.<br/>

    Do you not read some tokens of my son<br/>

    In the large composition of this man?<br/>

  KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts<br/>

    And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,<br/>

    What doth move you to claim your brother's land?<br/>

  BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father.<br/>

    With half that face would he have all my land:<br/>

    A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year!<br/>

  ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd,<br/>

    Your brother did employ my father much-<br/>

  BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:<br/>

    Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.<br/>

  ROBERT. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy<br/>

    To Germany, there with the Emperor<br/>

    To treat of high affairs touching that time.<br/>

    Th' advantage of his absence took the King,<br/>

    And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;<br/>

    Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-<br/>

    But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores<br/>

    Between my father and my mother lay,<br/>

    As I have heard my father speak himself,<br/>

    When this same lusty gentleman was got.<br/>

    Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd<br/>

    His lands to me, and took it on his death<br/>

    That this my mother's son was none of his;<br/>

    And if he were, he came into the world<br/>

    Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.<br/>

    Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,<br/>

    My father's land, as was my father's will.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:<br/>

    Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,<br/>

    And if she did play false, the fault was hers;<br/>

    Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands<br/>

    That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,<br/>

    Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,<br/>

    Had of your father claim'd this son for his?<br/>

    In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept<br/>

    This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;<br/>

    In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's,<br/>

    My brother might not claim him; nor your father,<br/>

    Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:<br/>

    My mother's son did get your father's heir;<br/>

    Your father's heir must have your father's land.<br/>

  ROBERT. Shall then my father's will be of no force<br/>

    To dispossess that child which is not his?<br/>

  BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,<br/>

    Than was his will to get me, as I think.<br/>

  ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,<br/>

    And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,<br/>

    Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,<br/>

    Lord of thy presence and no land beside?<br/>

  BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape<br/>

    And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him;<br/>

    And if my legs were two such riding-rods,<br/>

    My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin<br/>

    That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose<br/>

    Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!'<br/>

    And, to his shape, were heir to all this land-<br/>

    Would I might never stir from off this place,<br/>

    I would give it every foot to have this face!<br/>

    I would not be Sir Nob in any case.<br/>

  ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,<br/>

    Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?<br/>

    I am a soldier and now bound to France.<br/>

  BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.<br/>

    Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,<br/>

    Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.<br/>

    Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.<br/>

  ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.<br/>

  BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way.<br/>

  KING JOHN. What is thy name?<br/>

  BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:<br/>

    Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.<br/>

  KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:<br/>

    Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-<br/>

    Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.<br/>

  BASTARD. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand;<br/>

    My father gave me honour, yours gave land.<br/>

    Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,<br/>

    When I was got, Sir Robert was away!<br/>

  ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!<br/>

    I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.<br/>

  BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?<br/>

    Something about, a little from the right,<br/>

    In at the window, or else o'er the hatch;<br/>

    Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;<br/>

    And have is have, however men do catch.<br/>

    Near or far off, well won is still well shot;<br/>

    And I am I, howe'er I was begot.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:<br/>

    A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.<br/>

    Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed<br/>

    For France, for France, for it is more than need.<br/>

  BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!<br/>

    For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.<br/>

                                           Exeunt all but the BASTARD<br/>

    A foot of honour better than I was;<br/>

    But many a many foot of land the worse.<br/>

    Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.<br/>

    'Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!'<br/>

    And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;<br/>

    For new-made honour doth forget men's names:<br/>

    'Tis too respective and too sociable<br/>

    For your conversion. Now your traveller,<br/>

    He and his toothpick at my worship's mess-<br/>

    And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,<br/>

    Why then I suck my teeth and catechize<br/>

    My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'<br/>

    Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin<br/>

    'I shall beseech you'-That is question now;<br/>

    And then comes answer like an Absey book:<br/>

    'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command,<br/>

    At your employment, at your service, sir!'<br/>

    'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.'<br/>

    And so, ere answer knows what question would,<br/>

    Saving in dialogue of compliment,<br/>

    And talking of the Alps and Apennines,<br/>

    The Pyrenean and the river Po-<br/>

    It draws toward supper in conclusion so.<br/>

    But this is worshipful society,<br/>

    And fits the mounting spirit like myself;<br/>

    For he is but a bastard to the time<br/>

    That doth not smack of observation-<br/>

    And so am I, whether I smack or no;<br/>

    And not alone in habit and device,<br/>

    Exterior form, outward accoutrement,<br/>

    But from the inward motion to deliver<br/>

    Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth;<br/>

    Which, though I will not practise to deceive,<br/>

    Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;<br/>

    For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.<br/>

    But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?<br/>

    What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband<br/>

    That will take pains to blow a horn before her?<br/>

</p>

<p>      Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY</p>

<p>    O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady!<br/>

    What brings you here to court so hastily?<br/>

  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother?<br/>

      Where is he<br/>

    That holds in chase mine honour up and down?<br/>

  BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son?<br/>

    Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?<br/>

    Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?<br/>

  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,<br/>

    Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?<br/>

    He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou.<br/>

  BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?<br/>

  GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.<br/>

  BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James,<br/>

    There's toys abroad-anon I'll tell thee more.<br/>

                                                          Exit GURNEY<br/>

    Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son;<br/>

    Sir Robert might have eat his part in me<br/>

    Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.<br/>

    Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess-<br/>

    Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:<br/>

    We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,<br/>

    To whom am I beholding for these limbs?<br/>

    Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.<br/>

  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,<br/>

    That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?<br/>

    What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?<br/>

  BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.<br/>

    What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.<br/>

    But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son:<br/>

    I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land;<br/>

    Legitimation, name, and all is gone.<br/>

    Then, good my mother, let me know my father-<br/>

    Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?<br/>

  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?<br/>

  BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil.<br/>

  LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.<br/>

    By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd<br/>

    To make room for him in my husband's bed.<br/>

    Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!<br/>

    Thou art the issue of my dear offence,<br/>

    Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence.<br/>

  BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again,<br/>

    Madam, I would not wish a better father.<br/>

    Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,<br/>

    And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly;<br/>

    Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,<br/>

    Subjected tribute to commanding love,<br/>

    Against whose fury and unmatched force<br/>

    The aweless lion could not wage the fight<br/>

    Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.<br/>

    He that perforce robs lions of their hearts<br/>

    May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,<br/>

    With all my heart I thank thee for my father!<br/>

    Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well<br/>

    When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.<br/>

    Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;<br/>

    And they shall say when Richard me begot,<br/>

    If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.<br/>

    Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.                 Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>ACT II. SCENE 1</h4>

<p>France. Before Angiers</p>

<p>Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF FRANCE,<br/>

LEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces<br/>

</p>

<p>  KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.<br/>

    Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,<br/>

    Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart<br/>

    And fought the holy wars in Palestine,<br/>

    By this brave duke came early to his grave;<br/>

    And for amends to his posterity,<br/>

    At our importance hither is he come<br/>

    To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;<br/>

    And to rebuke the usurpation<br/>

    Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.<br/>

    Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.<br/>

  ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death<br/>

    The rather that you give his offspring life,<br/>

    Shadowing their right under your wings of war.<br/>

    I give you welcome with a powerless hand,<br/>

    But with a heart full of unstained love;<br/>

    Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss<br/>

    As seal to this indenture of my love:<br/>

    That to my home I will no more return<br/>

    Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,<br/>

    Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,<br/>

    Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides<br/>

    And coops from other lands her islanders-<br/>

    Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,<br/>

    That water-walled bulwark, still secure<br/>

    And confident from foreign purposes-<br/>

    Even till that utmost corner of the west<br/>

    Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,<br/>

    Will I not think of home, but follow arms.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,<br/>

    Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength<br/>

    To make a more requital to your love!<br/>

  AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords<br/>

    In such a just and charitable war.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent<br/>

    Against the brows of this resisting town;<br/>

    Call for our chiefest men of discipline,<br/>

    To cull the plots of best advantages.<br/>

    We'll lay before this town our royal bones,<br/>

    Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,<br/>

    But we will make it subject to this boy.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy,<br/>

    Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood;<br/>

    My Lord Chatillon may from England bring<br/>

    That right in peace which here we urge in war,<br/>

    And then we shall repent each drop of blood<br/>

    That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.<br/>

</p>

<p>                  Enter CHATILLON</p>

<p>  KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,<br/>

    Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.<br/>

    What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;<br/>

    We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.<br/>

  CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege<br/>

    And stir them up against a mightier task.<br/>

    England, impatient of your just demands,<br/>

    Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,<br/>

    Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time<br/>

    To land his legions all as soon as I;<br/>

    His marches are expedient to this town,<br/>

    His forces strong, his soldiers confident.<br/>

    With him along is come the mother-queen,<br/>

    An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;<br/>

    With her the Lady Blanch of Spain;<br/>

    With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd;<br/>

    And all th' unsettled humours of the land-<br/>

    Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,<br/>

    With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens-<br/>

    Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,<br/>

    Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,<br/>

    To make a hazard of new fortunes here.<br/>

    In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits<br/>

    Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er<br/>

    Did never float upon the swelling tide<br/>

    To do offence and scathe in Christendom.             [Drum beats]<br/>

    The interruption of their churlish drums<br/>

    Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;<br/>

    To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd for is this expedition!<br/>

  AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much<br/>

    We must awake endeavour for defence,<br/>

    For courage mounteth with occasion.<br/>

    Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd.<br/>

</p>

<p>       Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,<br/>

                 PEMBROKE, and others<br/>

</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit<br/>

    Our just and lineal entrance to our own!<br/>

    If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,<br/>

    Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct<br/>

    Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return<br/>

    From France to England, there to live in peace!<br/>

    England we love, and for that England's sake<br/>

    With burden of our armour here we sweat.<br/>

    This toil of ours should be a work of thine;<br/>

    But thou from loving England art so far<br/>

    That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,<br/>

    Cut off the sequence of posterity,<br/>

    Outfaced infant state, and done a rape<br/>

    Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.<br/>

    Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face:<br/>

    These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;<br/>

    This little abstract doth contain that large<br/>

    Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time<br/>

    Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.<br/>

    That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,<br/>

    And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,<br/>

    And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God,<br/>

    How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,<br/>

    When living blood doth in these temples beat<br/>

    Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?<br/>

  KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France,<br/>

    To draw my answer from thy articles?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts<br/>

    In any breast of strong authority<br/>

    To look into the blots and stains of right.<br/>

    That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,<br/>

    Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,<br/>

    And by whose help I mean to chastise it.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down.<br/>

  ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son.<br/>

  ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,<br/>

    That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!<br/>

  CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true<br/>

    As thine was to thy husband; and this boy<br/>

    Liker in feature to his father Geffrey<br/>

    Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke<br/>

    As rain to water, or devil to his dam.<br/>

    My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think<br/>

    His father never was so true begot;<br/>

    It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.<br/>

  ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Peace!<br/>

  BASTARD. Hear the crier.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?<br/>

  BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,<br/>

    An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.<br/>

    You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,<br/>

    Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;<br/>

    I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;<br/>

    Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.<br/>

  BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion's robe<br/>

    That did disrobe the lion of that robe!<br/>

  BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him<br/>

    As great Alcides' shows upon an ass;<br/>

    But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back,<br/>

    Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears<br/>

    With this abundance of superfluous breath?<br/>

    King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference.<br/>

    King John, this is the very sum of all:<br/>

    England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,<br/>

    In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;<br/>

    Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?<br/>

  KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.<br/>

    Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,<br/>

    And out of my dear love I'll give thee more<br/>

    Than e'er the coward hand of France can win.<br/>

    Submit thee, boy.<br/>

  ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child;<br/>

    Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will<br/>

    Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.<br/>

    There's a good grandam!<br/>

  ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace!<br/>

    I would that I were low laid in my grave:<br/>

    I am not worth this coil that's made for me.<br/>

  ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe'er she does or no!<br/>

    His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,<br/>

    Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,<br/>

    Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;<br/>

    Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd<br/>

    To do him justice and revenge on you.<br/>

  ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth,<br/>

    Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp<br/>

    The dominations, royalties, and rights,<br/>

    Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son,<br/>

    Infortunate in nothing but in thee.<br/>

    Thy sins are visited in this poor child;<br/>

    The canon of the law is laid on him,<br/>

    Being but the second generation<br/>

    Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. I have but this to say-<br/>

    That he is not only plagued for her sin,<br/>

    But God hath made her sin and her the plague<br/>

    On this removed issue, plagued for her<br/>

    And with her plague; her sin his injury,<br/>

    Her injury the beadle to her sin;<br/>

    All punish'd in the person of this child,<br/>

    And all for her-a plague upon her!<br/>

  ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce<br/>

    A will that bars the title of thy son.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;<br/>

    A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.<br/>

    It ill beseems this presence to cry aim<br/>

    To these ill-tuned repetitions.<br/>

    Some trumpet summon hither to the walls<br/>

    These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak<br/>

    Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.<br/>

</p>

<p>      Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls</p>

<p>  CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. 'Tis France, for England.<br/>

  KING JOHN. England for itself.<br/>

    You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-<br/>

  KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,<br/>

    Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-<br/>

  KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first.<br/>

    These flags of France, that are advanced here<br/>

    Before the eye and prospect of your town,<br/>

    Have hither march'd to your endamagement;<br/>

    The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,<br/>

    And ready mounted are they to spit forth<br/>

    Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls;<br/>

    All preparation for a bloody siege<br/>

    And merciless proceeding by these French<br/>

    Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates;<br/>

    And but for our approach those sleeping stones<br/>

    That as a waist doth girdle you about<br/>

    By the compulsion of their ordinance<br/>

    By this time from their fixed beds of lime<br/>

    Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made<br/>

    For bloody power to rush upon your peace.<br/>

    But on the sight of us your lawful king,<br/>

    Who painfully with much expedient march<br/>

    Have brought a countercheck before your gates,<br/>

    To save unscratch'd your city's threat'ned cheeks-<br/>

    Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle;<br/>

    And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,<br/>

    To make a shaking fever in your walls,<br/>

    They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,<br/>

    To make a faithless error in your cars;<br/>

    Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,<br/>

    And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits,<br/>

    Forwearied in this action of swift speed,<br/>

    Craves harbourage within your city walls.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both.<br/>

    Lo, in this right hand, whose protection<br/>

    Is most divinely vow'd upon the right<br/>

    Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,<br/>

    Son to the elder brother of this man,<br/>

    And king o'er him and all that he enjoys;<br/>

    For this down-trodden equity we tread<br/>

    In warlike march these greens before your town,<br/>

    Being no further enemy to you<br/>

    Than the constraint of hospitable zeal<br/>

    In the relief of this oppressed child<br/>

    Religiously provokes. Be pleased then<br/>

    To pay that duty which you truly owe<br/>

    To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;<br/>

    And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,<br/>

    Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;<br/>

    Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent<br/>

    Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven;<br/>

    And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,<br/>

    With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd,<br/>

    We will bear home that lusty blood again<br/>

    Which here we came to spout against your town,<br/>

    And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.<br/>

    But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,<br/>

    'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls<br/>

    Can hide you from our messengers of war,<br/>

    Though all these English and their discipline<br/>

    Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.<br/>

    Then tell us, shall your city call us lord<br/>

    In that behalf which we have challeng'd it;<br/>

    Or shall we give the signal to our rage,<br/>

    And stalk in blood to our possession?<br/>

  CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects;<br/>

    For him, and in his right, we hold this town.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.<br/>

  CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King,<br/>

    To him will we prove loyal. Till that time<br/>

    Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King?<br/>

    And if not that, I bring you witnesses:<br/>

    Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed-<br/>

  BASTARD. Bastards and else.<br/>

  KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those-<br/>

  BASTARD. Some bastards too.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.<br/>

  CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,<br/>

    We for the worthiest hold the right from both.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls<br/>

    That to their everlasting residence,<br/>

    Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet<br/>

    In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!<br/>

  BASTARD. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since<br/>

    Sits on's horse back at mine hostess' door,<br/>

    Teach us some fence!  [To AUSTRIA]  Sirrah, were I at home,<br/>

    At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,<br/>

    I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,<br/>

    And make a monster of you.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Peace! no more.<br/>

  BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar!<br/>

  KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth<br/>

    In best appointment all our regiments.<br/>

  BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill<br/>

    Command the rest to stand. God and our right!              Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<p>    Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE,<br/>

              with trumpets, to the gates<br/>

</p>

<p>  FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates<br/>

    And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,<br/>

    Who by the hand of France this day hath made<br/>

    Much work for tears in many an English mother,<br/>

    Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;<br/>

    Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,<br/>

    Coldly embracing the discoloured earth;<br/>

    And victory with little loss doth play<br/>

    Upon the dancing banners of the French,<br/>

    Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,<br/>

    To enter conquerors, and to proclaim<br/>

    Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours.<br/>

</p>

<p>         Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet</p>

<p>  ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:<br/>

    King John, your king and England's, doth approach,<br/>

    Commander of this hot malicious day.<br/>

    Their armours that march'd hence so silver-bright<br/>

    Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood.<br/>

    There stuck no plume in any English crest<br/>

    That is removed by a staff of France;<br/>

    Our colours do return in those same hands<br/>

    That did display them when we first march'd forth;<br/>

    And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come<br/>

    Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,<br/>

    Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes.<br/>

    Open your gates and give the victors way.<br/>

  CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold<br/>

    From first to last the onset and retire<br/>

    Of both your armies, whose equality<br/>

    By our best eyes cannot be censured.<br/>

    Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows;<br/>

    Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power;<br/>

    Both are alike, and both alike we like.<br/>

    One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,<br/>

    We hold our town for neither, yet for both.<br/>

</p>

<p>    Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?<br/>

    Say, shall the current of our right run on?<br/>

    Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,<br/>

    Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell<br/>

    With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,<br/>

    Unless thou let his silver water keep<br/>

    A peaceful progress to the ocean.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood<br/>

    In this hot trial more than we of France;<br/>

    Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,<br/>

    That sways the earth this climate overlooks,<br/>

    Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,<br/>

    We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,<br/>

    Or add a royal number to the dead,<br/>

    Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss<br/>

    With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.<br/>

  BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs<br/>

    When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!<br/>

    O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;<br/>

    The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;<br/>

    And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,<br/>

    In undetermin'd differences of kings.<br/>

    Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?<br/>

    Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,<br/>

    You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!<br/>

    Then let confusion of one part confirm<br/>

    The other's peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!<br/>

  KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?<br/>

  CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right.<br/>

  KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy<br/>

    And bear possession of our person here,<br/>

    Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.<br/>

  CITIZEN. A greater pow'r than we denies all this;<br/>

    And till it be undoubted, we do lock<br/>

    Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;<br/>

    King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,<br/>

    Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.<br/>

  BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,<br/>

    And stand securely on their battlements<br/>

    As in a theatre, whence they gape and point<br/>

    At your industrious scenes and acts of death.<br/>

    Your royal presences be rul'd by me:<br/>

    Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,<br/>

    Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend<br/>

    Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.<br/>

    By east and west let France and England mount<br/>

    Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,<br/>

    Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down<br/>

    The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.<br/>

    I'd play incessantly upon these jades,<br/>

    Even till unfenced desolation<br/>

    Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.<br/>

    That done, dissever your united strengths<br/>

    And part your mingled colours once again,<br/>

    Turn face to face and bloody point to point;<br/>

    Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth<br/>

    Out of one side her happy minion,<br/>

    To whom in favour she shall give the day,<br/>

    And kiss him with a glorious victory.<br/>

    How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?<br/>

    Smacks it not something of the policy?<br/>

  KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,<br/>

    I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs<br/>

    And lay this Angiers even with the ground;<br/>

    Then after fight who shall be king of it?<br/>

  BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,<br/>

    Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town,<br/>

    Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,<br/>

    As we will ours, against these saucy walls;<br/>

    And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,<br/>

    Why then defy each other, and pell-mell<br/>

    Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?<br/>

  KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction<br/>

    Into this city's bosom.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. I from the north.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south<br/>

    Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.<br/>

  BASTARD.  [Aside]  O prudent discipline! From north to south,<br/>

    Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.<br/>

    I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!<br/>

  CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,<br/>

    And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league;<br/>

    Win you this city without stroke or wound;<br/>

    Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds<br/>

    That here come sacrifices for the field.<br/>

    Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.<br/>

  CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,<br/>

    Is niece to England; look upon the years<br/>

    Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.<br/>

    If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,<br/>

    Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?<br/>

    If zealous love should go in search of virtue,<br/>

    Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?<br/>

    If love ambitious sought a match of birth,<br/>

    Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?<br/>

    Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,<br/>

    Is the young Dauphin every way complete-<br/>

    If not complete of, say he is not she;<br/>

    And she again wants nothing, to name want,<br/>

    If want it be not that she is not he.<br/>

    He is the half part of a blessed man,<br/>

    Left to be finished by such as she;<br/>

    And she a fair divided excellence,<br/>

    Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.<br/>

    O, two such silver currents, when they join,<br/>

    Do glorify the banks that bound them in;<br/>

    And two such shores to two such streams made one,<br/>

    Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings,<br/>

    To these two princes, if you marry them.<br/>

    This union shall do more than battery can<br/>

    To our fast-closed gates; for at this match<br/>

    With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,<br/>

    The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope<br/>

    And give you entrance; but without this match,<br/>

    The sea enraged is not half so deaf,<br/>

    Lions more confident, mountains and rocks<br/>

    More free from motion-no, not Death himself<br/>

    In mortal fury half so peremptory<br/>

    As we to keep this city.<br/>

  BASTARD. Here's a stay<br/>

    That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death<br/>

    Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,<br/>

    That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;<br/>

    Talks as familiarly of roaring lions<br/>

    As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!<br/>

    What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?<br/>

    He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce;<br/>

    He gives the bastinado with his tongue;<br/>

    Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his<br/>

    But buffets better than a fist of France.<br/>

    Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words<br/>

    Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.<br/>

  ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;<br/>

    Give with our niece a dowry large enough;<br/>

    For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie<br/>

    Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown<br/>

    That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe<br/>

    The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.<br/>

    I see a yielding in the looks of France;<br/>

    Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls<br/>

    Are capable of this ambition,<br/>

    Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath<br/>

    Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,<br/>

    Cool and congeal again to what it was.<br/>

  CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties<br/>

    This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first<br/>

    To speak unto this city: what say you?<br/>

  KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,<br/>

    Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'<br/>

    Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;<br/>

    For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,<br/>

    And all that we upon this side the sea-<br/>

    Except this city now by us besieg'd-<br/>

    Find liable to our crown and dignity,<br/>

    Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich<br/>

    In titles, honours, and promotions,<br/>

    As she in beauty, education, blood,<br/>

    Holds hand with any princess of the world.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face.<br/>

  LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find<br/>

    A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,<br/>

    The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;<br/>

    Which, being but the shadow of your son,<br/>

    Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.<br/>

    I do protest I never lov'd myself<br/>

    Till now infixed I beheld myself<br/>

    Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.<br/>

                                               [Whispers with BLANCH]<br/>

  BASTARD.  [Aside]  Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,<br/>

    Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,<br/>

    And quarter'd in her heart-he doth espy<br/>

    Himself love's traitor. This is pity now,<br/>

    That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be<br/>

    In such a love so vile a lout as he.<br/>

  BLANCH. My uncle's will in this respect is mine.<br/>

    If he see aught in you that makes him like,<br/>

    That anything he sees which moves his liking<br/>

    I can with ease translate it to my will;<br/>

    Or if you will, to speak more properly,<br/>

    I will enforce it eas'ly to my love.<br/>

    Further I will not flatter you, my lord,<br/>

    That all I see in you is worthy love,<br/>

    Than this: that nothing do I see in you-<br/>

    Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge-<br/>

    That I can find should merit any hate.<br/>

  KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?<br/>

  BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do<br/>

    What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?<br/>

  LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;<br/>

    For I do love her most unfeignedly.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,<br/>

    Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,<br/>

    With her to thee; and this addition more,<br/>

    Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.<br/>

    Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,<br/>

    Command thy son and daughter to join hands.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd<br/>

    That I did so when I was first assur'd.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,<br/>

    Let in that amity which you have made;<br/>

    For at Saint Mary's chapel presently<br/>

    The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.<br/>

    Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?<br/>

    I know she is not; for this match made up<br/>

    Her presence would have interrupted much.<br/>

    Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.<br/>

  LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made<br/>

    Will give her sadness very little cure.<br/>

    Brother of England, how may we content<br/>

    This widow lady? In her right we came;<br/>

    Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,<br/>

    To our own vantage.<br/>

  KING JOHN. We will heal up all,<br/>

    For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,<br/>

    And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town<br/>

    We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;<br/>

    Some speedy messenger bid her repair<br/>

    To our solemnity. I trust we shall,<br/>

    If not fill up the measure of her will,<br/>

    Yet in some measure satisfy her so<br/>

    That we shall stop her exclamation.<br/>

    Go we as well as haste will suffer us<br/>

    To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.<br/>

                                           Exeunt all but the BASTARD<br/>

  BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!<br/>

    John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,<br/>

    Hath willingly departed with a part;<br/>

    And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,<br/>

    Whom zeal and charity brought to the field<br/>

    As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear<br/>

    With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,<br/>

    That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,<br/>

    That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,<br/>

    Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,<br/>

    Who having no external thing to lose<br/>

    But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that;<br/>

    That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,<br/>

    Commodity, the bias of the world-<br/>

    The world, who of itself is peised well,<br/>

    Made to run even upon even ground,<br/>

    Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,<br/>

    This sway of motion, this commodity,<br/>

    Makes it take head from all indifferency,<br/>

    From all direction, purpose, course, intent-<br/>

    And this same bias, this commodity,<br/>

    This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,<br/>

    Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,<br/>

    Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,<br/>

    From a resolv'd and honourable war,<br/>

    To a most base and vile-concluded peace.<br/>

    And why rail I on this commodity?<br/>

    But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;<br/>

    Not that I have the power to clutch my hand<br/>

    When his fair angels would salute my palm,<br/>

    But for my hand, as unattempted yet,<br/>

    Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.<br/>

    Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail<br/>

    And say there is no sin but to be rich;<br/>

    And being rich, my virtue then shall be<br/>

    To say there is no vice but beggary.<br/>

    Since kings break faith upon commodity,<br/>

    Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.                   Exit<br/>

</p>

<h4>ACT III. SCENE 1.</h4>

<p>France. The FRENCH KING'S camp</p>

<p>Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY</p>

<p>  CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!<br/>

    False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!<br/>

    Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?<br/>

    It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;<br/>

    Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.<br/>

    It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;<br/>

    I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word<br/>

    Is but the vain breath of a common man:<br/>

    Believe me I do not believe thee, man;<br/>

    I have a king's oath to the contrary.<br/>

    Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,<br/>

    For I am sick and capable of fears,<br/>

    Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;<br/>

    A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;<br/>

    A woman, naturally born to fears;<br/>

    And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,<br/>

    With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,<br/>

    But they will quake and tremble all this day.<br/>

    What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?<br/>

    Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?<br/>

    What means that hand upon that breast of thine?<br/>

    Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,<br/>

    Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?<br/>

    Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?<br/>

    Then speak again-not all thy former tale,<br/>

    But this one word, whether thy tale be true.<br/>

  SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false<br/>

    That give you cause to prove my saying true.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,<br/>

    Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;<br/>

    And let belief and life encounter so<br/>

    As doth the fury of two desperate men<br/>

    Which in the very meeting fall and die!<br/>

    Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?<br/>

    France friend with England; what becomes of me?<br/>

    Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;<br/>

    This news hath made thee a most ugly man.<br/>

  SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done<br/>

    But spoke the harm that is by others done?<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is<br/>

    As it makes harmful all that speak of it.<br/>

  ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,<br/>

    Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,<br/>

    Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,<br/>

    Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,<br/>

    Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,<br/>

    I would not care, I then would be content;<br/>

    For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou<br/>

    Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.<br/>

    But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,<br/>

    Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:<br/>

    Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,<br/>

    And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!<br/>

    She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;<br/>

    Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,<br/>

    And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France<br/>

    To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,<br/>

    And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.<br/>

    France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-<br/>

    That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!<br/>

    Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?<br/>

    Envenom him with words, or get thee gone<br/>

    And leave those woes alone which I alone<br/>

    Am bound to under-bear.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam,<br/>

    I may not go without you to the kings.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;<br/>

    I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,<br/>

    For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.<br/>

    To me, and to the state of my great grief,<br/>

    Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great<br/>

    That no supporter but the huge firm earth<br/>

    Can hold it up.                     [Seats herself on the ground]<br/>

    Here I and sorrows sit;<br/>

    Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.<br/>

</p>

<p>       Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,<br/>

       ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants<br/>

</p>

<p>  KING PHILIP. 'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day<br/>

    Ever in France shall be kept festival.<br/>

    To solemnize this day the glorious sun<br/>

    Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,<br/>

    Turning with splendour of his precious eye<br/>

    The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.<br/>

    The yearly course that brings this day about<br/>

    Shall never see it but a holiday.<br/>

  CONSTANCE.  [Rising]  A wicked day, and not a holy day!<br/>

    What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done<br/>

    That it in golden letters should be set<br/>

    Among the high tides in the calendar?<br/>

    Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,<br/>

    This day of shame, oppression, perjury;<br/>

    Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child<br/>

    Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,<br/>

    Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd;<br/>

    But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;<br/>

    No bargains break that are not this day made;<br/>

    This day, all things begun come to ill end,<br/>

    Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause<br/>

    To curse the fair proceedings of this day.<br/>

    Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?<br/>

  CONSTANCE. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit<br/>

    Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,<br/>

    Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;<br/>

    You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,<br/>

    But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.<br/>

    The grappling vigour and rough frown of war<br/>

    Is cold in amity and painted peace,<br/>

    And our oppression hath made up this league.<br/>

    Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings!<br/>

    A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens!<br/>

    Let not the hours of this ungodly day<br/>

    Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,<br/>

    Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!<br/>

    Hear me, O, hear me!<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace!<br/>

  CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war.<br/>

    O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame<br/>

    That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!<br/>

    Thou little valiant, great in villainy!<br/>

    Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!<br/>

    Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight<br/>

    But when her humorous ladyship is by<br/>

    To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur'd too,<br/>

    And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,<br/>

    A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear<br/>

    Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,<br/>

    Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,<br/>

    Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend<br/>

    Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength,<br/>

    And dost thou now fall over to my foes?<br/>

    Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame,<br/>

    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me!<br/>

  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.<br/>

  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.<br/>

  KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.<br/>

</p>

<p>                  Enter PANDULPH</p>

<p>  KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!<br/>

    To thee, King John, my holy errand is.<br/>

    I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,<br/>

    And from Pope Innocent the legate here,<br/>

    Do in his name religiously demand<br/>

    Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,<br/>

    So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce<br/>

    Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop<br/>

    Of Canterbury, from that holy see?<br/>

    This, in our foresaid holy father's name,<br/>

    Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.<br/>

  KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories<br/>

    Can task the free breath of a sacred king?<br/>

    Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name<br/>

    So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,<br/>

    To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.<br/>

    Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England<br/>

    Add thus much more, that no Italian priest<br/>

    Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;<br/>

    But as we under heaven are supreme head,<br/>

    So, under Him that great supremacy,<br/>

    Where we do reign we will alone uphold,<br/>

    Without th' assistance of a mortal hand.<br/>

    So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart<br/>

    To him and his usurp'd authority.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom<br/>

    Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,<br/>

    Dreading the curse that money may buy out,<br/>

    And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,<br/>

    Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,<br/>

    Who in that sale sells pardon from himself-<br/>

    Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,<br/>

    This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;<br/>

    Yet I alone, alone do me oppose<br/>

    Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have<br/>

    Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate;<br/>

    And blessed shall he be that doth revolt<br/>

    From his allegiance to an heretic;<br/>

    And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,<br/>

    Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,<br/>

    That takes away by any secret course<br/>

    Thy hateful life.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be<br/>

    That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!<br/>

    Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen'<br/>

    To my keen curses; for without my wrong<br/>

    There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.<br/>

  PANDULPH. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right,<br/>

    Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong;<br/>

    Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,<br/>

    For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;<br/>

    Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,<br/>

    How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?<br/>

  PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,<br/>

    Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,<br/>

    And raise the power of France upon his head,<br/>

    Unless he do submit himself to Rome.<br/>

  ELINOR. Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent<br/>

    And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.<br/>

  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,<br/>

    Because-<br/>

  BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal?<br/>

  CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal?<br/>

  LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference<br/>

    Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome<br/>

    Or the light loss of England for a friend.<br/>

    Forgo the easier.<br/>

  BLANCH. That's the curse of Rome.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here<br/>

    In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.<br/>

  BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,<br/>

    But from her need.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need,<br/>

    Which only lives but by the death of faith,<br/>

    That need must needs infer this principle-<br/>

    That faith would live again by death of need.<br/>

    O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up:<br/>

    Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!<br/>

  KING JOHN. The King is mov'd, and answers not to this.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O be remov'd from him, and answer well!<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.<br/>

  BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. I am perplex'd and know not what to say.<br/>

  PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,<br/>

    If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours,<br/>

    And tell me how you would bestow yourself.<br/>

    This royal hand and mine are newly knit,<br/>

    And the conjunction of our inward souls<br/>

    Married in league, coupled and link'd together<br/>

    With all religious strength of sacred vows;<br/>

    The latest breath that gave the sound of words<br/>

    Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,<br/>

    Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;<br/>

    And even before this truce, but new before,<br/>

    No longer than we well could wash our hands,<br/>

    To clap this royal bargain up of peace,<br/>

    Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd<br/>

    With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint<br/>

    The fearful difference of incensed kings.<br/>

    And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,<br/>

    So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,<br/>

    Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?<br/>

    Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,<br/>

    Make such unconstant children of ourselves,<br/>

    As now again to snatch our palm from palm,<br/>

    Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed<br/>

    Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,<br/>

    And make a riot on the gentle brow<br/>

    Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,<br/>

    My reverend father, let it not be so!<br/>

    Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose,<br/>

    Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest<br/>

    To do your pleasure, and continue friends.<br/>

  PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless,<br/>

    Save what is opposite to England's love.<br/>

    Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church,<br/>

    Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse-<br/>

    A mother's curse-on her revolting son.<br/>

    France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,<br/>

    A chafed lion by the mortal paw,<br/>

    A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,<br/>

    Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.<br/>

  PANDULPH. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;<br/>

    And like. a civil war set'st oath to oath.<br/>

    Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow<br/>

    First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,<br/>

    That is, to be the champion of our Church.<br/>

    What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself<br/>

    And may not be performed by thyself,<br/>

    For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss<br/>

    Is not amiss when it is truly done;<br/>

    And being not done, where doing tends to ill,<br/>

    The truth is then most done not doing it;<br/>

    The better act of purposes mistook<br/>

    Is to mistake again; though indirect,<br/>

    Yet indirection thereby grows direct,<br/>

    And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire<br/>

    Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.<br/>

    It is religion that doth make vows kept;<br/>

    But thou hast sworn against religion<br/>

    By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,<br/>

    And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth<br/>

    Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure<br/>

    To swear swears only not to be forsworn;<br/>

    Else what a mockery should it be to swear!<br/>

    But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;<br/>

    And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.<br/>

    Therefore thy later vows against thy first<br/>

    Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;<br/>

    And better conquest never canst thou make<br/>

    Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts<br/>

    Against these giddy loose suggestions;<br/>

    Upon which better part our pray'rs come in,<br/>

    If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know<br/>

    The peril of our curses fight on thee<br/>

    So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,<br/>

    But in despair die under the black weight.<br/>

  AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion!<br/>

  BASTARD. Will't not be?<br/>

    Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?<br/>

  LEWIS. Father, to arms!<br/>

  BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day?<br/>

    Against the blood that thou hast married?<br/>

    What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?<br/>

    Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,<br/>

    Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?<br/>

    O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new<br/>

    Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name,<br/>

    Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,<br/>

    Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms<br/>

    Against mine uncle.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee,<br/>

    Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,<br/>

    Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom<br/>

    Forethought by heaven!<br/>

  BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may<br/>

    Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?<br/>

  CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,<br/>

    His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!<br/>

  LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold,<br/>

    When such profound respects do pull you on.<br/>

  PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish'd majesty!<br/>

  ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!<br/>

  KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.<br/>

  BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,<br/>

    Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue.<br/>

  BLANCH. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu!<br/>

    Which is the side that I must go withal?<br/>

    I am with both: each army hath a hand;<br/>

    And in their rage, I having hold of both,<br/>

    They whirl asunder and dismember me.<br/>

    Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;<br/>

    Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;<br/>

    Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;<br/>

    Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive.<br/>

    Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose:<br/>

    Assured loss before the match be play'd.<br/>

  LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.<br/>

  BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.<br/>

                                                         Exit BASTARD<br/>

    France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath,<br/>

    A rage whose heat hath this condition<br/>

    That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,<br/>

    The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn<br/>

    To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.<br/>

    Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.<br/>

  KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!<br/>

                                                     Exeunt severally<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 2.</h4>

<p>France. Plains near Angiers</p>

<p>Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA'S head</p>

<p>  BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;<br/>

    Some airy devil hovers in the sky<br/>

    And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,<br/>

    While Philip breathes.<br/>

</p>

<p>          Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:<br/>

    My mother is assailed in our tent,<br/>

    And ta'en, I fear.<br/>

  BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her;<br/>

    Her Highness is in safety, fear you not;<br/>

    But on, my liege, for very little pains<br/>

    Will bring this labour to an happy end.                    Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 3.</h4>

<p>France. Plains near Angiers</p>

<p>Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR,

the BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS</p>

<p>  KING JOHN.  [To ELINOR]  So shall it be; your Grace shall stay<br/>

      behind,<br/>

    So strongly guarded.  [To ARTHUR]  Cousin, look not sad;<br/>

    Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will<br/>

    As dear be to thee as thy father was.<br/>

  ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief!<br/>

  KING JOHN.  [To the BASTARD]  Cousin, away for England! haste<br/>

      before,<br/>

    And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags<br/>

    Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels<br/>

    Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace<br/>

    Must by the hungry now be fed upon.<br/>

    Use our commission in his utmost force.<br/>

  BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,<br/>

    When gold and silver becks me to come on.<br/>

    I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray,<br/>

    If ever I remember to be holy,<br/>

    For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand.<br/>

  ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Coz, farewell.<br/>

                                                         Exit BASTARD<br/>

  ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,<br/>

    We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh<br/>

    There is a soul counts thee her creditor,<br/>

    And with advantage means to pay thy love;<br/>

    And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath<br/>

    Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.<br/>

    Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say-<br/>

    But I will fit it with some better time.<br/>

    By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd<br/>

    To say what good respect I have of thee.<br/>

  HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,<br/>

    But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,<br/>

    Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.<br/>

    I had a thing to say-but let it go:<br/>

    The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,<br/>

    Attended with the pleasures of the world,<br/>

    Is all too wanton and too full of gawds<br/>

    To give me audience. If the midnight bell<br/>

    Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth<br/>

    Sound on into the drowsy race of night;<br/>

    If this same were a churchyard where we stand,<br/>

    And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;<br/>

    Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,<br/>

    Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,<br/>

    Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,<br/>

    Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes<br/>

    And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,<br/>

    A passion hateful to my purposes;<br/>

    Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,<br/>

    Hear me without thine cars, and make reply<br/>

    Without a tongue, using conceit alone,<br/>

    Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words-<br/>

    Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,<br/>

    I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.<br/>

    But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well;<br/>

    And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.<br/>

  HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake,<br/>

    Though that my death were adjunct to my act,<br/>

    By heaven, I would do it.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst?<br/>

    Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye<br/>

    On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend,<br/>

    He is a very serpent in my way;<br/>

    And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,<br/>

    He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?<br/>

    Thou art his keeper.<br/>

  HUBERT. And I'll keep him so<br/>

    That he shall not offend your Majesty.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Death.<br/>

  HUBERT. My lord?<br/>

  KING JOHN. A grave.<br/>

  HUBERT. He shall not live.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Enough!<br/>

    I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.<br/>

    Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee.<br/>

    Remember. Madam, fare you well;<br/>

    I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty.<br/>

  ELINOR. My blessing go with thee!<br/>

  KING JOHN.  [To ARTHUR]  For England, cousin, go;<br/>

    Hubert shall be your man, attend on you<br/>

    With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!                  Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 4.</h4>

<p>France. The FRENCH KING's camp</p>

<p>Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants</p>

<p>  KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood<br/>

    A whole armado of convicted sail<br/>

    Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill.<br/>

    Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?<br/>

    Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?<br/>

    And bloody England into England gone,<br/>

    O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?<br/>

  LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified;<br/>

    So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,<br/>

    Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,<br/>

    Doth want example; who hath read or heard<br/>

    Of any kindred action like to this?<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise,<br/>

    So we could find some pattern of our shame.<br/>

</p>

<p>                   Enter CONSTANCE</p>

<p>    Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;<br/>

    Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will,<br/>

    In the vile prison of afflicted breath.<br/>

    I prithee, lady, go away with me.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!<br/>

  CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,<br/>

    But that which ends all counsel, true redress-<br/>

    Death, death; O amiable lovely death!<br/>

    Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!<br/>

    Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,<br/>

    Thou hate and terror to prosperity,<br/>

    And I will kiss thy detestable bones,<br/>

    And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows,<br/>

    And ring these fingers with thy household worms,<br/>

    And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,<br/>

    And be a carrion monster like thyself.<br/>

    Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,<br/>

    And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,<br/>

    O, come to me!<br/>

  KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace!<br/>

  CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.<br/>

    O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!<br/>

    Then with a passion would I shake the world,<br/>

    And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy<br/>

    Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,<br/>

    Which scorns a modern invocation.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so.<br/>

    I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;<br/>

    My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;<br/>

    Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.<br/>

    I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!<br/>

    For then 'tis like I should forget myself.<br/>

    O, if I could, what grief should I forget!<br/>

    Preach some philosophy to make me mad,<br/>

    And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;<br/>

    For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,<br/>

    My reasonable part produces reason<br/>

    How I may be deliver'd of these woes,<br/>

    And teaches me to kill or hang myself.<br/>

    If I were mad I should forget my son,<br/>

    Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.<br/>

    I am not mad; too well, too well I feel<br/>

    The different plague of each calamity.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note<br/>

    In the fair multitude of those her hairs!<br/>

    Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall'n,<br/>

    Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends<br/>

    Do glue themselves in sociable grief,<br/>

    Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,<br/>

    Sticking together in calamity.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. To England, if you will.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?<br/>

    I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud<br/>

    'O that these hands could so redeem my son,<br/>

    As they have given these hairs their liberty!'<br/>

    But now I envy at their liberty,<br/>

    And will again commit them to their bonds,<br/>

    Because my poor child is a prisoner.<br/>

    And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say<br/>

    That we shall see and know our friends in heaven;<br/>

    If that be true, I shall see my boy again;<br/>

    For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,<br/>

    To him that did but yesterday suspire,<br/>

    There was not such a gracious creature born.<br/>

    But now will canker sorrow eat my bud<br/>

    And chase the native beauty from his cheek,<br/>

    And he will look as hollow as a ghost,<br/>

    As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;<br/>

    And so he'll die; and, rising so again,<br/>

    When I shall meet him in the court of heaven<br/>

    I shall not know him. Therefore never, never<br/>

    Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.<br/>

  PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son.<br/>

  KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child.<br/>

  CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,<br/>

    Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,<br/>

    Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,<br/>

    Remembers me of all his gracious parts,<br/>

    Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;<br/>

    Then have I reason to be fond of grief.<br/>

    Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,<br/>

    I could give better comfort than you do.<br/>

    I will not keep this form upon my head,<br/>

                                                   [Tearing her hair]<br/>

    When there is such disorder in my wit.<br/>

    O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!<br/>

    My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!<br/>

    My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!                      Exit<br/>

  KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.         Exit<br/>

  LEWIS. There's nothing in this world can make me joy.<br/>

    Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale<br/>

    Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;<br/>

    And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,<br/>

    That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease,<br/>

    Even in the instant of repair and health,<br/>

    The fit is strongest; evils that take leave<br/>

    On their departure most of all show evil;<br/>

    What have you lost by losing of this day?<br/>

  LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.<br/>

  PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had.<br/>

    No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,<br/>

    She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.<br/>

    'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost<br/>

    In this which he accounts so clearly won.<br/>

    Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?<br/>

  LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.<br/>

    Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;<br/>

    For even the breath of what I mean to speak<br/>

    Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,<br/>

    Out of the path which shall directly lead<br/>

    Thy foot to England's throne. And therefore mark:<br/>

    John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be<br/>

    That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,<br/>

    The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,<br/>

    One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.<br/>

    A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand<br/>

    Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd,<br/>

    And he that stands upon a slipp'ry place<br/>

    Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up;<br/>

    That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall;<br/>

    So be it, for it cannot be but so.<br/>

  LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?<br/>

  PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,<br/>

    May then make all the claim that Arthur did.<br/>

  LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.<br/>

  PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world!<br/>

    John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;<br/>

    For he that steeps his safety in true blood<br/>

    Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.<br/>

    This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts<br/>

    Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,<br/>

    That none so small advantage shall step forth<br/>

    To check his reign but they will cherish it;<br/>

    No natural exhalation in the sky,<br/>

    No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,<br/>

    No common wind, no customed event,<br/>

    But they will pluck away his natural cause<br/>

    And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,<br/>

    Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,<br/>

    Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.<br/>

  LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,<br/>

    But hold himself safe in his prisonment.<br/>

  PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach,<br/>

    If that young Arthur be not gone already,<br/>

    Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts<br/>

    Of all his people shall revolt from him,<br/>

    And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,<br/>

    And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath<br/>

    Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john.<br/>

    Methinks I see this hurly all on foot;<br/>

    And, O, what better matter breeds for you<br/>

    Than I have nam'd! The bastard Faulconbridge<br/>

    Is now in England ransacking the Church,<br/>

    Offending charity; if but a dozen French<br/>

    Were there in arms, they would be as a can<br/>

    To train ten thousand English to their side;<br/>

    Or as a little snow, tumbled about,<br/>

    Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,<br/>

    Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful<br/>

    What may be wrought out of their discontent,<br/>

    Now that their souls are topful of offence.<br/>

    For England go; I will whet on the King.<br/>

  LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go;<br/>

    If you say ay, the King will not say no.                   Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>ACT IV. SCENE 1.</h4>

<p>England. A castle</p>

<p>Enter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS</p>

<p>  HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand<br/>

    Within the arras. When I strike my foot<br/>

    Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth<br/>

    And bind the boy which you shall find with me<br/>

    Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch.<br/>

  EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.<br/>

  HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to't.<br/>

                                                  Exeunt EXECUTIONERS<br/>

    Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.<br/>

</p>

<p>                    Enter ARTHUR</p>

<p>  ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert.<br/>

  HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince.<br/>

  ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide<br/>

    To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.<br/>

  HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Mercy on me!<br/>

    Methinks no body should be sad but I;<br/>

    Yet, I remember, when I was in France,<br/>

    Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,<br/>

    Only for wantonness. By my christendom,<br/>

    So I were out of prison and kept sheep,<br/>

    I should be as merry as the day is long;<br/>

    And so I would be here but that I doubt<br/>

    My uncle practises more harm to me;<br/>

    He is afraid of me, and I of him.<br/>

    Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?<br/>

    No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven<br/>

    I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.<br/>

  HUBERT.  [Aside]  If I talk to him, with his innocent prate<br/>

    He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;<br/>

    Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;<br/>

    In sooth, I would you were a little sick,<br/>

    That I might sit all night and watch with you.<br/>

    I warrant I love you more than you do me.<br/>

  HUBERT.  [Aside]  His words do take possession of my bosom.-<br/>

    Read here, young Arthur.                        [Showing a paper]<br/>

      [Aside]  How now, foolish rheum!<br/>

    Turning dispiteous torture out of door!<br/>

    I must be brief, lest resolution drop<br/>

    Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-<br/>

    Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?<br/>

  ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.<br/>

    Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?<br/>

  HUBERT. Young boy, I must.<br/>

  ARTHUR. And will you?<br/>

  HUBERT. And I will.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,<br/>

    I knit my handkerchief about your brows-<br/>

    The best I had, a princess wrought it me-<br/>

    And I did never ask it you again;<br/>

    And with my hand at midnight held your head;<br/>

    And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,<br/>

    Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,<br/>

    Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'<br/>

    Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'<br/>

    Many a poor man's son would have lyen still,<br/>

    And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;<br/>

    But you at your sick service had a prince.<br/>

    Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,<br/>

    And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.<br/>

    If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,<br/>

    Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes,<br/>

    These eyes that never did nor never shall<br/>

    So much as frown on you?<br/>

  HUBERT. I have sworn to do it;<br/>

    And with hot irons must I burn them out.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!<br/>

    The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,<br/>

    Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,<br/>

    And quench his fiery indignation<br/>

    Even in the matter of mine innocence;<br/>

    Nay, after that, consume away in rust<br/>

    But for containing fire to harm mine eye.<br/>

    Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?<br/>

    An if an angel should have come to me<br/>

    And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,<br/>

    I would not have believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's.<br/>

  HUBERT.  [Stamps]  Come forth.<br/>

</p>

<p>     Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc.</p>

<p>    Do as I bid you do.<br/>

  ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out<br/>

    Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.<br/>

  HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?<br/>

    I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.<br/>

    For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!<br/>

    Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,<br/>

    And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;<br/>

    I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,<br/>

    Nor look upon the iron angrily;<br/>

    Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,<br/>

    Whatever torment you do put me to.<br/>

  HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.<br/>

  EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.<br/>

                                                  Exeunt EXECUTIONERS<br/>

  ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend!<br/>

    He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.<br/>

    Let him come back, that his compassion may<br/>

    Give life to yours.<br/>

  HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Is there no remedy?<br/>

  HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes.<br/>

  ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,<br/>

    A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,<br/>

    Any annoyance in that precious sense!<br/>

    Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,<br/>

    Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.<br/>

  HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.<br/>

  ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues<br/>

    Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.<br/>

    Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;<br/>

    Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,<br/>

    So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,<br/>

    Though to no use but still to look on you!<br/>

    Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold<br/>

    And would not harm me.<br/>

  HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.<br/>

  ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,<br/>

    Being create for comfort, to be us'd<br/>

    In undeserved extremes. See else yourself:<br/>

    There is no malice in this burning coal;<br/>

    The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,<br/>

    And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.<br/>

  HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.<br/>

  ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush<br/>

    And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.<br/>

    Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,<br/>

    And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,<br/>

    Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.<br/>

    All things that you should use to do me wrong<br/>

    Deny their office; only you do lack<br/>

    That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,<br/>

    Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.<br/>

  HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye<br/>

    For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.<br/>

    Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,<br/>

    With this same very iron to burn them out.<br/>

  ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while<br/>

    You were disguis'd.<br/>

  HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu.<br/>

    Your uncle must not know but you are dead:<br/>

    I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports;<br/>

    And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure<br/>

    That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,<br/>

    Will not offend thee.<br/>

  ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.<br/>

  HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.<br/>

    Much danger do I undergo for thee.                         Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 2.</h4>

<p>England. KING JOHN'S palace</p>

<p>Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,<br/>

    And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd,<br/>

    Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,<br/>

    And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,<br/>

    The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;<br/>

    Fresh expectation troubled not the land<br/>

    With any long'd-for change or better state.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,<br/>

    To guard a title that was rich before,<br/>

    To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,<br/>

    To throw a perfume on the violet,<br/>

    To smooth the ice, or add another hue<br/>

    Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light<br/>

    To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,<br/>

    Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done,<br/>

    This act is as an ancient tale new told<br/>

    And, in the last repeating, troublesome,<br/>

    Being urged at a time unseasonable.<br/>

  SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face<br/>

    Of plain old form is much disfigured;<br/>

    And like a shifted wind unto a sail<br/>

    It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,<br/>

    Startles and frights consideration,<br/>

    Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,<br/>

    For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well,<br/>

    They do confound their skill in covetousness;<br/>

    And oftentimes excusing of a fault<br/>

    Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse,<br/>

    As patches set upon a little breach<br/>

    Discredit more in hiding of the fault<br/>

    Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.<br/>

  SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,<br/>

    We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness<br/>

    To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd,<br/>

    Since all and every part of what we would<br/>

    Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation<br/>

    I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;<br/>

    And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,<br/>

    I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask<br/>

    What you would have reform'd that is not well,<br/>

    And well shall you perceive how willingly<br/>

    I will both hear and grant you your requests.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,<br/>

    To sound the purposes of all their hearts,<br/>

    Both for myself and them- but, chief of all,<br/>

    Your safety, for the which myself and them<br/>

    Bend their best studies, heartily request<br/>

    Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint<br/>

    Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent<br/>

    To break into this dangerous argument:<br/>

    If what in rest you have in right you hold,<br/>

    Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend<br/>

    The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up<br/>

    Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days<br/>

    With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth<br/>

    The rich advantage of good exercise?<br/>

    That the time's enemies may not have this<br/>

    To grace occasions, let it be our suit<br/>

    That you have bid us ask his liberty;<br/>

    Which for our goods we do no further ask<br/>

    Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,<br/>

    Counts it your weal he have his liberty.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth<br/>

    To your direction.<br/>

</p>

<p>                     Enter HUBERT</p>

<p>    [Aside]  Hubert, what news with you?<br/>

  PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed:<br/>

    He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine;<br/>

    The image of a wicked heinous fault<br/>

    Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his<br/>

    Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,<br/>

    And I do fearfully believe 'tis done<br/>

    What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.<br/>

  SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go<br/>

    Between his purpose and his conscience,<br/>

    Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.<br/>

    His passion is so ripe it needs must break.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence<br/>

    The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.<br/>

  KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.<br/>

    Good lords, although my will to give is living,<br/>

    The suit which you demand is gone and dead:<br/>

    He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,<br/>

    Before the child himself felt he was sick.<br/>

    This must be answer'd either here or hence.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?<br/>

    Think you I bear the shears of destiny?<br/>

    Have I commandment on the pulse of life?<br/>

  SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame<br/>

    That greatness should so grossly offer it.<br/>

    So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee<br/>

    And find th' inheritance of this poor child,<br/>

    His little kingdom of a forced grave.<br/>

    That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle<br/>

    Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while!<br/>

    This must not be thus borne: this will break out<br/>

    To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.            Exeunt LORDS<br/>

  KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent.<br/>

    There is no sure foundation set on blood,<br/>

    No certain life achiev'd by others' death.<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter a MESSENGER</p>

<p>    A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood<br/>

    That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?<br/>

    So foul a sky clears not without a storm.<br/>

    Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France?<br/>

  MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow'r<br/>

    For any foreign preparation<br/>

    Was levied in the body of a land.<br/>

    The copy of your speed is learn'd by them,<br/>

    For when you should be told they do prepare,<br/>

    The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.<br/>

  KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?<br/>

    Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,<br/>

    That such an army could be drawn in France,<br/>

    And she not hear of it?<br/>

  MESSENGER. My liege, her ear<br/>

    Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April died<br/>

    Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,<br/>

    The Lady Constance in a frenzy died<br/>

    Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue<br/>

    I idly heard-if true or false I know not.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!<br/>

    O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd<br/>

    My discontented peers! What! mother dead!<br/>

    How wildly then walks my estate in France!<br/>

    Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France<br/>

    That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?<br/>

  MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy<br/>

    With these in tidings.<br/>

</p>

<p>         Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET</p>

<p>    Now! What says the world<br/>

    To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff<br/>

    My head with more ill news, for it is full.<br/>

  BASTARD. But if you be afear'd to hear the worst,<br/>

    Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd<br/>

    Under the tide; but now I breathe again<br/>

    Aloft the flood, and can give audience<br/>

    To any tongue, speak it of what it will.<br/>

  BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen<br/>

    The sums I have collected shall express.<br/>

    But as I travell'd hither through the land,<br/>

    I find the people strangely fantasied;<br/>

    Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams.<br/>

    Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;<br/>

    And here's a prophet that I brought with me<br/>

    From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found<br/>

    With many hundreds treading on his heels;<br/>

    To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,<br/>

    That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,<br/>

    Your Highness should deliver up your crown.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?<br/>

  PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;<br/>

    And on that day at noon whereon he says<br/>

    I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd.<br/>

    Deliver him to safety; and return,<br/>

    For I must use thee.<br/>

                                               Exit HUBERT with PETER<br/>

    O my gentle cousin,<br/>

    Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?<br/>

  BASTARD. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it;<br/>

    Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,<br/>

    With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,<br/>

    And others more, going to seek the grave<br/>

    Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night<br/>

    On your suggestion.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go<br/>

    And thrust thyself into their companies.<br/>

    I have a way to will their loves again;<br/>

    Bring them before me.<br/>

  BASTARD. I Will seek them out.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.<br/>

    O, let me have no subject enemies<br/>

    When adverse foreigners affright my towns<br/>

    With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!<br/>

    Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,<br/>

    And fly like thought from them to me again.<br/>

  BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.<br/>

                                                         Exit BASTARD<br/>

    Go after him; for he perhaps shall need<br/>

    Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;<br/>

    And be thou he.<br/>

  MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege.                        Exit<br/>

  KING JOHN. My mother dead!<br/>

</p>

<p>                   Re-enter HUBERT</p>

<p>  HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;<br/>

    Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about<br/>

    The other four in wondrous motion.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Five moons!<br/>

  HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets<br/>

    Do prophesy upon it dangerously;<br/>

    Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;<br/>

    And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,<br/>

    And whisper one another in the ear;<br/>

    And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,<br/>

    Whilst he that hears makes fearful action<br/>

    With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.<br/>

    I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,<br/>

    The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,<br/>

    With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;<br/>

    Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,<br/>

    Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste<br/>

    Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,<br/>

    Told of a many thousand warlike French<br/>

    That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent.<br/>

    Another lean unwash'd artificer<br/>

    Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?<br/>

    Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?<br/>

    Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause<br/>

    To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.<br/>

  HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?<br/>

  KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended<br/>

    By slaves that take their humours for a warrant<br/>

    To break within the bloody house of life,<br/>

    And on the winking of authority<br/>

    To understand a law; to know the meaning<br/>

    Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns<br/>

    More upon humour than advis'd respect.<br/>

  HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.<br/>

  KING JOHN. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth<br/>

    Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal<br/>

    Witness against us to damnation!<br/>

    How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds<br/>

    Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,<br/>

    A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,<br/>

    Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,<br/>

    This murder had not come into my mind;<br/>

    But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,<br/>

    Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,<br/>

    Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,<br/>

    I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;<br/>

    And thou, to be endeared to a king,<br/>

    Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.<br/>

  HUBERT. My lord-<br/>

  KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,<br/>

    When I spake darkly what I purposed,<br/>

    Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,<br/>

    As bid me tell my tale in express words,<br/>

    Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,<br/>

    And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.<br/>

    But thou didst understand me by my signs,<br/>

    And didst in signs again parley with sin;<br/>

    Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,<br/>

    And consequently thy rude hand to act<br/>

    The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.<br/>

    Out of my sight, and never see me more!<br/>

    My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,<br/>

    Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs;<br/>

    Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,<br/>

    This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,<br/>

    Hostility and civil tumult reigns<br/>

    Between my conscience and my cousin's death.<br/>

  HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies,<br/>

    I'll make a peace between your soul and you.<br/>

    Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine<br/>

    Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,<br/>

    Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.<br/>

    Within this bosom never ent'red yet<br/>

    The dreadful motion of a murderous thought<br/>

    And you have slander'd nature in my form,<br/>

    Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,<br/>

    Is yet the cover of a fairer mind<br/>

    Than to be butcher of an innocent child.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,<br/>

    Throw this report on their incensed rage<br/>

    And make them tame to their obedience!<br/>

    Forgive the comment that my passion made<br/>

    Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,<br/>

    And foul imaginary eyes of blood<br/>

    Presented thee more hideous than thou art.<br/>

    O, answer not; but to my closet bring<br/>

    The angry lords with all expedient haste.<br/>

    I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.                  Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 3.</h4>

<p>England. Before the castle</p>

<p>Enter ARTHUR, on the walls</p>

<p>  ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.<br/>

    Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!<br/>

    There's few or none do know me; if they did,<br/>

    This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.<br/>

    I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.<br/>

    If I get down and do not break my limbs,<br/>

    I'll find a thousand shifts to get away.<br/>

    As good to die and go, as die and stay.              [Leaps down]<br/>

    O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.<br/>

    Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!<br/>

    [Dies]<br/>

</p>

<p>          Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT</p>

<p>  SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;<br/>

    It is our safety, and we must embrace<br/>

    This gentle offer of the perilous time.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?<br/>

  SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,<br/>

    Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love<br/>

    Is much more general than these lines import.<br/>

  BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be<br/>

    Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter the BASTARD</p>

<p>  BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!<br/>

    The King by me requests your presence straight.<br/>

  SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us.<br/>

    We will not line his thin bestained cloak<br/>

    With our pure honours, nor attend the foot<br/>

    That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.<br/>

    Return and tell him so. We know the worst.<br/>

  BASTARD. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.<br/>

  BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief;<br/>

    Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.<br/>

  BASTARD. 'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else.<br/>

  SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here?<br/>

  PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!<br/>

    The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,<br/>

    Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.<br/>

  BIGOT. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,<br/>

    Found it too precious-princely for a grave.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,<br/>

    Or have you read or heard, or could you think?<br/>

    Or do you almost think, although you see,<br/>

    That you do see? Could thought, without this object,<br/>

    Form such another? This is the very top,<br/>

    The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,<br/>

    Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame,<br/>

    The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,<br/>

    That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage<br/>

    Presented to the tears of soft remorse.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus'd in this;<br/>

    And this, so sole and so unmatchable,<br/>

    Shall give a holiness, a purity,<br/>

    To the yet unbegotten sin of times,<br/>

    And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,<br/>

    Exampled by this heinous spectacle.<br/>

  BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work;<br/>

    The graceless action of a heavy hand,<br/>

    If that it be the work of any hand.<br/>

  SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand!<br/>

    We had a kind of light what would ensue.<br/>

    It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;<br/>

    The practice and the purpose of the King;<br/>

    From whose obedience I forbid my soul<br/>

    Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,<br/>

    And breathing to his breathless excellence<br/>

    The incense of a vow, a holy vow,<br/>

    Never to taste the pleasures of the world,<br/>

    Never to be infected with delight,<br/>

    Nor conversant with ease and idleness,<br/>

    Till I have set a glory to this hand<br/>

    By giving it the worship of revenge.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.<br/>

</p>

<p>                     Enter HUBERT</p>

<p>  HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.<br/>

    Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.<br/>

  SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death!<br/>

    Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!<br/>

  HUBERT. I am no villain.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Must I rob the law?                  [Drawing his sword]<br/>

  BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.<br/>

  HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;<br/>

    By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours.<br/>

    I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,<br/>

    Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;<br/>

    Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget<br/>

    Your worth, your greatness and nobility.<br/>

  BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar'st thou brave a nobleman?<br/>

  HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend<br/>

    My innocent life against an emperor.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer.<br/>

  HUBERT. Do not prove me so.<br/>

    Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,<br/>

    Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces.<br/>

  BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.<br/>

  BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.<br/>

    If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,<br/>

    Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,<br/>

    I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;<br/>

    Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron<br/>

    That you shall think the devil is come from hell.<br/>

  BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?<br/>

    Second a villain and a murderer?<br/>

  HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none.<br/>

  BIGOT. Who kill'd this prince?<br/>

  HUBERT. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well.<br/>

    I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep<br/>

    My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,<br/>

    For villainy is not without such rheum;<br/>

    And he, long traded in it, makes it seem<br/>

    Like rivers of remorse and innocency.<br/>

    Away with me, all you whose souls abhor<br/>

    Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;<br/>

    For I am stifled with this smell of sin.<br/>

  BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!<br/>

  PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out.<br/>

                                                         Exeunt LORDS<br/>

  BASTARD. Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?<br/>

    Beyond the infinite and boundless reach<br/>

    Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,<br/>

    Art thou damn'd, Hubert.<br/>

  HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir.<br/>

  BASTARD. Ha! I'll tell thee what:<br/>

    Thou'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black-<br/>

    Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer;<br/>

    There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell<br/>

    As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.<br/>

  HUBERT. Upon my soul-<br/>

  BASTARD. If thou didst but consent<br/>

    To this most cruel act, do but despair;<br/>

    And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread<br/>

    That ever spider twisted from her womb<br/>

    Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam<br/>

    To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,<br/>

    Put but a little water in a spoon<br/>

    And it shall be as all the ocean,<br/>

    Enough to stifle such a villain up<br/>

    I do suspect thee very grievously.<br/>

  HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,<br/>

    Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath<br/>

    Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,<br/>

    Let hell want pains enough to torture me!<br/>

    I left him well.<br/>

  BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms.<br/>

    I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way<br/>

    Among the thorns and dangers of this world.<br/>

    How easy dost thou take all England up!<br/>

    From forth this morsel of dead royalty<br/>

    The life, the right, and truth of all this realm<br/>

    Is fled to heaven; and England now is left<br/>

    To tug and scamble, and to part by th' teeth<br/>

    The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.<br/>

    Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty<br/>

    Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest<br/>

    And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace;<br/>

    Now powers from home and discontents at home<br/>

    Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,<br/>

    As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,<br/>

    The imminent decay of wrested pomp.<br/>

    Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can<br/>

    Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,<br/>

    And follow me with speed. I'll to the King;<br/>

    A thousand businesses are brief in hand,<br/>

    And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.                Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>ACT V. SCENE 1.

England. KING JOHN'S palace</h4>

<p>Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand<br/>

    The circle of my glory.<br/>

  PANDULPH.  [Gives back the crown]  Take again<br/>

    From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,<br/>

    Your sovereign greatness and authority.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French;<br/>

    And from his Holiness use all your power<br/>

    To stop their marches fore we are inflam'd.<br/>

    Our discontented counties do revolt;<br/>

    Our people quarrel with obedience,<br/>

    Swearing allegiance and the love of soul<br/>

    To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.<br/>

    This inundation of mistemp'red humour<br/>

    Rests by you only to be qualified.<br/>

    Then pause not; for the present time's so sick<br/>

    That present med'cine must be minist'red<br/>

    Or overthrow incurable ensues.<br/>

  PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up,<br/>

    Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope;<br/>

    But since you are a gentle convertite,<br/>

    My tongue shall hush again this storm of war<br/>

    And make fair weather in your blust'ring land.<br/>

    On this Ascension-day, remember well,<br/>

    Upon your oath of service to the Pope,<br/>

    Go I to make the French lay down their arms.                 Exit<br/>

  KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet<br/>

    Say that before Ascension-day at noon<br/>

    My crown I should give off? Even so I have.<br/>

    I did suppose it should be on constraint;<br/>

    But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter the BASTARD</p>

<p>  BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out<br/>

    But Dover Castle. London hath receiv'd,<br/>

    Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.<br/>

    Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone<br/>

    To offer service to your enemy;<br/>

    And wild amazement hurries up and down<br/>

    The little number of your doubtful friends.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again<br/>

    After they heard young Arthur was alive?<br/>

    BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,<br/>

    An empty casket, where the jewel of life<br/>

    By some damn'd hand was robbed and ta'en away.<br/>

  KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live.<br/>

  BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.<br/>

    But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?<br/>

    Be great in act, as you have been in thought;<br/>

    Let not the world see fear and sad distrust<br/>

    Govern the motion of a kingly eye.<br/>

    Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;<br/>

    Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow<br/>

    Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,<br/>

    That borrow their behaviours from the great,<br/>

    Grow great by your example and put on<br/>

    The dauntless spirit of resolution.<br/>

    Away, and glister like the god of war<br/>

    When he intendeth to become the field;<br/>

    Show boldness and aspiring confidence.<br/>

    What, shall they seek the lion in his den,<br/>

    And fright him there, and make him tremble there?<br/>

    O, let it not be said! Forage, and run<br/>

    To meet displeasure farther from the doors<br/>

    And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.<br/>

  KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me,<br/>

    And I have made a happy peace with him;<br/>

    And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers<br/>

    Led by the Dauphin.<br/>

  BASTARD. O inglorious league!<br/>

    Shall we, upon the footing of our land,<br/>

    Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,<br/>

    Insinuation, parley, and base truce,<br/>

    To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,<br/>

    A cock'red silken wanton, brave our fields<br/>

    And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,<br/>

    Mocking the air with colours idly spread,<br/>

    And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.<br/>

    Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace;<br/>

    Or, if he do, let it at least be said<br/>

    They saw we had a purpose of defence.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time.<br/>

  BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage!<br/>

    Yet, I know<br/>

    Our party may well meet a prouder foe.                     Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 2.

England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury</h4>

<p>Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers</p>

<p>  LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out<br/>

    And keep it safe for our remembrance;<br/>

    Return the precedent to these lords again,<br/>

    That, having our fair order written down,<br/>

    Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,<br/>

    May know wherefore we took the sacrament,<br/>

    And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.<br/>

    And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear<br/>

    A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith<br/>

    To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince,<br/>

    I am not glad that such a sore of time<br/>

    Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,<br/>

    And heal the inveterate canker of one wound<br/>

    By making many. O, it grieves my soul<br/>

    That I must draw this metal from my side<br/>

    To be a widow-maker! O, and there<br/>

    Where honourable rescue and defence<br/>

    Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!<br/>

    But such is the infection of the time<br/>

    That, for the health and physic of our right,<br/>

    We cannot deal but with the very hand<br/>

    Of stern injustice and confused wrong.<br/>

    And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!<br/>

    That we, the sons and children of this isle,<br/>

    Were born to see so sad an hour as this;<br/>

    Wherein we step after a stranger-march<br/>

    Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up<br/>

    Her enemies' ranks-I must withdraw and weep<br/>

    Upon the spot of this enforced cause-<br/>

    To grace the gentry of a land remote<br/>

    And follow unacquainted colours here?<br/>

    What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!<br/>

    That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,<br/>

    Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself<br/>

    And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,<br/>

    Where these two Christian armies might combine<br/>

    The blood of malice in a vein of league,<br/>

    And not to spend it so unneighbourly!<br/>

  LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this;<br/>

    And great affections wrestling in thy bosom<br/>

    Doth make an earthquake of nobility.<br/>

    O, what a noble combat hast thou fought<br/>

    Between compulsion and a brave respect!<br/>

    Let me wipe off this honourable dew<br/>

    That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.<br/>

    My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,<br/>

    Being an ordinary inundation;<br/>

    But this effusion of such manly drops,<br/>

    This show'r, blown up by tempest of the soul,<br/>

    Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd<br/>

    Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven<br/>

    Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.<br/>

    Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,<br/>

    And with a great heart heave away this storm;<br/>

    Commend these waters to those baby eyes<br/>

    That never saw the giant world enrag'd,<br/>

    Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,<br/>

    Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.<br/>

    Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep<br/>

    Into the purse of rich prosperity<br/>

    As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all,<br/>

    That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.<br/>

</p>

<p>                Enter PANDULPH</p>

<p>    And even there, methinks, an angel spake:<br/>

    Look where the holy legate comes apace,<br/>

    To give us warrant from the hand of heaven<br/>

    And on our actions set the name of right<br/>

    With holy breath.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France!<br/>

    The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd<br/>

    Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,<br/>

    That so stood out against the holy Church,<br/>

    The great metropolis and see of Rome.<br/>

    Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up<br/>

    And tame the savage spirit of wild war,<br/>

    That, like a lion fostered up at hand,<br/>

    It may lie gently at the foot of peace<br/>

    And be no further harmful than in show.<br/>

  LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back:<br/>

    I am too high-born to be propertied,<br/>

    To be a secondary at control,<br/>

    Or useful serving-man and instrument<br/>

    To any sovereign state throughout the world.<br/>

    Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars<br/>

    Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself<br/>

    And brought in matter that should feed this fire;<br/>

    And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out<br/>

    With that same weak wind which enkindled it.<br/>

    You taught me how to know the face of right,<br/>

    Acquainted me with interest to this land,<br/>

    Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;<br/>

    And come ye now to tell me John hath made<br/>

    His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?<br/>

    I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,<br/>

    After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;<br/>

    And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back<br/>

    Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?<br/>

    Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,<br/>

    What men provided, what munition sent,<br/>

    To underprop this action? Is 't not I<br/>

    That undergo this charge? Who else but I,<br/>

    And such as to my claim are liable,<br/>

    Sweat in this business and maintain this war?<br/>

    Have I not heard these islanders shout out<br/>

    'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?<br/>

    Have I not here the best cards for the game<br/>

    To will this easy match, play'd for a crown?<br/>

    And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?<br/>

    No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.<br/>

  PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work.<br/>

  LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return<br/>

    Till my attempt so much be glorified<br/>

    As to my ample hope was promised<br/>

    Before I drew this gallant head of war,<br/>

    And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world<br/>

    To outlook conquest, and to will renown<br/>

    Even in the jaws of danger and of death.<br/>

                                                     [Trumpet sounds]<br/>

    What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?<br/>

</p>

<p>             Enter the BASTARD, attended</p>

<p>  BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world,<br/>

    Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.<br/>

    My holy lord of Milan, from the King<br/>

    I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;<br/>

    And, as you answer, I do know the scope<br/>

    And warrant limited unto my tongue.<br/>

  PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,<br/>

    And will not temporize with my entreaties;<br/>

    He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.<br/>

  BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,<br/>

    The youth says well. Now hear our English King;<br/>

    For thus his royalty doth speak in me.<br/>

    He is prepar'd, and reason too he should.<br/>

    This apish and unmannerly approach,<br/>

    This harness'd masque and unadvised revel<br/>

    This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,<br/>

    The King doth smile at; and is well prepar'd<br/>

    To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,<br/>

    From out the circle of his territories.<br/>

    That hand which had the strength, even at your door.<br/>

    To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,<br/>

    To dive like buckets in concealed wells,<br/>

    To crouch in litter of your stable planks,<br/>

    To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,<br/>

    To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out<br/>

    In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake<br/>

    Even at the crying of your nation's crow,<br/>

    Thinking this voice an armed Englishman-<br/>

    Shall that victorious hand be feebled here<br/>

    That in your chambers gave you chastisement?<br/>

    No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms<br/>

    And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs<br/>

    To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.<br/>

    And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,<br/>

    You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb<br/>

    Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;<br/>

    For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids,<br/>

    Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,<br/>

    Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,<br/>

    Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts<br/>

    To fierce and bloody inclination.<br/>

  LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;<br/>

    We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well;<br/>

    We hold our time too precious to be spent<br/>

    With such a brabbler.<br/>

  PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.<br/>

  BASTARD. No, I will speak.<br/>

  LEWIS. We will attend to neither.<br/>

    Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,<br/>

    Plead for our interest and our being here.<br/>

  BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;<br/>

    And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start<br/>

    And echo with the clamour of thy drum,<br/>

    And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd<br/>

    That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:<br/>

    Sound but another, and another shall,<br/>

    As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear<br/>

    And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand-<br/>

    Not trusting to this halting legate here,<br/>

    Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need-<br/>

    Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits<br/>

    A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day<br/>

    To feast upon whole thousands of the French.<br/>

  LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.<br/>

  BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.<br/>

    Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 3.</h4>

<p>England. The field of battle</p>

<p>Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.<br/>

  HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?<br/>

  KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long<br/>

    Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!<br/>

</p>

<p>                  Enter a MESSENGER</p>

<p>  MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,<br/>

    Desires your Majesty to leave the field<br/>

    And send him word by me which way you go.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.<br/>

  MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply<br/>

    That was expected by the Dauphin here<br/>

    Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;<br/>

    This news was brought to Richard but even now.<br/>

    The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.<br/>

  KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up<br/>

    And will not let me welcome this good news.<br/>

    Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;<br/>

    Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.                    Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 4.</h4>

<p>England. Another part of the battlefield</p>

<p>Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT</p>

<p>  SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French;<br/>

    If they miscarry, we miscarry too.<br/>

  SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,<br/>

    In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter MELUN, wounded</p>

<p>  MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.<br/>

  SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.<br/>

  PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Wounded to death.<br/>

  MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;<br/>

    Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,<br/>

    And welcome home again discarded faith.<br/>

    Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;<br/>

    For if the French be lords of this loud day,<br/>

    He means to recompense the pains you take<br/>

    By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,<br/>

    And I with him, and many moe with me,<br/>

    Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;<br/>

    Even on that altar where we swore to you<br/>

    Dear amity and everlasting love.<br/>

  SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?<br/>

  MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,<br/>

    Retaining but a quantity of life,<br/>

    Which bleeds away even as a form of wax<br/>

    Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?<br/>

    What in the world should make me now deceive,<br/>

    Since I must lose the use of all deceit?<br/>

    Why should I then be false, since it is true<br/>

    That I must die here, and live hence by truth?<br/>

    I say again, if Lewis do will the day,<br/>

    He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours<br/>

    Behold another day break in the east;<br/>

    But even this night, whose black contagious breath<br/>

    Already smokes about the burning crest<br/>

    Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,<br/>

    Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,<br/>

    Paying the fine of rated treachery<br/>

    Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.<br/>

    If Lewis by your assistance win the day.<br/>

    Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;<br/>

    The love of him-and this respect besides,<br/>

    For that my grandsire was an Englishman-<br/>

    Awakes my conscience to confess all this.<br/>

    In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence<br/>

    From forth the noise and rumour of the field,<br/>

    Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts<br/>

    In peace, and part this body and my soul<br/>

    With contemplation and devout desires.<br/>

  SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul<br/>

    But I do love the favour and the form<br/>

    Of this most fair occasion, by the which<br/>

    We will untread the steps of damned flight,<br/>

    And like a bated and retired flood,<br/>

    Leaving our rankness and irregular course,<br/>

    Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,<br/>

    And calmly run on in obedience<br/>

    Even to our ocean, to great King John.<br/>

    My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;<br/>

    For I do see the cruel pangs of death<br/>

    Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,<br/>

    And happy newness, that intends old right.<br/>

                                            Exeunt, leading off MELUN<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 5.</h4>

<p>England. The French camp</p>

<p>Enter LEWIS and his train</p>

<p>  LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,<br/>

    But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,<br/>

    When English measure backward their own ground<br/>

    In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,<br/>

    When with a volley of our needless shot,<br/>

    After such bloody toil, we bid good night;<br/>

    And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up,<br/>

    Last in the field and almost lords of it!<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter a MESSENGER</p>

<p>  MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?<br/>

  LEWIS. Here; what news?<br/>

  MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords<br/>

    By his persuasion are again fall'n off,<br/>

    And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,<br/>

    Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.<br/>

  LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!<br/>

    I did not think to be so sad to-night<br/>

    As this hath made me. Who was he that said<br/>

    King John did fly an hour or two before<br/>

    The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs?<br/>

  MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.<br/>

  LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night;<br/>

    The day shall not be up so soon as I<br/>

    To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.                    Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 6.</h4>

<p>An open place wear Swinstead Abbey</p>

<p>Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally</p>

<p>  HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.<br/>

  BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?<br/>

  HUBERT. Of the part of England.<br/>

  BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?<br/>

  HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand<br/>

    Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?<br/>

  BASTARD. Hubert, I think.<br/>

  HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.<br/>

    I will upon all hazards well believe<br/>

    Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.<br/>

    Who art thou?<br/>

  BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,<br/>

    Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think<br/>

    I come one way of the Plantagenets.<br/>

  HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night<br/>

    Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me<br/>

    That any accent breaking from thy tongue<br/>

    Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.<br/>

  BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?<br/>

  HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night<br/>

    To find you out.<br/>

  BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news?<br/>

  HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,<br/>

    Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.<br/>

  BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;<br/>

    I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.<br/>

  HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk;<br/>

    I left him almost speechless and broke out<br/>

    To acquaint you with this evil, that you might<br/>

    The better arm you to the sudden time<br/>

    Than if you had at leisure known of this.<br/>

  BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?<br/>

  HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,<br/>

    Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King<br/>

    Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.<br/>

  BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?<br/>

  HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,<br/>

    And brought Prince Henry in their company;<br/>

    At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,<br/>

    And they are all about his Majesty.<br/>

  BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,<br/>

    And tempt us not to bear above our power!<br/>

    I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,<br/>

    Passing these flats, are taken by the tide-<br/>

    These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;<br/>

    Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.<br/>

    Away, before! conduct me to the King;<br/>

    I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.                     Exeunt<br/>

</p>

<h4>SCENE 7.</h4>

<p>The orchard at Swinstead Abbey</p>

<p>Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT</p>

<p>  PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood<br/>

    Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain.<br/>

    Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,<br/>

    Doth by the idle comments that it makes<br/>

    Foretell the ending of mortality.<br/>

</p>

<p>                   Enter PEMBROKE</p>

<p>  PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief<br/>

    That, being brought into the open air,<br/>

    It would allay the burning quality<br/>

    Of that fell poison which assaileth him.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.<br/>

    Doth he still rage?                                    Exit BIGOT<br/>

  PEMBROKE. He is more patient<br/>

    Than when you left him; even now he sung.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes<br/>

    In their continuance will not feel themselves.<br/>

    Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,<br/>

    Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now<br/>

    Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds<br/>

    With many legions of strange fantasies,<br/>

    Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,<br/>

    Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.<br/>

    I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan<br/>

    Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,<br/>

    And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings<br/>

    His soul and body to their lasting rest.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born<br/>

    To set a form upon that indigest<br/>

    Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.<br/>

</p>

<p>       Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in<br/>

                KING JOHN in a chair<br/>

</p>

<p>  KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;<br/>

    It would not out at windows nor at doors.<br/>

    There is so hot a summer in my bosom<br/>

    That all my bowels crumble up to dust.<br/>

    I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen<br/>

    Upon a parchment, and against this fire<br/>

    Do I shrink up.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty?<br/>

  KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off;<br/>

    And none of you will bid the winter come<br/>

    To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,<br/>

    Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course<br/>

    Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north<br/>

    To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips<br/>

    And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much;<br/>

    I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait<br/>

    And so ingrateful you deny me that.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears,<br/>

    That might relieve you!<br/>

  KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot.<br/>

    Within me is a hell; and there the poison<br/>

    Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize<br/>

    On unreprievable condemned blood.<br/>

</p>

<p>                 Enter the BASTARD</p>

<p>  BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion<br/>

    And spleen of speed to see your Majesty!<br/>

  KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!<br/>

    The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt,<br/>

    And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail<br/>

    Are turned to one thread, one little hair;<br/>

    My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,<br/>

    Which holds but till thy news be uttered;<br/>

    And then all this thou seest is but a clod<br/>

    And module of confounded royalty.<br/>

  BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,<br/>

    Where God He knows how we shall answer him;<br/>

    For in a night the best part of my pow'r,<br/>

    As I upon advantage did remove,<br/>

    Were in the Washes all unwarily<br/>

    Devoured by the unexpected flood.                 [The KING dies]<br/>

  SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.<br/>

    My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.<br/>

    What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,<br/>

    When this was now a king, and now is clay?<br/>

  BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind<br/>

    To do the office for thee of revenge,<br/>

    And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,<br/>

    As it on earth hath been thy servant still.<br/>

    Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,<br/>

    Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths,<br/>

    And instantly return with me again<br/>

    To push destruction and perpetual shame<br/>

    Out of the weak door of our fainting land.<br/>

    Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;<br/>

    The Dauphin rages at our very heels.<br/>

  SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:<br/>

    The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,<br/>

    Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,<br/>

    And brings from him such offers of our peace<br/>

    As we with honour and respect may take,<br/>

    With purpose presently to leave this war.<br/>

  BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees<br/>

    Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.<br/>

  SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;<br/>

    For many carriages he hath dispatch'd<br/>

    To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel<br/>

    To the disposing of the Cardinal;<br/>

    With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,<br/>

    If you think meet, this afternoon will post<br/>

    To consummate this business happily.<br/>

  BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince,<br/>

    With other princes that may best be spar'd,<br/>

    Shall wait upon your father's funeral.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;<br/>

    For so he will'd it.<br/>

  BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;<br/>

    And happily may your sweet self put on<br/>

    The lineal state and glory of the land!<br/>

    To whom, with all submission, on my knee<br/>

    I do bequeath my faithful services<br/>

    And true subjection everlastingly.<br/>

  SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,<br/>

    To rest without a spot for evermore.<br/>

  PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,<br/>

    And knows not how to do it but with tears.<br/>

  BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,<br/>

    Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.<br/>

    This England never did, nor never shall,<br/>

    Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,<br/>

    But when it first did help to wound itself.<br/>

    Now these her princes are come home again,<br/>

    Come the three corners of the world in arms,<br/>

    And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,<br/>

    If England to itself do rest but true.                     Exeunt<br/>

</p>

{{close-shakespeare}}</text>