The life and death of King Iohn. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5709 1106027086 9781106027085 Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License Revised version of The texts were originally prepared by Trevor Howard-Hill for use in his single volume concordances to Shakespeare (OUP, 1969f). They have since been reformatted to modern standards and carefully proofread by staff of Oxford University Press' Shakespeare Department for use in the new "Old Spelling" Oxford Shakespeare, under the general editorship of Dr Stanley Wells: The complete works / William Shakespeare; general editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor ; editors Stanley Wells ... [et al.] ; with introductions by Stanley Wells. -- Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1986. -- (Oxford Shakespeare). -- ISBN 0-19-812926-2 The life and death of King Iohn. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Lee, Sidney, Sir, 1859-1926 xxxv, 908 p. : facsims. ; 39 cm. Clarendon Press Oxford 1902 "One thousand copies of this facsimile have been printed"--verso of half t.p. Facsim. reprint of ed. published, London : printed by Issac Iaggard and Ed.[ward] Blount, 1623 with original t.p.: Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Original colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W.[illiam] Iaggard, Ed.[ward] Blount, I.[ohn] Smithweeke [i.e. Smethwick], and W.[illiam] Aspley, 1623 Contents: The tempest. The two gentlemen of Verona. The merry wives of Windsor. Measvre, for measure. The comedie of errors. Much adoe about nothing. Loues labour's lost. A midsommer nights dreame. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfe night, or what you will. The winters tale. The life and death of King Iohn. The life and death of King Richard the second. The first part of Henry the fourth. The second part of Henry the fourth. The life of Henry the fift. The first part of Henry the sixt. The second part of Henry the sixt. The third part of Henry the sixt. The tragedy of Richard the third. The famous history of the life of King Henry the eight. The tragedie of Troylus and Cressida. The tragedy of Coriolanvs. The lamentable tragedy of Titus Andronicus. The tragedie of Romeo and Ivliet. The life of Tymon of Athens. The tragedie of Ivlivs Caesar. The tragedie of Macbeth. The tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. The tragedie of King Lear. The tragedie of Othello, the moore of Venice. The tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. The tragedie of Cymbeline Lower case y with smaller lower case u above Abbreviation for thou in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythou Lower case y with smaller lower case e above Abbreviation for the in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythe Lower case y with smaller lower case t above Abbreviation for that in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythat Lower case w with smaller lower case c above Abbreviation for which in Elizabethan typesetting entity wwhich University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings Library of Congress Subject Headings English Plays -- England -- 16th century Plays -- England -- 17th century Comedies -- England -- 16th century Comedies -- England -- 17th century Tragedies -- England -- 16th century Tragedies -- England -- 17th century Header normalised The life and death of King Iohn.
Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter King Iohn, Queene Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, and Sa-lisbury, with the Chattylion of France. King Iohn. Now say Chatillion, what would France with vs? Chat. Thus (after greeting) speakes the Kingof France,In my behauiour to the Maiesty,The borrowed Maiesty of England heere. Elea. A strange beginning: borrowed Maiesty? K.Iohn. Silence (good mother) heare the Embassie. Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalfeOf thy deceased brother, Geffreyes sonne, Arthur Plantaginet, laies most lawfull claimeTo this faire Iland, and the Territories:To Ireland, Poyctiers, Aniowe, Torayne, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the swordWhich swaies vsurpingly these seuerall titles,And put the same into yong Arthurs hand,Thy Nephew, and right royall Soueraigne. K.Iohn. What followes if we disallow of this? Chat. The proud controle of fierce and bloudy warre,To inforce these rights, so forcibly with-held, K.Io. Heere haue we war for war, & bloud for bloud,Controlement for controlement: so answer France. Chat. Then take my Kings defiance from my mouth,The farthest limit of my Embassie. K.Iohn. Beare mine to him, and so depart in peace,Be thou as lightning in the eies of France; For ere thou canst report, I will be there:The thunder of my Cannon shall be heard.So hence: be thou the trumpet of our wrath,And sullen presage of your owne decay:An honourable conduct let him haue, Pembroke looke too't: farewell Chattillion. Exit Chat. and Pem. Ele. What now my sonne, haue I not euer saidHow that ambitious Constance would not ceaseTill she had kindled France and all the world,Vpon the right and party of her sonne.This might haue beene preuented, and made wholeWith very easie arguments of loue,Which now the mannage of two kingdomes mustWith fearefull bloudy issue arbitrate. K.Iohn. Our strong possession, and our right for vs. Eli. Your strong possessio[n] much more then your right,Or else it must go wrong with you and me,So much my conscience whispers in your eare,Which none but heauen, and you, and I, shall heare. Enter a Sheriffe. Essex. My Liege, here is the strangest controuersieCome from the Country to be iudg'd by youThat ere I heard: shall I produce the men? K.Iohn. Let them approach:Our Abbies and our Priories shall payThis expeditions charge: what men are you? Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip. Philip. Your faithfull subiect, I a gentleman,Borne in Northamptonshire, and eldest sonneAs I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A Souldier by the Honor-giuing-handOf Cordelion, Knighted in the field. K.Iohn. What art thou? Robert. The son and heire to that same Faulconbridge. K.Iohn. Is that the elder, and art thou the heyre?You came not of one mother then it seemes. Philip. Most certain of one mother, mighty King,That is well knowne, and as I thinke one father:But for the certaine knowledge of that truth,I put you o're to heauen, and to my mother;Of that I doubt, as all mens children may. Eli. Out on thee rude man, thou dost shame thy mother,And wound her honor with this diffidence. Phil. I Madame? No, I haue no reason for it,That is my brothers plea, and none of mine,The which if he can proue, a pops me out,At least from faire fiue hundred pound a yeere:Heauen guard my mothers honor, and my Land. K.Iohn. A good blunt fellow: why being yonger bornDoth he lay claime to thine inheritance? Phil. I know not why, except to get the land:But once he slanderd me with bastardy:But where I be as true begot or no,That still I lay vpon my mothers head,But that I am as well begot my Liege(Faire fall the bones that tooke the paines for me)Compare our faces, and be Iudge your selfeIf old Sir Robert did beget vs both,And were our father, and this sonne like him:O old sir Robert Father, on my kneeI giue heauen thankes I was not like to thee. K.Iohn. Why what a mad-cap hath heauen lent vs here? Elen. He hath a tricke of Cordelions face,The accent of his tongue affecteth him:Doe you not read some tokens of my sonneIn the large composition of this man? K.Iohn. Mine eye hath well examined his parts,And findes them perfect Richard: sirra speake,What doth moue you to claime your brothers land. Philip. Because he hath a half-face like my father?With halfe that face would he haue all my land,A halfe-fac'd groat, fiue hundred pound a yeere? Rob. My gracious Liege, when that my father liu'd,Your brother did imploy my father much. Phil. Well sir, by this you cannot get my land,Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an EmbassieTo Germany, there with the EmperorTo treat of high affaires touching that time:Th' aduantage of his absence tooke the King,And in the meane time soiourn'd at my fathers;Where how he did preuaile, I shame to speake:But truth is truth, large lengths of seas and shoresBetweene my father, and my mother lay,As I haue heard my father speake himselfeWhen this same lusty gentleman was got:Vpon his death-bed he by will bequeath'dHis lands to me, and tooke it on his deathThat this my mothers sonne was none of his;And if he were, he came into the worldFull fourteene weekes before the course of time:Then good my Liedge let me haue what is mine,My fathers land, as was my fathers will. K.Iohn. Sirra, your brother is Legittimate,Your fathers wife did after wedlocke beare him:And if she did play false, the fault was hers,Which fault lyes on the hazards of all husbandsThat marry wiues: tell me, how if my brotherWho as you say, tooke paines to get this sonne,Had of your father claim'd this sonne for his,Insooth, good friend, your father might haue keptThis Calfe, bred from his Cow from all the world:Insooth he might: then if he were my brothers,My brother might not claime him, nor your fatherBeing none of his, refuse him: this concludes,My mothers sonne did get your fathers heyre,Your fathers heyre must haue your fathers land. Rob. Shal then my fathers Will be of no force,To dispossesse that childe which is not his. Phil. Of no more force to dispossesse me sir,Then was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge, And like thy brother to enioy thy land:Or the reputed sonne of Cordelion, Lord of thy presence, and no land beside. Bast. Madam, and if my brother had my shapeAnd I had his, sir Roberts his like him,And if my legs were two such riding rods,My armes, such eele skins stuft, my face so thin,That in mine eare I durst not sticke a rose,Lest men should say, looke where three farthings goes,And to his shape were heyre to all this land,Would I might neuer stirre from off this place,I would giue it euery foot to haue this face:It would not be sir nobbe in any case. Elinor. I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?I am a Souldier, and now bound to France. Bast. Brother, take you my land, Ile take my chance;Your face hath got fiue hundred pound a yeere,Yet sell your face for fiue pence and 'tis deere:Madam, Ile follow you vnto the death. Elinor. Nay, I would haue you go before me thither. Bast. Our Country manners giue our betters way. K.Iohn. What is thy name? Bast. Philip my Liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old Sir Roberts wiues eldest sonne. K.Iohn. From henceforth beare his nameWhose forme thou bearest:Kneele thou downe Philip, but rise more great,Arise Sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Bast. Brother by th' mothers side, giue me your hand,My father gaue me honor, yours gaue land:Now blessed be the houre by night or dayWhen I was got, Sir Robert was away. Ele. The very spirit of Plantaginet: I am thy grandame Richard, call me so. Bast. Madam by chance, but not by truth, what tho;Something about a little from the right,In at the window, or else ore the hatch:Who dares not stirre by day, must walke by night,And haue is haue, how euer men doe catch:Neere or farre off, well wonne is still well shot,And I am I, how ere I was begot. K.Iohn. Goe, Faulconbridge, now hast thou thy desire,A landlesse Knight, makes thee a landed Squire:Come Madam, and come Richard, we must speedFor France, for France, for it is more then need. Bast. Brother adieu, good fortune come to thee,For thou wast got i'th way of honesty. Exeunt all but bastard. Bast. A foot of Honor better then I was,But many a many foot of Land the worse.Well, now can I make any Ioane a Lady,Good den Sir Richard, Godamercy fellow,And if his name be George, Ile call him Peter; For new made honor doth forget mens names:'Tis two respectiue, and too sociableFor your conuersion, now your traueller,Hee and his tooth-picke at my worships messe,And when my knightly stomacke is suffis'd,Why then I sucke my teeth, and catechizeMy picked man of Countries: my deare sir,Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin,I shall beseech you; that is question now,And then comes answer like an Absey booke:O sir, sayes answer, at your best command,At your employment, at your seruice sir:No sir, saies question, I sweet sir at yours,And so ere answer knowes what question would,Sauing in Dialogue of Complement,And talking of the Alpes and Appenines,The Perennean and the riuer Poe, It drawes toward supper in conclusion so.But this is worshipfull society,And fits the mounting spirit like my selfe;For he is but a bastard to the timeThat doth not smoake of obseruation,And so am I whether I smacke or no:And not alone in habit and deuice,Exterior forme, outward accoutrement;But from the inward motion to deliuerSweet, sweet, sweet poyson for the ages tooth,Which though I will not practice to deceiue,Yet to auoid deceit I meane to learne;For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising:But who comes in such haste in riding robes? What woman post is this? hath she no husbandThat will take paines to blow a horne before her?O me, 'tis my mother: how now good Lady,What brings you heere to Court so hastily? Enter Lady Faulconbridge and Iames Gurney. Lady. Where is that slaue thy brother? where is he?That holds in chase mine honour vp and downe. Bast. My brother Robert, old Sir Roberts sonne: Colbrand the Gyant, that same mighty man,Is it Sir Roberts sonne that you seeke so? Lady. Sir Roberts sonne, I thou vnreuerend boy,Sir Roberts sonne? why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?He is Sir Roberts sonne, and so art thou. Bast. Iames Gournie, wilt thou giue vs leaue a while? Gour. Good leaue good Philip. Bast. Philip, sparrow, Iames, There's toyes abroad, anon Ile tell thee more. Exit Iames. Madam, I was not old Sir Roberts sonne,Sir Robert might haue eat his part in meVpon good Friday, and nere broke his fast:Sir Robert could doe well, marrie to confesseCould get me sir Robert could not doe it;We know his handy-worke, therefore good motherTo whom am I beholding for these limmes?Sir Robert neuer holpe to make this legge. Lady. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,That for thine owne gaine shouldst defend mine honor?What meanes this scorne, thou most vntoward knaue? Bast. Knight, knight good mother, Basilisco-like:What, I am dub'd, I haue it on my shoulder:But mother, I am not Sir Roberts sonne,I haue disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land,Legitimation, name, and all is gone;Then good my mother, let me know my father,Some proper man I hope, who was it mother? Lady. Hast thou denied thy selfe a Faulconbridge? Bast. As faithfully as I denie the deuill. Lady. King Richard Cordelion was thy father,By long and vehement suit I was seduc'dTo make roome for him in my husbands bed:Heauen lay not my transgression to my charge,That art the issue of my deere offenceWhich was so strongly vrg'd past my defence. Bast. Now by this light were I to get againe,Madam I would not wish a better father:Some sinnes doe beare their priuiledge on earth,And so doth yours: your fault, was not your follie,Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,Subiected tribute to commanding loue,Against whose furie and vnmatched force,The awlesse Lion could not wage the fight,Nor keepe his Princely heart from Richards hand:He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts,May easily winne a womans: aye my mother,With all my heart I thanke thee for my father:Who liues and dares but say, thou didst not wellWhen I was got, Ile send his soule to hell.Come Lady I will shew thee to my kinne,And they shall say, when Richard me begot,If thou hadst sayd him nay, it had beene sinne;Who sayes it was, he lyes, I say twas not. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter before Angiers, Philip King of France, Lewis, Daul-phin, Austria, Constance, Arthur. Lewis. Before Angiers well met braue Austria, Arthur that great fore-runner of thy bloud, Richard that rob'd the Lion of his heart,And fought the holy Warres in Palestine, By this braue Duke came early to his graue:And for amends to his posteritie,At our importance hether is he come,To spread his colours boy, in thy behalfe,And to rebuke the vsurpationOf thy vnnaturall Vncle, English Iohn, Embrace him, loue him, giue him welcome hether. Arth. God shall forgiue you Cordelions deathThe rather, that you giue his off-spring life,Shadowing their right vnder your wings of warre:I giue you welcome with a powerlesse hand,But with a heart full of vnstained loue,Welcome before the gates Angiers Duke. Lewis. A noble boy, who would not doe thee right? Aust. Vpon thy cheeke lay I this zelous kisse,As seale to this indenture of my loue:That to my home I will no more returneTill Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,Whose foot spurnes backe the Oceans roaring tides,And coopes from other lands her Ilanders,Euen till that England hedg'd in with the maine,That Water-walled Bulwarke, still secureAnd confident from forreine purposes,Euen till that vtmost corner of the WestSalute thee for her King, till then faire boyWill I not thinke of home, but follow Armes. Const. O take his mothers thanks, a widdows thanks,Till your strong hand shall helpe to giue him strength,To make a more requitall to your loue. Aust. The peace of heauen is theirs that lift their swordsIn such a iust and charitable warre. King. Well, then to worke our Cannon shall be bentAgainst the browes of this resisting towne,Call for our cheefest men of discipline,To cull the plots of best aduantages:Wee'll lay before this towne our Royal bones,Wade to the market-place in French-mens bloud,But we will make it subiect to this boy. Con. Stay for an answer to your Embassie,Lest vnaduis'd you staine your swords with bloud,My Lord Chattilion may from England bringThat right in peace which heere we vrge in warre,And then we shall repent each drop of bloud,That hot rash haste so indirectly shedde. Enter Chattilion. King. A wonder Lady: lo vpon thy wishOur Messenger Chattilion is arriu'd,What England saies, say breefely gentle Lord,We coldly pause for thee, Chatilion speake, Chat. Then turne your forces from this paltry siege,And stirre them vp against a mightier taske: England impatient of your iust demands,Hath put himselfe in Armes, the aduerse windes Whose leisure I haue staid, haue giuen him timeTo land his Legions all as soone as I:His marches are expedient to this towne,His forces strong, his Souldiers confident:With him along is come the Mother Queene,An Ace stirring him to bloud and strife,With her her Neece, the Lady Blanch of Spaine, With them a Bastard of the Kings deceast,And all th' vnsetled humors of the Land,Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,With Ladies faces, and fierce Dragons spleenes,Haue sold their fortunes at their natiue homes,Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs,To make a hazard of new fortunes heere:In briefe, a brauer choyse of dauntlesse spiritsThen now the English bottomes haue waft o're,Did neuer flote vpon the swelling tide,To doe offence and scathe in Christendome:The interruption of their churlish drumsCuts off more circumstance, they are at hand, Drum beats. To parlie or to fight, therefore prepare. Kin. How much vnlook'd for, is this expedition. Aust. By how much vnexpected, by so muchWe must awake indeuor for defence,For courage mounteth with occasion,Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter K[ing]. of England, Bastard, Queene, Blanch, Pembroke,and others. K.Iohn. Peace be to France: If France in peace permitOur iust and lineall entrance to our owne;If not, bleede France, and peace ascend to heauen.Whiles we Gods wrathfull agent doe correctTheir proud contempt that beats his peace to heauen. Fran. Peace be to England, if that warre returneFrom France to England, there to liue in peace: England we loue, and for that Englands sake,With burden of our armor heere we sweat:This toyle of ours should be a worke of thine;But thou from louing England art so farre,That thou hast vnder-wrought his lawfull King,Cut off the sequence of posterity,Out-faced Infant State, and done a rapeVpon the maiden vertue of the Crowne:Looke heere vpon thy brother Geffreyes face,These eyes, these browes, were moulded out of his;This little abstract doth containe that large,Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time,Shall draw this breefe into as huge a volume:That Geffrey was thy elder brother borne,And this his sonne, England was Geffreys right,And this is Geffreyes in the name of God:How comes it then that thou art call'd a King,When liuing blood doth in these temples beatWhich owe the crowne, that thou ore-masterest? K.Iohn. From whom hast thou this great commission France, To draw my answer from thy Articles? Fra. Fro[m] that supernal Iudge that stirs good thoughtsIn any breast of strong authoritie,To looke into the blots and staines of right,That Iudge hath made me guardian to this boy,Vnder whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,And by whose helpe I meane to chastise it. K.Iohn. Alack thou dost vsurpe authoritie. Fran. Excuse it is to beat vsurping downe. Queen. Who is it thou dost call vsurper France? Const. Let me make answer: thy vsurping sonne. Queen. Out insolent, thy bastard shall be King,That thou maist be a Queen, and checke the world. Con. My bed was euer to thy sonne as trueAs thine was to thy husband, and this boyLiker in feature to his father Geffrey Then thou and Iohn, in manners being as like,As raine to water, or deuill to his damme;My boy a bastard? by my soule I thinkeHis father neuer was so true begot,It cannot be, and if thou wert his mother. Queen. Theres a good mother boy, that blots thy father Const. There's a good grandame boyThat would blot thee. Aust. Peace. Bast. Heare the Cryer. Aust. What the deuill art thou? Bast. One that wil play the deuill sir with you, And a may catch your hide and you alone:You are the Hare of whom the Prouerb goesWhose valour plucks dead Lyons by the beard;Ile smoake your skin-coat and I catch you right,Sirra looke too't, yfaith I will, yfaith. Blan. O well did he become that Lyons robe,That did disrobe the Lion of that robe. Bast. It lies as sightly on the backe of himAs great Alcides shooes vpon an Asse:But Asse, Ile take that burthen from your backe,Or lay on that shall make your shoulders cracke. Aust. What cracker is this same that deafes our earesWith this abundance of superfluous breath?King Lewis, determine what we shall doe strait. Lew. Women & fooles, breake off your conference.King Iohn, this is the very summe of all: England and Ireland, Angiers, Toraine, Maine, In right of Arthur doe I claime of thee:Wilt thou resigne them, and lay downe thy Armes? Iohn. My life as soone: I doe defie thee France, Arthur of Britaine, yeeld thee to my hand,And out of my deere loue Ile giue thee more,Then ere the coward hand of France can win;Submit thee boy. Queen. Come to thy grandame child. Cons. Doe childe, goe to yt grandame childe,Giue grandame kingdome, and it grandame willGiue yt a plum, a cherry, and a figge,There's a good grandame. Arthur. Good my mother peace,I would that I were low laid in my graue,I am not worth this coyle that's made for me. Qu.Mo. His mother shames him so, poore boy hee weepes. Con. Now shame vpon you where she does or no,His grandames wrongs, and not his mothers shamesDrawes those heauen-mouing pearles fro[m] his poor eies,Which heauen shall take in nature of a fee: I, with these Christall beads heauen shall be brib'dTo doe him Iustice, and reuenge on you. Qu. Thou monstrous slanderer of heauen and earth. Con. Thou monstrous Iniurer of heauen and earth,Call not me slanderer, thou and thine vsurpeThe Dominations, Royalties, and rightsOf this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest sonnes sonne,Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sinnes are visited in this poore childe,The Canon of the Law is laide on him,Being but the second generationRemoued from thy sinne-conceiuing wombe. Iohn. Bedlam haue done. Con. I haue but this to say,That he is not onely plagued for her sin,But God hath made her sinne and her, the plagueOn this remoued issue, plagued for her,And with her plague her sinne: his iniuryHer iniurie the Beadle to her sinne,All punish'd in the person of this childe,And all for her, a plague vpon her. Que. Thou vnaduised scold, I can produceA Will, that barres the title of thy sonne. Con. I who doubts that, a Will: a wicked will,A womans will, a cankred Grandams will. Fra. Peace Lady, pause, or be more temperate,It ill beseemes this presence to cry aymeTo these ill-tuned repetitions:Some Trumpet summon hither to the wallesThese men of Angiers, let vs heare them speake,Whose title they admit, Arthurs or Iohns. Trumpet sounds.Enter a Citizen vpon the walles. Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd vs to the walles? Fra. 'Tis France, for England. Iohn. England for it selfe:You men of Angiers, and my louing subiects. Fra. You louing men of Angiers, Arthurs subiects,Our Trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. Iohn. For our aduantage, therefore heare vs first:These flagges of France that are aduanced heereBefore the eye and prospect of your Towne,Haue hither march'd to your endamagement.The Canons haue their bowels full of wrath,And ready mounted are they to spit forthTheir Iron indignation 'gainst your walles:All preparation for a bloody siedgeAnd merciles proceeding, by these French.Comfort your Citties eies, your winking gates:And but for our approch, those sleeping stones,That as a waste doth girdle you aboutBy the compulsion of their Ordinance,By this time from their fixed beds of limeHad bin dishabited, and wide hauocke madeFor bloody power to rush vppon your peace.But on the sight of vs your lawfull King,Who painefully with much expedient marchHaue brought a counter-checke before your gates,To saue vnscratch'd your Citties threatned cheekes:Behold the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle,And now insteed of bulletts wrapt in fireTo make a shaking feuer in your walles,They shoote but calme words, folded vp in smoake,To make a faithlesse errour in your eares,Which trust accordingly kinde Cittizens,And let vs in. Your King, whose labour'd spiritsFore-wearied in this action of swift speede,Craues harbourage within your Citie walles. France. When I haue saide, make answer to vs both.Loe in this right hand, whose protectionIs most diuinely vow'd vpon the rightOf him it holds, stands yong Plantagenet, Sonne to the elder brother of this man,And King ore him, and all that he enioyes:For this downe-troden equity, we treadIn warlike march, these greenes before your Towne,Being no further enemy to youThen the constraint of hospitable zeale,In the releefe of this oppressed childe,Religiously prouokes. Be pleased thenTo pay that dutie which you truly owe,To him that owes it, namely, this yong Prince,And then our Armes, like to a muzled Beare,Saue in aspect, hath all offence seal'd vp:Our Cannons malice vainly shall be spentAgainst th' involnerable clouds of heauen,And with a blessed and vn-vext retyre,With vnhack'd swords, and Helmets all vnbruis'd,We will beare home that lustie blood againe,Which heere we came to spout against your Towne,And leaue your children, wiues, and you in peace.But if you fondly passe our proffer'd offer,'Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walles,Can hide you from our messengers of Warre,Though all these English, and their disciplineWere harbour'd in their rude circumference:Then tell vs, Shall your Citie call vs Lord,In that behalfe which we haue challeng'd it?Or shall we giue the signall to our rage,And stalke in blood to our possession? Cit. In breefe, we are the King of Englands subiectsFor him, and in his right, we hold this Towne. Iohn. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. Cit. That can we not: but he that proues the KingTo him will we proue loyall, till that timeHaue we ramm'd vp our gates against the world. Iohn. Doth not the Crowne of England, prooue theKing?And if not that, I bring you WitnessesTwice fifteene thousand hearts of Englands breed. Bast. Bastards and else. Iohn. To verifie our title with their liues. Fran. As many and as well-borne bloods as those. Bast. Some Bastards too. Fran. Stand in his face to contradict his claime. Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,We for the worthiest hold the right from both. Iohn. Then God forgiue the sinne of all those soules,That to their euerlasting residence,Before the dew of euening fall, shall fleeteIn dreadfull triall of our kingdomes King. Fran. Amen, Amen, mount Cheualiers to Armes. Bast. Saint George that swindg'd the Dragon,And ere since sit's on's horsebacke at mine Hostesse doreTeach vs some sence. Sirrah, were I at homeAt your den sirrah, with your Lionnesse,I would set an Oxe-head to your Lyons hide:And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace, no more. Bast. O tremble: for you heare the Lyon rore. Iohn. Vp higher to the plaine, where we'l set forthIn best appointment all our Regiments. Bast. Speed then to take aduantage of the field. Fra. It shall be so, and at the other hillCommand the rest to stand, God and our right. Exeunt Heere after excursions, Enter the Herald of France with Trumpets to the gates. F.Her. You men of Angiers open wide your gates,And let yong Arthur Duke of Britaine in, Who by the hand of France, this day hath madeMuch worke for teares in many an English mother,Whose sonnes lye scattered on the bleeding ground:Many a widdowes husband groueling lies,Coldly embracing the discoloured earth,And victorie with little losse doth playVpon the dancing banners of the French,Who are at hand triumphantly displayedTo enter Conquerors, and to proclaime Arthur of Britaine, Englands King, and yours. Enter English Herald with Trumpet. E.Har. Reioyce you men of Angiers, ring your bels,King Iohn, your king and Englands, doth approach,Commander of this hot malicious day,Their Armours that march'd hence so siluer bright,Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood:There stucke no plume in any English Crest,That is remoued by a staffe of France.Our colours do returne in those same handsThat did display them when we first marcht forth:And like a iolly troope of Huntsmen comeOur lustie English, all with purpled hands,Dide in the dying slaughter of their foes,Open your gates, and giue the Victors way. Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might beholdFrom first to last, the on-set and retyre:Of both your Armies, whose equalityBy our best eyes cannot be censured:Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue answerd blowes:Strength matcht with strength, and power confrontedpower,Both are alike, and both alike we like:One must proue greatest. While they weigh so euen,We hold our Towne for neither: yet for both. Enter the two Kings with their powers,at seuerall doores. Iohn. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?Say, shall the currant of our right rome on,Whose passage vext with thy impediment,Shall leaue his natiue channell, and ore-swellWith course disturb'd euen thy confining shores,Vnlesse thou let his siluer Water, keepeA peacefull progresse to the Ocean. Fra. England thou hast not sau'd one drop of bloodIn this hot triall more then we of France,Rather lost more. And by this hand I sweareThat swayes the earth this Climate ouer-lookes,Before we will lay downe our iust-borne Armes,Wee'l put thee downe, 'gainst whom these Armes wee beare,Or adde a royall number to the dead:Gracing the scroule that tels of this warres losse,With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. Bast. Ha Maiesty: how high thy glory towres,When the rich blood of kings is set on fire:Oh now doth death line his dead chaps with steele,The swords of souldiers are his teeth, his phangs,And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of menIn vndetermin'd differences of kings.Why stand these royall fronts amazed thus:Cry hauocke kings, backe to the stained fieldYou equall Potents, fierie kindled spirits,Then let confusion of one part confirmThe others peace: till then, blowes, blood, and death. Iohn. Whose party do the Townesmen yet admit? Fra. Speake Citizens for England, whose your king. Hub. The king of England, when we know the king. Fra. Know him in vs, that heere hold vp his right. Iohn. In Vs, that are our owne great Deputie,And beare possession of our Person heere,Lord of our presence Angiers, and of you. Fra. A greater powre then We denies all this,And till it be vndoubted, we do lockeOur former scruple in our strong barr'd gates:Kings of our feare, vntill our feares resolu'dBe by some certaine king, purg'd and depos'd. Bast. By heauen, these scroyles of Angiers flout you kings,And stand securely on their battelments,As in a Theater, whence they gape and pointAt your industrious Scenes and acts of death.Your Royall presences be rul'd by mee,Do like the Mutines of Ierusalem,Be friends a-while, and both conioyntly bendYour sharpest Deeds of malice on this Towne.By East and West let France and England mount.Their battering Canon charged to the mouthes,Till their soule-fearing clamours haue braul'd downeThe flintie ribbes of this contemptuous Citie,I'de play incessantly vpon these Iades,Euen till vnfenced desolationLeaue them as naked as the vulgar ayre:That done, disseuer your vnited strengths,And part your mingled colours once againe,Turne face to face, and bloody point to point:Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forthOut of one side her happy Minion,To whom in fauour she shall giue the day,And kisse him with a glorious victory:How like you this wilde counsell mighty States,Smackes it not something of the policie. Iohn. Now by the sky that hangs aboue our heads,I like it well. France, shall we knit our powres,And lay this Angiers euen with the ground,Then after fight who shall be king of it? Bast. And if thou hast the mettle of a king,Being wrong'd as we are by this peeuish Towne:Turne thou the mouth of thy Artillerie,As we will ours, against these sawcie walles,And when that we haue dash'd them to the ground,Why then defie each other, and pell-mell,Make worke vpon our selues, for heauen or hell. Fra. Let it be so: say, where will you assault? Iohn. We from the West will send destructionInto this Cities bosome. Aust. I from the North. Fran. Our Thunder from the South,Shall raine their drift of bullets on this Towne. Bast. O prudent discipline! From North to South:Austria and France shoot in each others mouth.Ile stirre them to it: Come, away, away. Hub. Heare vs great kings, vouchsafe awhile to stayAnd I shall shew you peace, and faire-fac'd league:Win you this Citie without stroke, or wound,Rescue those breathing liues to dye in beds,That heere come sacrifices for the field.Perseuer not, but heare me mighty kings. Iohn. Speake on with fauour, we are bent to heare. Hub. That daughter there of Spaine, the Lady Blanch Is neere to England, looke vpon the yeeresOf Lewes the Dolphin, and that louely maid.If lustie loue should go in quest of beautie, Where should he finde it fairer, then in Blanch: If zealous loue should go in search of vertue,Where should he finde it purer then in Blanch?If loue ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veines bound richer blood then Lady Blanch?Such as she is, in beautie, vertue, birth,Is the yong Dolphin euery way compleat,If not compleat of, say he is not shee,And she againe wants nothing, to name want,If want it be not, that she is not hee.He is the halfe part of a blessed man,Left to be finished by such as shee,And she a faire diuided excellence,Whose fulnesse of perfection lyes in him.O two such siluer currents when they ioyneDo glorifie the bankes that bound them in:And two such shores, to two such streames made one,Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,To these two Princes, if you marrie them:This Vnion shall do more then batterie canTo our fast closed gates: for at this match,With swifter spleene then powder can enforceThe mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,And giue you entrance: but without this match,The sea enraged is not halfe so deafe,Lyons more confident, Mountaines and rockesMore free from motion, no not death himselfeIn mortall furie halfe so peremptorie,As we to keepe this Citie. Bast. Heeres a stay,That shakes the rotten carkasse of old deathOut of his ragges. Here's a large mouth indeede,That spits forth death, and mountaines, rockes, and seas,Talkes as familiarly of roaring Lyons,As maids of thirteene do of puppi-dogges.What Cannoneere begot this lustie blood,He speakes plaine Cannon fire, and smoake, and bounce,He giues the bastinado with his tongue:Our eares are cudgel'd, not a word of hisBut buffets better then a fist of France:Zounds, I was neuer so bethumpt with words,Since I first cal'd my brothers father Dad. Old Qu. Son, list to this coniunction, make this matchGiue with our Neece a dowrie large enough,For by this knot, thou shalt so surely tyeThy now vnsur'd assurance to the Crowne,That yon greene boy shall haue no Sunne to ripeThe bloome that promiseth a mightie fruite.I see a yeelding in the lookes of France:Marke how they whisper, vrge them while their soulesAre capeable of this ambition,Least zeale now melted by the windie breathOf soft petitions, pittie and remorse,Coole and congeale againe to what it was. Hub. Why answer not the double Maiesties,This friendly treatie of our threatned Towne. Fra. Speake England first, that hath bin forward firstTo speake vnto this Cittie: what say you? Iohn. If that the Dolphin there thy Princely sonne,Can in this booke of beautie read, I loue:Her Dowrie shall weigh equall with a Queene:For Angiers, and faire Toraine Maine, Poyctiers, And all that we vpon this side the Sea,(Except this Cittie now by vs besiedg'd)Finde liable to our Crowne and Dignitie,Shall gild her bridall bed and make her richIn titles, honors, and promotions,As she in beautie, education, blood,Holdes hand with any Princesse of the world. Fra. What sai'st thou boy? looke in the Ladies face. Dol. I do my Lord, and in her eie I findA wonder, or a wondrous miracle,The shadow of my selfe form'd in her eye,Which being but the shadow of your sonne,Becomes a sonne and makes your sonne a shadow:I do protest I neuer lou'd my selfeTill now, infixed I beheld my selfe,Drawne in the flattering table of her eie. Whispers with Blanch. Bast. Drawne in the flattering table of her eie,Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,And quarter'd in her heart, hee doth espieHimselfe loues traytor, this is pittie now;That hang'd, and drawne, and quarter'd there should beIn such a loue, so vile a Lout as he. Blan. My vnckles will in this respect is mine,If he see ought in you that makes him like,That any thing he see's which moues his liking,I can with ease translate it to my will:Or if you will, to speake more properly,I will enforce it easlie to my loue.Further I will not flatter you, my Lord,That all I see in you is worthie loue,Then this, that nothing do I see in you,Though churlish thoughts themselues should bee yourIudge,That I can finde, should merit any hate. Iohn. What saie these yong-ones? What say you myNeece? Blan. That she is bound in honor still to doWhat you in wisedome still vouchsafe to say. Iohn. Speake then Prince Dolphin, can you loue thisLadie? Dol. Nay aske me if I can refraine from loue,For I doe loue her most vnfainedly. Iohn. Then I doe giue Volquessen, Toraine, Maine,Poyctiers and Aniow, these fiue ProuincesWith her to thee, and this addition more,Full thirty thousand Markes of English coyne: Phillip of France, if thou be pleas'd withall,Command thy sonne and daughter to ioyne hands. Fra. It likes vs well young Princes: close your hands Aust. And your lippes too, for I am well assur'd,That I did so when I was first assur'd. Fra. Now Cittizens of Angires ope your gates,Let in that amitie which you haue made,For at Saint Maries Chappell presently,The rights of marriage shallbe solemniz'd.Is not the Ladie Constance in this troope?I know she is not for this match made vp,Her presence would haue interrupted much.Where is she and her sonne, tell me, who knowes? Dol. She is sad and passionate at your highnes Tent. Fra. And by my faith, this league that we haue madeWill giue her sadnesse very little cure:Brother of England, how may we contentThis widdow Lady? In her right we came,Which we God knowes, haue turn'd another way,To our owne vantage. Iohn. We will heale vp all,For wee'l create yong Arthur Duke of BritaineAnd Earle of Richmond, and this rich faire Towne We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Constance, Some speedy Messenger bid her repaireTo our solemnity: I trust we shall,(If not fill vp the measure of her will)Yet in some measure satisfie her so,That we shall stop her exclamation,Go we as well as hast will suffer vs,To this vnlook'd for vnprepared pompe. Exeunt. Bast. Mad world, mad kings, mad composition: Iohn to stop Arthurs Title in the whole,Hath willingly departed with a part,And France, whose armour Conscience buckled on,Whom zeale and charitie brought to the field,As Gods owne souldier, rounded in the eare,With that same purpose-changer, that slye diuel,That Broker, that still breakes the pate of faith,That dayly breake-vow, he that winnes of all,Of kings, of beggers, old men, yong men, maids,Who hauing no externall thing to loose,But the word Maid, cheats the poore Maide of that.That smooth-fac'd Gentleman, tickling commoditie,Commoditie, the byas of the world,The world, who of it selfe is peysed well,Made to run euen, vpon euen ground;Till this aduantage, this vile drawing byas,This sway of motion, this commoditie,Makes it take head from all indifferency,From all direction, purpose, course, intent.And this same byas, this Commoditie,This Bawd, this Broker, this all-changing-word,Clap'd on the outward eye of fickle France,Hath drawne him from his owne determin'd ayd,From a resolu'd and honourable warre,To a most base and vile-concluded peace.And why rayle I on this Commoditie?But for because he hath not wooed me yet:Not that I haue the power to clutch my hand,When his faire Angels would salute my palme,But for my hand, as vnattempted yet,Like a poore begger, raileth on the rich.Well, whiles I am a begger, I will raile,And say there is no sin but to be rich:And being rich, my vertue then shall be,To say there is no vice, but beggerie:Since Kings breake faith vpon commoditie,Gaine be my Lord, for I will worship thee. Exit.
Actus Secundus Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. Con. Gone to be married? Gone to sweare a peace?False blood to false blood ioyn'd. Gone to be freinds?Shall Lewis haue Blaunch, and Blaunch those Prouinces?It is not so, thou hast mispoke, misheard,Be well aduis'd, tell ore thy tale againe.It cannot be, thou do'st but say 'tis so.I trust I may not trust thee, for thy wordIs but the vaine breath of a common man:Beleeue me, I doe not beleeue thee man,I haue a Kings oath to the contrarie.Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,For I am sicke, and capeable of feares,Opprest with wrongs, and therefore full of feares,A widdow, husbandles, subiect to feares,A woman naturally borne to feares;And though thou now confesse thou didst but iestWith my vext spirits, I cannot take a Truce,But they will quake and tremble all this day.What dost thou meane by shaking of thy head?Why dost thou looke so sadly on my sonne?What meanes that hand vpon that breast of thine?Why holdes thine eie that lamentable rhewme,Like a proud riuer peering ore his bounds?Be these sad signes confirmers of thy words?Then speake againe, not all thy former tale,But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true as I beleeue you thinke them false,That giue you cause to proue my saying true. Con. Oh if thou teach me to beleeue this sorrow,Teach thou this sorrow, how to make me dye,And let beleefe, and life encounter so,As doth the furie of two desperate men,Which in the very meeting fall, and dye. Lewes marry Blaunch? O boy, then where art thou? France friend with England, what becomes of me?Fellow be gone: I cannot brooke thy sight,This newes hath made thee a most vgly man. Sal. What other harme haue I good Lady done,But spoke the harme, that is by others done? Con. Which harme within it selfe so heynous is,As it makes harmefull all that speake of it. Ar. I do beseech you Madam be content. Con. If thou that bidst me be content, wert grimVgly, and slandrous to thy Mothers wombe,Full of vnpleasing blots, and sightlesse staines,Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,Patch'd with foule Moles, and eye-offending markes,I would not care, I then would be content,For then I should not loue thee: no, nor thouBecome thy great birth, nor deserue a Crowne.But thou art faire, and at thy birth (deere boy)Nature and Fortune ioyn'd to make thee great.Of Natures guifts, thou mayst with Lillies boast,And with the halfe-blowne Rose. But Fortune, oh,She is corrupted, chang'd, and wonne from thee,Sh' adulterates hourely with thine Vnckle Iohn, And with her golden hand hath pluckt on FranceTo tread downe faire respect of Soueraigntie,And made his Maiestie the bawd to theirs.France is a Bawd to Fortune, and king Iohn, That strumpet Fortune, that vsurping Iohn: Tell me thou fellow, is not France forsworne?Envenom him with words, or get thee gone,And leaue those woes alone, which I aloneAm bound to vnder-beare. Sal. Pardon me Madam,I may not goe without you to the kings. Con. Thou maist, thou shalt, I will not go with thee,I will instruct my sorrowes to bee proud,For greefe is proud, and makes his owner stoope,To me and to the state of my great greefe,Lets kings assemble: for my greefe's so great,That no supporter but the huge firme earthCan hold it vp: here I and sorrowes sit,Heere is my Throne bid kings come bow to it.
Actus Tertius, Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn, France, Dolphin, Blanch, Elianor, Philip,Austria, Constance. Fran. 'Tis true (faire daughter) and this blessed day,Euer in France shall be kept festiuall:To solemnize this day the glorious sunneStayes in his course, and playes the Alchymist,Turning with splendor of his precious eyeThe meager cloddy earth to glittering gold:The yearely course that brings this day about,Shall neuer see it, but a holy day. Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day.What hath this day deseru'd? what hath it done,That it in golden letters should be setAmong the high tides in the Kalender?Nay, rather turne this day out of the weeke,This day of shame, oppression, periury.Or if it must stand still, let wiues with childePray that their burthens may not fall this day,Lest that their hopes prodigiously be crost:But (on this day) let Sea-men feare no wracke,No bargaines breake that are not this day made;This day all things begun, come to ill end,Yea, faith it selfe to hollow falshood change. Fra. By heauen Lady, you shall haue no causeTo curse the faire proceedings of this day:Haue I not pawn'd to you my Maiesty? Const. You haue beguil'd me with a counterfeitResembling Maiesty, which being touch'd and tride,Proues valuelesse: you are forsworne, forsworne,You came in Armes to spill mine enemies bloud,But now in Armes, you strengthen it with yours.The grapling vigor, and rough frowne of WarreIs cold in amitie, and painted peace,And our oppression hath made vp this league:Arme, arme, you heauens, against these periur'd Kings,A widdow cries, be husband to me (heauens)Let not the howres of this vngodly dayWeare out the daies in Peace; but ere Sun-set,Set armed discord 'twixt these periur'd Kings,Heare me, Oh, heare me. Aust. Lady Constance, peace. Const. War, war, no peace, peace is to me a warre:O Lymoges, O Austria, thou dost shameThat bloudy spoyle: thou slaue, thou wretch, thou coward,Thou little valiant, great in villanie,Thou euer strong vpon the stronger side;Thou Fortunes Champion, that do'st neuer fightBut when her humourous Ladiship is byTo teach thee safety: thou art periur'd too,And sooth'st vp greatnesse. What a foole art thou,A ramping foole, to brag, and stamp, and sweare,Vpon my partie: thou cold blooded slaue,Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?Beene sworne my Souldier, bidding me dependVpon thy starres, thy fortune, and thy strength,And dost thou now fall ouer to my foes?Thou weare a Lyons hide, doff it for shame,And hang a Calues skin on those recreant limbes. Aus. O that a man should speake those words to me. Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbs Aus. Thou dar'st not say so villaine for thy life. Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbs. Iohn. We like not this, thou dost forget thy selfe. Enter Pandulph. Fra. Heere comes the holy Legat of the Pope. Pan. Haile you annointed deputies of heauen;To thee King Iohn my holy errand is:I Pandulph, of faire Millane Cardinall,And from Pope Innocent the Legate heere,Doe in his name religiously demandWhy thou against the Church, our holy Mother,So wilfully dost spurne; and force perforceKeepe Stephen Langton chosen ArchbishopOf Canterbury from that holy Sea:This in our foresaid holy Fathers namePope Innocent, I doe demand of thee. Iohn. What earthie name to InterrogatoriesCan tast the free breath of a sacred King?Thou canst not (Cardinall) deuise a nameSo slight, vnworthy, and ridiculousTo charge me to an answere, as the Pope:Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England, Adde thus much more, that no Italian PriestShall tythe or toll in our dominions:But as we, vnder heauen, are supreame head,So vnder him that great supremacyWhere we doe reigne, we will alone vpholdWithout th' assistance of a mortall hand:So tell the Pope, all reuerence set apartTo him and his vsurp'd authoritie. Fra. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. Iohn. Though you, and all the Kings of ChristendomAre led so grossely by this medling Priest,Dreading the curse that money may buy out,And by the merit of vilde gold, drosse, dust,Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,Who in that sale sels pardon from himselfe:Though you, and al the rest so grossely led,This iugling witchcraft with reuennue cherish,Yet I alone, alone doe me opposeAgainst the Pope, and count his friends my foes. Pand. Then by the lawfull power that I haue,Thou shalt stand curst, and excommunicate,And blessed shall he be that doth reuoltFrom his Allegeance to an heretique,And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,Canonized and worship'd as a Saint,That takes away by any secret courseThy hatefull life. Con. O lawfull let it beThat I haue roome with Rome to curse a while,Good Father Cardinall, cry thou AmenTo my keene curses; for without my wrongThere is no tongue hath power to curse him right. Pan. There's Law and Warrant (Lady) for my curse. Cons. And for mine too, when Law can do no right.Let it be lawfull, that Law barre no wrong:Law cannot giue my childe his kingdome heere;For he that holds his Kingdome, holds the Law:Therefore since Law it selfe is perfect wrong,How can the Law forbid my tongue to curse? Pand. Philip of France, on perill of a curse,Let goe the hand of that Arch-heretique,And raise the power of France vpon his head,Vnlesse he doe submit himselfe to Rome. Elea. Look'st thou pale France? do not let go thy hand. Con. Looke to that Deuill, lest that France repent, And by disioyning hands hell lose a soule. Aust. King Philip, listen to the Cardinall. Bast. And hang a Calues-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well ruffian, I must pocket vp these wrongs,Because, Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. Iohn. Philip, what saist thou to the Cardinall? Con. What should he say, but as the Cardinall? Dolph. Bethinke you father, for the differenceIs purchase of a heauy curse from Rome, Or the light losse of England, for a friend:Forgoe the easier. Bla. That's the curse of Rome. Con. O Lewis, stand fast, the deuill tempts thee heereIn likenesse of a new vntrimmed Bride. Bla. The Lady Constance speakes not from her faith,But from her need. Con. Oh, if thou grant my need,Which onely liues but by the death of faith,That need, must needs inferre this principle,That faith would liue againe by death of need:O then tread downe my need, and faith mounts vp,Keepe my need vp, and faith is trodden downe. Iohn. The king is moud, and answers not to this. Con. O be remou'd from him, and answere well. Aust. Doe so king Philip, hang no more in doubt. Bast. Hang nothing but a Calues skin most sweet lout. Fra. I am perplext, and know not what to say. Pan. What canst thou say, but wil perplex thee more?If thou stand excommunicate, and curst? Fra. Good reuerend father, make my person yours,And tell me how you would bestow your selfe?This royall hand and mine are newly knit,And the coniunction of our inward soulesMarried in league, coupled, and link'd togetherWith all religous strength of sacred vowes,The latest breath that gaue the sound of wordsWas deepe-sworne faith, peace, amity, true loueBetweene our kingdomes and our royall selues,And euen before this truce, but new before,No longer then we well could wash our hands,To clap this royall bargaine vp of peace,Heauen knowes they were besmear'd and ouer-staindWith slaughters pencill; where reuenge did paintThe fearefull difference of incensed kings:And shall these hands so lately purg'd of bloud?So newly ioyn'd in loue? so strong in both,Vnyoke this seysure, and this kinde regreete?Play fast and loose with faith? so iest with heauen,Make such vnconstant children of our seluesAs now againe to snatch our palme from palme:Vn-sweare faith sworne, and on the marriage bedOf smiling peace to march a bloody hoast,And make a ryot on the gentle browOf true sincerity? O holy SirMy reuerend father, let it not be so;Out of your grace, deuise, ordaine, imposeSome gentle order, and then we shall be blestTo doe your pleasure, and continue friends. Pand. All forme is formelesse, Order orderlesse,Saue what is opposite to Englands loue.Therefore to Armes, be Champion of our Church,Or let the Church our mother breathe her curse,A mothers curse, on her reuolting sonne: France, thou maist hold a serpent by the tongue,A cased Lion by the mortall paw,A fasting Tyger safer by the tooth,Then keepe in peace that hand which thou dost hold. Fra. I may dis-ioyne my hand, but not my faith. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith,And like a ciuill warre setst oath to oath,Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vowFirst made to heauen, first be to heauen perform'd,That is, to be the Champion of our Church,What since thou sworst, is sworne against thy selfe,And may not be performed by thy selfe,For that which thou hast sworne to doe amisse,Is not amisse when it is truely done:And being not done, where doing tends to ill,The truth is then most done not doing it:The better Act of purposes mistooke,Is to mistake again, though indirect,Yet indirection thereby growes direct,And falshood, falshood cures, as fire cooles fireWithin the scorched veines of one new burn'd:It is religion that doth make vowes kept,But thou hast sworne against religion:By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,And mak'st an oath the suretie for thy truth,Against an oath the truth, thou art vnsureTo sweare, sweares onely not to be forsworne,Else what a mockerie should it be to sweare?But thou dost sweare, onely to be forsworne,And most forsworne, to keepe what thou dost sweare,Therefore thy later vowes, against thy first,Is in thy selfe rebellion to thy selfe:And better conquest neuer canst thou make,Then arme thy constant and thy nobler partsAgainst these giddy loose suggestions:Vpon which better part, our prayrs come in,If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then knowThe perill of our curses light on theeSo heauy, as thou shalt not shake them offBut in despaire, dye vnder their blacke weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion. Bast. Wil't not be?Will not a Calues-skin stop that mouth of thine? Daul. Father, to Armes. Blanch. Vpon thy wedding day?Against the blood that thou hast married?What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drumsClamors of hell, be measures to our pomp?O husband heare me: aye, alacke, how newIs husband in my mouth? euen for that nameWhich till this time my tongue did nere pronounce;Vpon my knee I beg, goe not to ArmesAgainst mine Vncle. Const. O, vpon my knee made hard with kneeling,I doe pray to thee, thou vertuous Daulphin, Alter not the doome fore-thought by heauen. Blan. Now shall I see thy loue, what motiue mayBe stronger with thee, then the name of wife? Con. That which vpholdeth him, that thee vpholds,His Honor, Oh thine Honor, Lewis thine Honor. Dolph. I muse your Maiesty doth seeme so cold,When such profound respects doe pull you on? Pand. I will denounce a curse vpon his head. Fra. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall fro[m] thee. Const. O faire returne of banish'd Maiestie. Elea. O foule reuolt of French inconstancy. Eng. France, thou shalt rue this houre within this houre. Bast. Old Time the clocke setter, thou bald sexton Time:Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Bla. The Sun's orecast with bloud: faire day adieu,Which is the side that I must goe withall?I am with both, each Army hath a hand,And in their rage, I hauing hold of both,They whurle a-sunder, and dismember mee.Husband, I cannot pray that thou maist winne:Vncle, I needs must pray that thou maist lose:Father, I may not wish the fortune thine:Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thriue:Who-euer wins, on that side shall I lose:Assured losse, before the match be plaid. Dolph. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. Bla. There where my fortune liues, there my life dies. Iohn. Cosen, goe draw our puisance together, France, I am burn'd vp with inflaming wrath,A rage, whose heat hath this condition;That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,The blood and deerest valued bloud of France. Fra. Thy rage shall burne thee vp, & thou shalt turneTo ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:Looke to thy selfe, thou art in ieopardie. Iohn. No more then he that threats. To Arms let's hie. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Allarums, Excursions: Enter Bastard with Austria'shead. Bast. Now by my life, this day grows wondrous hot,Some ayery Deuill houers in the skie,And pour's downe mischiefe. Austrias head lye there, Enter Iohn, Arthur, Hubert. While Philip breathes. Iohn. Hubert, keepe this boy: Philip make vp,My Mother is assayled in our Tent,And tane I feare. Bast. My Lord I rescued her,Her Highnesse is in safety, feare you not:But on my Liege, for very little painesWill bring this labor to an happy end. Exit. Alarums, excursions, Retreat. Enter Iohn, Eleanor, ArthurBastard, Hubert, Lords. Iohn. So shall it be: your Grace shall stay behindeSo strongly guarded: Cosen, looke not sad,Thy Grandame loues thee, and thy Vnkle willAs deere be to thee, as thy father was. Arth. O this will make my mother die with griefe. Iohn. Cosen away for England, haste before,And ere our comming see thou shake the bagsOf hoording Abbots, imprisoned angellsSet at libertie: the fat ribs of peaceMust by the hungry now be fed vpon:Vse our Commission in his vtmost force. Bast. Bell, Booke, & Candle, shall not driue me back,When gold and siluer becks me to come on.I leaue your highnesse: Grandame, I will pray(If euer I remember to be holy)For your faire safety: so I kisse your hand. Ele. Farewell gentle Cosen. Iohn. Coz, farewell. Ele. Come hether little kinsman, harke, a worde. Iohn. Come hether Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much: within this wall of fleshThere is a soule counts thee her Creditor,And with aduantage meanes to pay thy loue:And my good friend, thy voluntary oathLiues in this bosome, deerely cherished.Giue me thy hand, I had a thing to say,But I will fit it with some better tune.By heauen Hubert, I am almost asham'dTo say what good respect I haue of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your Maiesty. Iohn. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,But thou shalt haue: and creepe time nere so slow,Yet it shall come, for me to doe thee good.I had a thing to say, but let it goe:The Sunne is in the heauen, and the proud day,Attended with the pleasures of the world,Is all too wanton, and too full of gawdesTo giue me audience: If the mid-night bellDid with his yron tongue, and brazen mouthSound on into the drowzie race of night:If this same were a Church-yard where we stand,And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs:Or if that surly spirit melancholyHad bak'd thy bloud, and made it heauy, thicke,Which else runnes tickling vp and downe the veines,Making that idiot laughter keepe mens eyes,And straine their cheekes to idle merriment,A passion hatefull to my purposes:Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,Heare me without thine eares, and make replyWithout a tongue, vsing conceit alone,Without eyes, eares, and harmefull sound of words:Then, in despight of brooded watchfull day,I would into thy bosome poure my thoughts:But (ah) I will not, yet I loue thee well,And by my troth I thinke thou lou'st me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me vndertake,Though that my death were adiunct to my Act,By heauen I would doe it. Iohn. Doe not I know thou wouldst?Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert throw thine eyeOn yon young boy: Ile tell thee what my friend,He is a very serpent in my way,And wheresoere this foot of mine doth tread,He lies before me: dost thou vnderstand me?Thou art his keeper. Hub. And Ile keepe him so,That he shall not offend your Maiesty. Iohn. Death. Hub. My Lord. Iohn. A Graue. Hub. He shall not liue. Iohn. Enough.I could be merry now, Hubert, I loue thee.Well, Ile not say what I intend for thee:Remember: Madam, Fare you well,Ile send those powers o're to your Maiesty. Ele. My blessing goe with thee. Iohn. For England Cosen, goe. Hubert shall be your man, attend on youWith al true duetie: On toward Callice, hoa. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter France, Dolphin, Pandulpho, Attendants. Fra. So by a roaring Tempest on the flood,A whole Armado of conuicted saileIs scattered and dis-ioyn'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall yet goe well. Fra. What can goe well, when we haue runne so ill?Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur tane prisoner? diuers deere friends slaine?And bloudy England into England gone,Ore-bearing interruption spight of France? Dol. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:So hot a speed, with such aduice dispos'd,Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,Doth want example: who hath read, or heardOf any kindred-action like to this? Fra. Well could I beare that England had this praise,So we could finde some patterne of our shame: Enter Constance. Looke who comes heere? a graue vnto a soule,Holding th' eternall spirit against her will,In the vilde prison of afflicted breath:I prethee Lady goe away with me. Con. Lo; now: now see the issue of your peace. Fra. Patience good Lady, comfort gentle Constance. Con. No, I defie all Counsell, all redresse,But that which ends all counsell, true Redresse:Death, death, O amiable, louely death,Thou odoriferous stench: sound rottennesse,Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,Thou hate and terror to prosperitie,And I will kisse thy detestable bones,And put my eye-balls in thy vaultie browes,And ring these fingers with thy houshold wormes,And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,And be a Carrion Monster like thy selfe;Come, grin on me, and I will thinke thou smil'st,And busse thee as thy wife: Miseries Loue,O come to me. Fra. O faire affliction, peace. Con. No, no, I will not, hauing breath to cry:O that my tongue were in the thunders mouth,Then with a passion would I shake the world,And rowze from sleepe that fell AnatomyWhich cannot heare a Ladies feeble voyce,Which scornes a moderne Inuocation. Pand. Lady, you vtter madnesse, and not sorrow. Con. Thou art holy to belye me so,I am not mad: this haire I teare is mine,My name is Constance, I was Geffreyes wife,Yong Arthur is my sonne, and he is lost:I am not mad, I would to heauen I were,For then 'tis like I should forget my selfe:O, if I could, what griefe should I forget?Preach some Philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be Canoniz'd (Cardinall.)For, being not mad, but sensible of greefe,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliuer'd of these woes.And teaches mee to kill or hang my selfe:If I were mad, I should forget my sonne,Or madly thinke a babe of clowts were he;I am not mad: too well, too well I feeleThe different plague of each calamitie. Fra. Binde vp those tresses: O what loue I noteIn the faire multitude of those her haires;Where but by chance a siluer drop hath falne,Euen to that drop ten thousand wiery fiendsDoe glew themselues in sociable griefe,Like true, inseparable, faithfull loues,Sticking together in calamitie. Con. To England, if you will. Fra. Binde vp your haires. Con. Yes that I will: and wherefore will I do it?I tore them from their bonds, and cride aloud,O, that these hands could so redeeme my sonne,As they haue giuen these hayres their libertie:But now I enuie at their libertie,And will againe commit them to their bonds,Because my poore childe is a prisoner.And Father Cardinall, I haue heard you sayThat we shall see and know our friends in heauen:If that be true, I shall see my boy againe;For since the birth of Caine, the first male-childeTo him that did but yesterday suspire,There was not such a gracious creature borne:But now will Canker-sorrow eat my bud,And chase the natiue beauty from his cheeke,And he will looke as hollow as a Ghost,As dim and meager as an Agues fitte,And so hee'll dye: and rising so againe,When I shall meet him in the Court of heauenI shall not know him: therefore neuer, neuerMust I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heynous a respect of greefe. Const. He talkes to me, that neuer had a sonne. Fra. You are as fond of greefe, as of your childe. Con. Greefe fils the roome vp of my absent childe:Lies in his bed, walkes vp and downe with me,Puts on his pretty lookes, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffes out his vacant garments with his forme;Then, haue I reason to be fond of griefe?Fareyouwell: had you such a losse as I,I could giue better comfort then you doe.I will not keepe this forme vpon my head,When there is such disorder in my witte:O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my faire sonne,My life, my ioy, my food, my all the world:My widow-comfort, and my sorrowes cure. Exit. Fra. I feare some out-rage, and Ile follow her. Exit. Dol. There's nothing in this world can make me ioy,Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,Vexing the dull eare of a drowsie man;And bitter shame hath spoyl'd the sweet words taste,That it yeelds nought but shame and bitternesse. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,Euen in the instant of repaire and health,The fit is strongest: Euils that take leaueOn their departure, most of all shew euill:What haue you lost by losing of this day? Dol. All daies of glory, ioy, and happinesse. Pan. If you had won it, certainely you had.No, no: when Fortune meanes to men most good,Shee lookes vpon them with a threatning eye:'Tis strange to thinke how much King Iohn hath lostIn this which he accounts so clearely wonne: Are not you grieu'd that Arthur is his prisoner? Dol. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. Pan. Your minde is all as youthfull as your blood.Now heare me speake with a propheticke spirit:For euen the breath of what I meane to speake,Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rubOut of the path which shall directly leadThy foote to Englands Throne. And therefore marke: Iohn hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be,That whiles warme life playes in that infants veines,The mis-plac'd- Iohn should entertaine an houre,One minute, nay one quiet breath of rest.A Scepter snatch'd with an vnruly hand,Must be as boysterously maintain'd as gain'd.And he that stands vpon a slipp'ry place,Makes nice of no vilde hold to stay him vp:That Iohn may stand, then Arthur needs must fall,So be it, for it cannot be but so. Dol. But what shall I gaine by yong Arthurs fall? Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,May then make all the claime that Arthur did. Dol. And loose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pan. How green you are, and fresh in this old world? Iohn layes you plots: the times conspire with you,For he that steepes his safetie in true blood,Shall finde but bloodie safety, and vntrue.This Act so euilly borne shall coole the heartsOf all his people, and freeze vp their zeale,That none so small aduantage shall step forthTo checke his reigne, but they will cherish it.No naturall exhalation in the skie,No scope of Nature, no distemper'd day,No common winde, no customed euent,But they will plucke away his naturall cause,And call them Meteors, prodigies, and signes,Abbortiues, presages, and tongues of heauen,Plainly denouncing vengeance vpon Iohn. Dol. May be he will not touch yong Arthurs life,But hold himselfe safe in his prisonment. Pan. O Sir, when he shall heare of your approach,If that yong Arthur be not gone alreadie,Euen at that newes he dies: and then the heartsOf all his people shall reuolt from him,And kisse the lippes of vnacquainted change,And picke strong matter of reuolt, and wrathOut of the bloody fingers ends of Iohn. Me thinkes I see this hurley all on foot;And O, what better matter breeds for you,Then I haue nam'd. The Bastard Falconbridge Is now in England ransacking the Church,Offending Charity: If but a dozen FrenchWere there in Armes, they would be as a CallTo traine ten thousand English to their side;Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,Anon becomes a Mountaine. O noble Dolphine,Go with me to the King, 'tis wonderfull,What may be wrought out of their discontent,Now that their soules are topfull of offence,For England go; I will whet on the King. Dol. Strong reasons makes strange actions: let vs go,If you say I, the King will not say no. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima. Enter Hubert and Executioners. Hub. Heate me these Irons hot, and looke thou standWithin the Arras: when I strike my footVpon the bosome of the ground, rush forthAnd binde the boy, which you shall finde with meFast to the chaire: be heedfull: hence, and watch. Exec. I hope your warrant will beare out the deed. Hub. Vncleanly scruples feare not you: looke too't.Yong Lad come forth; I haue to say with you. Enter Arthur. Ar. Good morrow Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little Prince. Ar. As little Prince, hauing so great a TitleTo be more Prince, as may be: you are sad. Hub. Indeed I haue beene merrier. Art. 'Mercie on me:Me thinkes no body should be sad but I:Yet I remember, when I was in France,Yong Gentlemen would be as sad as nightOnely for wantonnesse: by my Christendome,So I were out of prison, and kept SheepeI should be as merry as the day is long:And so I would be heere, but that I doubtMy Vnckle practises more harme to me:He is affraid of me, and I of him:Is it my fault, that I was Geffreyes sonne?No in deede is't not: and I would to heauenI were your sonne, so you would loue me, Hubert: Hub. If I talke to him, with his innocent prateHe will awake my mercie, which lies dead:Therefore I will be sodaine, and dispatch. Ar. Are you sicke Hubert? you looke pale to day,Insooth I would you were a little sicke,That I might sit all night, and watch with you.I warrant I loue you more then you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosome.Reade heere yong Arthur. How now foolish rheume?Turning dispitious torture out of doore?I must be breefe, least resolution dropOut at mine eyes, in tender womanish teares.Can you not reade it? Is it not faire writ? Ar. Too fairely Hubert, for so foule effect,Must you with hot Irons, burne out both mine eyes? Hub. Yong Boy, I must. Art. And will you? Hub. And I will. Art. Haue you the heart? When your head did butake,I knit my hand-kercher about your browes(The best I had, a Princesse wrought it me)And I did neuer aske it you againe:And with my hand, at midnight held your head;And like the watchfull minutes, to the houre,Still and anon cheer'd vp the heauy time;Saying, what lacke you? and where lies your greefe?Or what good loue may I performe for you?Many a poore mans sonne would haue lyen still,And nere haue spoke a louing word to you:But you, at your sicke seruice had a Prince:Nay, you may thinke my loue was craftie loue,And call it cunning. Do, and if you will, If heauen be pleas'd that you must vse me ill,Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?These eyes, that neuer did, nor neuer shallSo much as frowne on you. Hub. I haue sworne to do it:And with hot Irons must I burne them out. Ar. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it:The Iron of it selfe, though heate red hot,Approaching neere these eyes, would drinke my teares,And quench this fierie indignation,Euen in the matter of mine innocence:Nay, after that, consume away in rust,But for containing fire to harme mine eye:Are you more stubborne hard, then hammer'd Iron?And if an Angell should haue come to me,And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,I would not haue beleeu'd him: no tongue but Huberts. Hub. Come forth: Do as I bid you do. Art. O saue me Hubert, saue me: my eyes are outEuen with the fierce lookes of these bloody men. Hub. Giue me the Iron I say, and binde him heere. Art. Alas, what neede you be so boistrous rough?I will not struggle, I will stand stone still:For heauen sake Hubert let me not be bound:Nay heare me Hubert, driue these men away,And I will sit as quiet as a Lambe.I will not stirre, nor winch, nor speake a word,Nor looke vpon the Iron angerly:Thrust but these men away, and Ile forgiue you,What euer torment you do put me too. Hub. Go stand within: let me alone with him. Exec. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deede. Art. Alas, I then haue chid away my friend,He hath a sterne looke, but a gentle heart:Let him come backe, that his compassion mayGiue life to yours. Hub. Come (Boy) prepare your selfe. Art. Is there no remedie? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Art. O heauen: that there were but a moth in yours,A graine, a dust, a gnat, a wandering haire,Any annoyance in that precious sense:Then feeling what small things are boysterous there,Your vilde intent must needs seeme horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? Go too, hold your toong. Art. Hubert, the vtterance of a brace of tongues,Must needes want pleading for a paire of eyes:Let me not hold my tongue: let me not Hubert, Or Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue,So I may keepe mine eyes. O spare mine eyes,Though to no vse, but still to looke on you.Loe, by my troth, the Instrument is cold,And would not harme me. Hub. I can heate it, Boy. Art. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with griefe,Being create for comfort, to be vs'dIn vndeserued extreames: See else your selfe,There is no malice in this burning cole,The breath of heauen, hath blowne his spirit out,And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can reuiue it Boy. Art. And if you do, you will but make it blush,And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes:And, like a dogge that is compell'd to fight,Snatch at his Master that doth tarre him on.All things that you should vse to do me wrongDeny their office: onely you do lackeThat mercie, which fierce fire, and Iron extends,Creatures of note for mercy, lacking vses. Hub. Well, see to liue: I will not touch thine eye,For all the Treasure that thine Vnckle owes,Yet am I sworne, and I did purpose, Boy,With this same very Iron, to burne them out. Art. O now you looke like Hubert. All this whileYou were disguis'd. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu,Your Vnckle must not know but you are dead.Ile fill these dogged Spies with false reports:And, pretty childe, sleepe doubtlesse, and secure,That Hubert for the wealth of all the world,Will not offend thee. Art. O heauen! I thanke you Hubert. Hub. Silence, no more; go closely in with mee,Much danger do I vndergo for thee. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Iohn, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lordes. Iohn. Heere once againe we sit: once against crown'dAnd look'd vpon, I hope, with chearefull eyes. Pem. This once again (but that your Highnes pleas'd)Was once superfluous: you were Crown'd before,And that high Royalty was nere pluck'd off:The faiths of men, nere stained with reuolt:Fresh expectation troubled not the LandWith any long'd-for-change, or better State. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pompe,To guard a Title, that was rich before;To gilde refined Gold, to paint the Lilly;To throw a perfume on the Violet,To smooth the yce, or adde another hewVnto the Raine-bow; or with Taper-lightTo seeke the beauteous eye of heauen to garnish,Is wastefull, and ridiculous excesse. Pem. But that your Royall pleasure must be done,This acte, is as an ancient tale new told,And, in the last repeating, troublesome,Being vrged at a time vnseasonable. Sal. In this the Anticke, and well noted faceOf plaine old forme, is much disfigured,And like a shifted winde vnto a saile,It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,Startles, and frights consideration:Makes sound opinion sicke, and truth suspected,For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Pem. When Workemen striue to do better then wel,They do confound their skill in couetousnesse,And oftentimes excusing of a fault,Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse:As patches set vpon a little breach,Discredite more in hiding of the fault,Then did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new crown'dWe breath'd our Councell: but it pleas'd your HighnesTo ouer-beare it, and we are all well pleas'd,Since all, and euery part of what we wouldDoth make a stand, at what your Highnesse will. Ioh. Some reasons of this double CorronationI haue possest you with, and thinke them strong.And more, more strong, then lesser is my feareI shall indue you with: Meane time, but askeWhat you would haue reform'd, that is not well,And well shall you perceiue, how willinglyI will both heare, and grant you your requests. Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue of theseTo sound the purposes of all their hearts,Both for my selfe, and them: but chiefe of allYour safety: for the which, my selfe and themBend their best studies, heartily requestTh' infranchisement of Arthur, whose restraintDoth moue the murmuring lips of discontentTo breake into this dangerous argument.If what in rest you haue, in right you hold,Why then your feares, which (as they say) attendThe steppes of wrong, should moue you to mew vpYour tender kinsman, and to choake his dayesWith barbarous ignorance, and deny his youthThe rich aduantage of good exercise,That the times enemies may not haue thisTo grace occasions: let it be our suite,That you haue bid vs aske his libertie,Which for our goods, we do no further aske,Then, whereupon our weale on you depending,Counts it your weale: he haue his liberty. Enter Hubert. Iohn. Let it be so: I do commit his youthTo your direction: Hubert, what newes with you? Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed:He shew'd his warrant to a friend of mine,The image of a wicked heynous faultLiues in his eye: that close aspect of his,Do shew the mood of a much troubled brest,And I do fearefully beleeue 'tis done,What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the King doth come, and goBetweene his purpose and his conscience,Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes set:His passion is so ripe, it needs must breake. Pem. And when it breakes, I feare will issue thenceThe foule corruption of a sweet childes death. Iohn. We cannot hold mortalities strong hand.Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing,The suite which you demand is gone, and dead.He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night. Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sicknesse was past cure. Pem. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was,Before the childe himselfe felt he was sicke:This must be answer'd either heere, or hence. Ioh. Why do you bend such solemne browes on me?Thinke you I beare the Sheeres of destiny?Haue I commandement on the pulse of life? Sal. It is apparant foule-play, and 'tis shameThat Greatnesse should so grossely offer it;So thriue it in your game, and so farewell. Pem. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) Ile go with thee,And finde th' inheritance of this poore childe,His little kingdome of a forced graue.That blood which ow'd the bredth of all this Ile,Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while:This must not be thus borne, this will breake outTo all our sorrowes, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt Io. They burn in indignation: I repent: Enter Mes. There is no sure foundation set on blood:No certaine life atchieu'd by others death:A fearefull eye thou hast. Where is that blood,That I haue seene inhabite in those cheekes?So foule a skie, cleeres not without a storme,Poure downe thy weather: how goes all in France? Mes. From France to England, neuer such a powreFor any forraigne preparation,Was leuied in the body of a land.The Copie of your speede is learn'd by them:For when you should be told they do prepare,The tydings comes, that they are all arriu'd. Ioh. Oh where hath our Intelligence bin drunke?Where hath it slept? Where is my Mothers care?That such an Army could be drawne in France,And she not heare of it? Mes. My Liege, her eareIs stopt with dust: the first of Aprill di'deYour noble mother; and as I heare, my Lord,The Lady Constance in a frenzie di'deThree dayes before: but this from Rumors tongueI idely heard: if true, or false I know not. Iohn. With-hold thy speed, dreadfull Occasion:O make a league with me, 'till I haue pleas'dMy discontented Peeres. What? Mother dead?How wildely then walkes my Estate in France?Vnder whose conduct came those powres of France,That thou for truth giu'st out are landed heere? Mes. Vnder the Dolphin. Enter Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. Ioh. Thou hast made me giddyWith these ill tydings: Now? What sayes the worldTo your proceedings? Do not seeke to stuffeMy head with more ill newes: for it is full. Bast. But if you be a-feard to heare the worst,Then let the worst vn-heard, fall on your head. Iohn. Beare with me Cosen, for I was amaz'dVnder the tide; but now I breath againeAloft the flood, and can giue audienceTo any tongue, speake it of what it will. Bast. How I haue sped among the Clergy men,The summes I haue collected shall expresse:But as I trauail'd hither through the land,I finde the people strangely fantasied,Possest with rumors, full of idle dreames,Not knowing what they feare, but full of feare.And here's a Prophet that I brought with meFrom forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I foundWith many hundreds treading on his heeles:To whom he sung in rude harsh sounding rimes,That ere the next Ascension day at noone,Your Highnes should deliuer vp your Crowne. Iohn. Thou idle Dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? Pet. Fore-knowing that the truth will fall out so. Iohn. Hubert, away with him: imprison him,And on that day at noone, whereon he sayesI shall yeeld vp my Crowne, let him be hang'dDeliuer him to safety, and returne,For I must vse thee. O my gentle Cosen,Hear'st thou the newes abroad, who are arriu'd? Bast. The French (my Lord) mens mouths are ful of it:Besides I met Lord Bigot, and Lord Salisburie With eyes as red as new enkindled fire,And others more, going to seeke the graueOf Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to night, on your suggestion. Iohn. Gentle kinsman, goAnd thrust thy selfe into their Companies, I haue a way to winne their loues againe:Bring them before me. Bast. I will seeke them out. Iohn. Nay, but make haste: the better foote before.O, let me haue no subiect enemies,When aduerse Forreyners affright my TownesWith dreadfull pompe of stout inuasion.Be Mercurie, set feathers to thy heeles,And flye (like thought) from them, to me againe. Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. Exit Iohn. Spoke like a sprightfull Noble Gentleman.Go after him: for he perhaps shall needeSome Messenger betwixt me, and the Peeres,And be thou hee. Mes. With all my heart, my Liege. Iohn. My mother dead? Enter Hubert. Hub. My Lord, they say fiue Moones were seene to night:Foure fixed, and the fift did whirle aboutThe other foure, in wondrous motion. Ioh. Fiue Moones? Hub. Old men, and Beldames, in the streetsDo prophesie vpon it dangerously:Yong Arthurs death is common in their mouths,And when they talke of him, they shake their heads,And whisper one another in the eare.And he that speakes, doth gripe the hearers wrist,Whilst he that heares, makes fearefull actionWith wrinkled browes, with nods, with rolling eyes.I saw a Smith stand with his hammer (thus)The whilst his Iron did on the Anuile coole,With open mouth swallowing a Taylors newes,Who with his Sheeres, and Measure in his hand,Standing on slippers, which his nimble hasteHad falsely thrust vpon contrary feete,Told of a many thousand warlike French,That were embattailed, and rank'd in Kent.Another leane, vnwash'd Artificer,Cuts off his tale, and talkes of Arthurs death. Io. Why seek'st thou to possesse me with these feares?Why vrgest thou so oft yong Arthurs death?Thy hand hath murdred him: I had a mighty causeTo wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. H. No had (my Lord?) why, did you not prouoke me? Iohn. It is the curse of Kings, to be attendedBy slaues, that take their humors for a warrant,To breake within the bloody house of life,And on the winking of AuthoritieTo vnderstand a Law; to know the meaningOf dangerous Maiesty, when perchance it frownesMore vpon humor, then aduis'd respect. Hub. Heere is your hand and Seale for what I did. Ioh. Oh, when the last accompt twixt heauen & earthIs to be made, then shall this hand and SealeWitnesse against vs to damnation.How oft the sight of meanes to do ill deeds,Make deeds ill done? Had'st not thou beene by,A fellow by the hand of Nature mark'd,Quoted, and sign'd to do a deede of shame,This murther had not come into my minde.But taking note of thy abhorr'd Aspect,Finding thee fit for bloody villanie:Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,I faintly broke with thee of Arthurs death:And thou, to be endeered to a King,Made it no conscience to destroy a Prince. Hub. My Lord. Ioh. Had'st thou but shooke thy head, or made a pauseWhen I spake darkely, what I purposed:Or turn'd an eye of doubt vpon my face;As bid me tell my tale in expresse words:Deepe shame had struck me dumbe, made me break off,And those thy feares, might haue wrought feares in me.But, thou didst vnderstand me by my signes,And didst in signes againe parley with sinne,Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,And consequently, thy rude hand to acteThe deed, which both our tongues held vilde to name.Out of my sight, and neuer see me more:My Nobles leaue me, and my State is braued,Euen at my gates, with rankes of forraigne powres;Nay, in the body of this fleshly Land,This kingdome, this Confine of blood, and breatheHostilitie, and ciuill tumult reignesBetweene my conscience, and my Cosins death. Hub. Arme you against your other enemies:Ile make a peace betweene your soule, and you.Yong Arthur is aliue: This hand of mineIs yet a maiden, and an innocent hand.Not painted with the Crimson spots of blood,Within this bosome, neuer entred yetThe dreadfull motion of a murderous thought,And you haue slander'd Nature in my forme,Which howsoeuer rude exteriorly,Is yet the couer of a fayrer minde,Then to be butcher of an innocent childe. Iohn. Doth Arthur liue? O hast thee to the Peeres,Throw this report on their incensed rage,And make them tame to their obedience.Forgiue the Comment that my passion madeVpon thy feature, for my rage was blinde,And foule immaginarie eyes of bloodPresented thee more hideous then thou art.Oh, answer not; but to my Closset bringThe angry Lords, with all expedient hast,I coniure thee but slowly: run more fast. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Arthur on the walles. Ar. The Wall is high, and yet will I leape downe.Good ground be pittifull, and hurt me not:There's few or none do know me, if they did,This Ship-boyes semblance hath disguis'd me quite.I am afraide, and yet Ile venture it.If I get downe, and do not breake my limbes,Ile finde a thousand shifts to get away;As good to dye, and go; as dye, and stay.Oh me, my Vnckles spirit is in these stones,Heauen take my soule, and England keep my bones. Dies Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, & Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at S[aint]. Edmondsbury, It is our safetie, and we must embraceThis gentle offer of the perillous time. Pem. Who brought that Letter from the Cardinall? Sal. The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France,Whose priuate with me of the Dolphines loue,Is much more generall, then these lines import. Big. To morrow morning let vs meete him then. Sal. Or rather then set forward, for 'twill beTwo long dayes iourney (Lords) or ere we meete. Enter Bastard. Bast. Once more to day well met, distemper'd Lords,The King by me requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossest himselfe of vs,We will not lyne his thin-bestained cloakeWith our pure Honors: nor attend the footeThat leaues the print of blood where ere it walkes.Returne, and tell him so: we know the worst. Bast. What ere you thinke, good words I thinkewere best. Sal. Our greefes, and not our manners reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your greefe.Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his priuiledge. Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no mans else. Sal. This is the prison: What is he lyes heere? P. Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty,The earth had not a hole to hide this deede. Sal. Murther, as hating what himselfe hath done,Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge. Big. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to a graue,Found it too precious Princely, for a graue. Sal. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld,Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke?Or do you almost thinke, although you see,That you do see? Could thought, without this obiectForme such another? This is the very top,The heighth, the Crest: or Crest vnto the CrestOf murthers Armes: This is the bloodiest shame,The wildest Sauagery, the vildest strokeThat euer wall-ey'd wrath, or staring ragePresented to the teares of soft remorse. Pem. All murthers past, do stand excus'd in this:And this so sole, and so vnmatcheable,Shall giue a holinesse, a puritie,To the yet vnbegotten sinne of times;And proue a deadly blood-shed, but a iest,Exampled by this heynous spectacle. Bast. It is a damned, and a bloody worke,The gracelesse action of a heauy hand,If that it be the worke of any hand. Sal. If that it be the worke of any hand?We had a kinde of light, what would ensue:It is the shamefull worke of Huberts hand,The practice, and the purpose of the king:From whose obedience I forbid my soule,Kneeling before this ruine of sweete life,And breathing to his breathlesse ExcellenceThe Incense of a Vow, a holy Vow:Neuer to taste the pleasures of the world,Neuer to be infected with delight,Nor conuersant with Ease, and Idlenesse,Till I haue set a glory to this hand,By giuing it the worship of Reuenge. Pem. Big. Our soules religiously confirme thy words. Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you, Arthur doth liue, the king hath sent for you. Sal. Oh he is bold, and blushes not at death,Auant thou hatefull villain, get thee gone. Hu. I am no villaine. Sal. Must I rob the Law? Bast. Your sword is bright sir, put it vp againe. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherers skin. Hub. Stand backe Lord Salsbury, stand backe I sayBy heauen, I thinke my sword's as sharpe as yours.I would not haue you (Lord) forget your selfe,Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;Least I, by marking of your rage, forgetYour Worth, your Greatnesse, and Nobility. Big. Out dunghill: dar'st thou braue a Nobleman? Hub. Not for my life: But yet I dare defendMy innocent life against an Emperor. Sal. Thou art a Murtherer. Hub. Do not proue me so:Yet I am none. Whose tongue so ere speakes false,Not truely speakes: who speakes not truly, Lies. Pem. Cut him to peeces. Bast. Keepe the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you Faulconbridge. Bast. Thou wer't better gaul the diuell Salsbury.If thou but frowne on me, or stirre thy foote,Or teach thy hastie spleene to do me shame,Ile strike thee dead. Put vp thy sword betime,Or Ile so maule you, and your tosting-Iron,That you shall thinke the diuell is come from hell. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?Second a Villaine, and a Murtherer? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who kill'd this Prince? Hub. 'Tis not an houre since I left him well:I honour'd him, I lou'd him, and will weepeMy date of life out, for his sweete liues losse. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,For villanie is not without such rheume,And he, long traded in it, makes it seemeLike Riuers of remorse and innocencie.Away with me, all you whose soules abhorreTh' vncleanly sauours of a Slaughter-house,For I am stifled with this smell of sinne. Big. Away, toward Burie, to the Dolphin there. P. There tel the king, he may inquire vs out. Ex. Lords. Ba. Here's a good world: knew you of this faire work?Beyond the infinite and boundlesse reach of mercie,(If thou didst this deed of death) art thou damn'd Hubert. Hub. Do but heare me sir. Bast. Ha? Ile tell thee what.Thou'rt damn'd as blacke, nay nothing is so blacke,Thou art more deepe damn'd then Prince Lucifer:There is not yet so vgly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this childe. Hub. Vpon my soule. Bast. If thou didst but consentTo this most cruell Act: do but dispaire,And if thou want'st a Cord, the smallest thredThat euer Spider twisted from her wombeWill serue to strangle thee: A rush will be a beameTo hang thee on. Or wouldst thou drowne thy selfe,Put but a little water in a spoone,And it shall be as all the Ocean,Enough to stifle such a villaine vp.I do suspect thee very greeuously. Hub. If I in act, consent, or sinne of thought,Be guiltie of the stealing that sweete breathWhich was embounded in this beauteous clay,Let hell want paines enough to torture me:I left him well. Bast. Go, beare him in thine armes:I am amaz'd me thinkes, and loose my wayAmong the thornes, and dangers of this world. How easie dost thou take all England vp,From forth this morcell of dead Royaltie?The life, the right, and truth of all this RealmeIs fled to heauen: and England now is leftTo tug and scamble, and to part by th' teethThe vn-owed interest of proud swelling State:Now for the bare-pickt bone of Maiesty,Doth dogged warre bristle his angry crest,And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:Now Powers from home, and discontents at homeMeet in one line: and vast confusion waitesAs doth a Rauen on a sicke-falne beast,The iminent decay of wrested pompe.Now happy he, whose cloake and center canHold out this tempest. Beare away that childe,And follow me with speed: Ile to the King:A thousand businesses are briefe in hand,And heauen it selfe doth frowne vpon the Land. Exit.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn and Pandolph, attendants. K.Iohn. Thus haue I yeelded vp into your handThe Circle of my glory. Pan. Take againeFrom this my hand, as holding of the PopeYour Soueraigne greatnesse and authoritie. Iohn. Now keep your holy word, go meet the French, And from his holinesse vse all your powerTo stop their marches 'fore we are enflam'd:Our discontented Counties doe reuolt:Our people quarrell with obedience,Swearing Allegiance, and the loue of souleTo stranger-bloud, to forren Royalty;This inundation of mistempred humor,Rests by you onely to be qualified.Then pause not: for the present time's so sicke,That present medcine must be ministred,Or ouerthrow incureable ensues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this Tempest vp,Vpon your stubborne vsage of the Pope:But since you are a gentle conuertite,My tongue shall hush againe this storme of warre,And make faire weather in your blustring land:On this Ascention day, remember well,Vpon your oath of seruice to the Pope,Goe I to make the French lay downe their Armes. Exit. Iohn. Is this Ascension day? did not the ProphetSay, that before Ascension day at noone,My Crowne I should giue off? euen so I haue:I did suppose it should be on constraint,But (heau'n be thank'd) it is but voluntary. Enter Bastard. Bast. All Kent hath yeelded: nothing there holds outBut Douer Castle: London hath receiu'dLike a kinde Host, the Dolphin and his powers.Your Nobles will not heare you, but are goneTo offer seruice to your enemy:And wilde amazement hurries vp and downeThe little number of your doubtfull friends. Iohn. Would not my Lords returne to me againeAfter they heard yong Arthur was aliue? Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,An empty Casket, where the Iewell of lifeBy some damn'd hand was rob'd, and tane away. Iohn. That villaine Hubert told me he did liue. Bast. So on my soule he did, for ought he knew:But wherefore doe you droope? why looke you sad?Be great in act, as you haue beene in thought:Let not the world see feare and sad distrustGouerne the motion of a kinglye eye:Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire,Threaten the threatner, and out-face the browOf bragging horror: So shall inferior eyesThat borrow their behauiours from the great,Grow great by your example, and put onThe dauntlesse spirit of resolution.Away, and glister like the god of warreWhen he intendeth to become the field:Shew boldnesse and aspiring confidence:What, shall they seeke the Lion in his denne,And fright him there? and make him tremble there?Oh let it not be said: forrage, and runneTo meet displeasure farther from the dores,And grapple with him ere he come so nye. Iohn. The Legat of the Pope hath beene with mee,And I haue made a happy peace with him,And he hath promis'd to dismisse the PowersLed by the Dolphin. Bast. Oh inglorious league:Shall we vpon the footing of our land,Send fayre-play-orders, and make comprimise,Insinuation, parley, and base truceTo Armes Inuasiue? Shall a beardlesse boy,A cockred-silken wanton braue our fields,And flesh his spirit in a warre-like soyle,Mocking the ayre with colours idlely spred,And finde no checke? Let vs my Liege to Armes:Perchance the Cardinall cannot make your peace;Or if he doe, let it at least be saidThey saw we had a purpose of defence. Iohn. Haue thou the ordering of this present time. Bast. Away then with good courage: yet I knowOur Partie may well meet a prowder foe. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter (in Armes) Dolphin, Salisbury, Meloone, Pem-broke, Bigot, Souldiers. Dol. My Lord Melloone, let this be coppied out,And keepe it safe for our remembrance:Returne the president to these Lords againe,That hauing our faire order written downe,Both they and we, perusing ore these notesMay know wherefore we tooke the Sacrament,And keepe our faithes firme and inuiolable. Sal. Vpon our sides it neuer shall be broken.And Noble Dolphin, albeit we sweareA voluntary zeale, and an vn-urg'd FaithTo your proceedings: yet beleeue me Prince,I am not glad that such a sore of TimeShould seeke a plaster by contemn'd reuolt,And heale the inueterate Canker of one wound, By making many: Oh it grieues my soule,That I must draw this mettle from my sideTo be a widdow-maker: oh, and thereWhere honourable rescue, and defenceCries out vpon the name of Salisbury. But such is the infection of the time,That for the health and Physicke of our right,We cannot deale but with the very handOf sterne Iniustice, and confused wrong:And is't not pitty, (oh my grieued friends)That we, the sonnes and children of this Isle,Was borne to see so sad an houre as this,Wherein we step after a stranger, marchVpon her gentle bosom, and fill vpHer Enemies rankes? I must withdraw, and weepeVpon the spot of this inforced cause,To grace the Gentry of a Land remote,And follow vnacquainted colours heere:What heere? O Nation that thou couldst remoue,That Neptunes Armes who clippeth thee about,Would beare thee from the knowledge of thy selfe,And cripple thee vnto a Pagan shore,Where these two Christian Armies might combineThe bloud of malice, in a vaine of league,And not to spend it so vn-neighbourly. Dolph. A noble temper dost thou shew in this,And great affections wrastling in thy bosomeDoth make an earth-quake of Nobility:Oh, what a noble combat hast foughtBetween compulsion, and a braue respect:Let me wipe off this honourable dewe,That siluerly doth progresse on thy cheekes:My heart hath melted at a Ladies teares,Being an ordinary Inundation:But this effusion of such manly drops,This showre, blowne vp by tempest of the soule,Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'dThen had I seene the vaultie top of heauenFigur'd quite ore with burning Meteors.Lift vp thy brow (renowned Salisburie)And with a great heart heaue away this storme:Commend these waters to those baby-eyesThat neuer saw the giant-world enrag'd,Nor met with Fortune, other then at feasts,Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping:Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deepeInto the purse of rich prosperityAs Lewis himselfe: so (Nobles) shall you all,That knit your sinewes to the strength of mine. Enter Pandulpho. And euen there, methinkes an Angell spake,Looke where the holy Legate comes apace,To giue vs warrant from the hand of heauen,And on our actions set the name of rightWith holy breath. Pand. Haile noble Prince of France: The next is this: King Iohn hath reconcil'dHimselfe to Rome, his spirit is come in,That so stood out against the holy Church,The great Metropolis and Sea of Rome:Therefore thy threatning Colours now winde vp,And tame the sauage spirit of wilde warre,That like a Lion fostered vp at hand,It may lie gently at the foot of peace,And be no further harmefull then in shewe. Dol. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not backe:I am too high-borne to be proportiedTo be a secondary at controll,Or vsefull seruing-man, and InstrumentTo any Soueraigne State throughout the world.Your breath first kindled the dead coale of warres,Betweene this chastiz'd kingdome and my selfe,And brought in matter that should feed this fire;And now 'tis farre too huge to be blowne outWith that same weake winde, which enkindled it:You taught me how to know the face of right,Acquainted me with interest to this Land,Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart,And come ye now to tell me Iohn hath madeHis peace with Rome? what is that peace to me?I (by the honour of my marriage bed)After yong Arthur, claime this Land for mine,And now it is halfe conquer'd, must I backe,Because that Iohn hath made his peace with Rome?Am I Romes slaue? What penny hath Rome borne?What men prouided? What munition sentTo vnder-prop this Action? Is't not IThat vnder-goe this charge? Who else but I,And such as to my claime are liable,Sweat in this businesse, and maintaine this warre?Haue I not heard these Islanders shout out Viue le Roy, as I haue bank'd their Townes?Haue I not heere the best Cards for the gameTo winne this easie match, plaid for a Crowne?And shall I now giue ore the yeelded Set?No, no, on my soule it neuer shall be said. Pand. You looke but on the out-side of this worke. Dol. Out-side or in-side, I will not returneTill my attempt so much be glorified,As to my ample hope was promised,Before I drew this gallant head of warre,And cull'd these fiery spirits from the worldTo out-looke Conquest, and to winne renowneEuen in the iawes of danger, and of death:What lusty Trumpet thus doth summon vs? Enter Bastard. Bast. According to the faire-play of the world,Let me haue audience: I am sent to speake:My holy Lord of Millane, from the KingI come to learne how you haue dealt for him:And, as you answer, I doe know the scopeAnd warrant limited vnto my tongue. Pand. The Dolphin is too wilfull oppositeAnd will not temporize with my intreaties:He flatly saies, hee'll not lay downe his Armes. Bast. By all the bloud that euer fury breath'd,The youth saies well. Now heare our English King,For thus his Royaltie doth speake in me:He is prepar'd, and reason to he should,This apish and vnmannerly approach,This harness'd Maske, and vnaduised Reuell,This vn-heard sawcinesse and boyish Troopes,The King doth smile at, and is well prepar'dTo whip this dwarfish warre, this Pigmy ArmesFrom out the circle of his Territories.That hand which had the strength, euen at your dore,To cudgell you, and make you take the hatch,To diue like Buckets in concealed Welles,To crowch in litter of your stable plankes,To lye like pawnes, lock'd vp in chests and truncks,To hug with swine, to seeke sweet safety outIn vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake, Euen at the crying of your Nations crow,Thinking this voyce an armed Englishman.Shall that victorious hand be feebled heere,That in your Chambers gaue you chasticement?No: know the gallant Monarch is in Armes,And like an Eagle, o're his ayerie towres,To sowsse annoyance that comes neere his Nest;And you degenerate, you ingrate Reuolts,You bloudy Nero's, ripping vp the wombeOf your deere Mother-England: blush for shame:For your owne Ladies, and pale-visag'd Maides,Like Amazons, come tripping after drummes:Their thimbles into armed Gantlets change,Their Needl's to Lances, and their gentle heartsTo fierce and bloody inclination. Dol. There end thy braue, and turn thy face in peace,We grant thou canst out-scold vs: Far thee well,We hold our time too precious to be spentwith such a brabler. Pan. Giue me leaue to speake. Bast. No, I will speake. Dol. We will attend to neyther:Strike vp the drummes, and let the tongue of warrePleade for our interest, and our being heere. Bast. Indeede your drums being beaten, wil cry out;And so shall you, being beaten: Do but startAn eccho with the clamor of thy drumme,And euen at hand, a drumme is readie brac'd,That shall reuerberate all, as lowd as thine.Sound but another, and another shall(As lowd as thine) rattle the Welkins eare,And mocke the deepe mouth'd Thunder: for at hand(Not trusting to this halting Legate heere,Whom he hath vs'd rather for sport, then neede)Is warlike Iohn: and in his fore-head sitsA bare-rib'd death, whose office is this dayTo feast vpon whole thousands of the French. Dol. Strike vp our drummes, to finde this danger out. Bast. And thou shalt finde it (Dolphin) do not doubt Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Alarums. Enter Iohn and Hubert. Iohn. How goes the day with vs? oh tell me Hubert. Hub. Badly I feare; how fares your Maiesty? Iohn. This Feauer that hath troubled me so long,Lyes heauie on me: oh, my heart is sicke. Enter a Messenger. Mes. My Lord: your valiant kinsman Falconbridge, Desires your Maiestie to leaue the field,And send him word by me, which way you go. Iohn. Tell him toward Swinsted, to the Abbey there. Mes. Be of good comfort: for the great supplyThat was expected by the Dolphin heere,Are wrack'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.This newes was brought to Richard but euen now,The French fight coldly, and retyre themselues. Iohn. Aye me, this tyrant Feauer burnes mee vp,And will not let me welcome this good newes.Set on toward Swinsted: to my Litter straight,Weaknesse possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. Sal. I did not thinke the King so stor'd with friends. Pem. Vp once againe: put spirit in the French,If they miscarry: we miscarry too. Sal. That misbegotten diuell Falconbridge, In spight of spight, alone vpholds the day. Pem. They say King Iohn sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Meloon wounded. Mel. Lead me to the Reuolts of England heere. Sal. When we were happie, we had other names. Pem. It is the Count Meloone. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly Noble English, you are bought and sold,Vnthred the rude eye of Rebellion,And welcome home againe discarded faith,Seeke out King Iohn, and fall before his feete:For if the French be Lords of this loud day,He meanes to recompence the paines you take,By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworne,And I with him, and many moe with mee,Vpon the Altar at S[aint]. Edmondsbury, Euen on that Altar, where we swore to youDeere Amity, and euerlasting loue. Sal. May this be possible? May this be true? Mel. Haue I not hideous death within my view,Retaining but a quantity of life,Which bleeds away, euen as a forme of waxeResolueth from his figure 'gainst the fire?What in the world should make me now deceiue,Since I must loose the vse of all deceite?Why should I then be false, since it is trueThat I must dye heere, and liue hence, by Truth?I say againe, if Lewis do win the day,He is forsworne, if ere those eyes of yoursBehold another day breake in the East:But euen this night, whose blacke contagious breathAlready smoakes about the burning CrestOf the old, feeble, and day-wearied Sunne,Euen this ill night, your breathing shall expire,Paying the fine of rated Treachery,Euen with a treacherous fine of all your liues:If Lewis, by your assistance win the day.Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;The loue of him, and this respect besides(For that my Grandsire was an Englishman)Awakes my Conscience to confesse all this.In lieu whereof, I pray you beare me henceFrom forth the noise and rumour of the Field;Where I may thinke the remnant of my thoughtsIn peace: and part this bodie and my souleWith contemplation, and deuout desires. Sal. We do beleeue thee, and beshrew my soule,But I do loue the fauour, and the formeOf this most faire occasion, by the whichWe will vntread the steps of damned flight,And like a bated and retired Flood,Leauing our ranknesse and irregular course,Stoope lowe within those bounds we haue ore-look'd,And calmely run on in obedienceEuen to our Ocean, to our great King Iohn. My arme shall giue thee helpe to beare thee hence, For I do see the cruell pangs of deathRight in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight,And happie newnesse, that intends old right. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Dolphin, and his Traine. Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set;But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush,When English measure backward their owne groundIn faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off,When with a volley of our needlesse shot,After such bloody toile, we bid good night,And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp,Last in the field, and almost Lords of it. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin? Dol. Heere: what newes? Mes. The Count Meloone is slaine: The English LordsBy his perswasion, are againe falne off,And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long,Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands. Dol. Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart:I did not thinke to be so sad to nightAs this hath made me. Who was he that saidKing Iohn did flie an houre or two beforeThe stumbling night did part our wearie powres? Mes. Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord. Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night,The day shall not be vp so soone as I,To try the faire aduenture of to morrow. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Bastard and Hubert, seuerally. Hub. Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, orI shoote. Bast. A Friend. What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whether doest thou go? Hub. What's that to thee?Why may not I demand of thine affaires,As well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I thinke. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought:I will vpon all hazards well beleeueThou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well:Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou pleaseThou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinkeI come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night,Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me,That any accent breaking from thy tongue,Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare. Bast. Come, come: sans complement, What newesabroad? Hub. Why heere walke I in the black brow of nightTo finde you out. Bast. Breefe then: and what's the newes? Hub. O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night,Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible. Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes,I am no woman, Ile not swound at it. Hub. The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke,I left him almost speechlesse, and broke outTo acquaint you with this euill, that you mightThe better arme you to the sodaine time,Then if you had at leisure knowne of this. Bast. How did he take it? Who did taste to him? Hub. A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaineWhose Bowels sodainly burst out: The KingYet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer. Bast. Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty? Hub. Why know you not? The Lords are all comebacke,And brought Prince Henry in their companie,At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,And they are all about his Maiestie. Bast. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen,And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power.Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this nightPassing these Flats, are taken by the Tide,These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them,My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd.Away before: Conduct me to the king,I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Prince Henry, Salisburie, and Bigot. Hen. It is too late, the life of all his bloodIs touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine(Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house)Doth by the idle Comments that it makes,Fore-tell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke. Pem. His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe,That being brought into the open ayre,It would allay the burning qualitieOf that fell poison which assayleth him. Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard heere:Doth he still rage? Pem. He is more patientThen when you left him; euen now he sung. Hen. Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreamesIn their continuance, will not feele themselues.Death hauing praide vpon the outward partsLeaues them inuisible, and his seige is nowAgainst the winde, the which he prickes and woundsWith many legions of strange fantasies,Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold,Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange that death shold sing:I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan,Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death,And from the organ-pipe of frailety singsHis soule and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borneTo set a forme vpon that indigestWhich he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude. Iohn brought in. Iohn. I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome, It would not out at windowes, nor at doores,There is so hot a summer in my bosome,That all my bowels crumble vp to dust:I am a scribled forme drawne with a penVpon a Parchment, and against this fireDo I shrinke vp. Hen. How fares your Maiesty? Ioh. Poyson'd, ill fare: dead, forsooke, cast off,And none of you will bid the winter comeTo thrust his ycie fingers in my maw;Nor let my kingdomes Riuers take their courseThrough my burn'd bosome: nor intreat the NorthTo make his bleake windes kisse my parched lips,And comfort me with cold. I do not aske you much,I begge cold comfort: and you are so straightAnd so ingratefull, you deny me that. Hen. Oh that there were some vertue in my teares,That might releeue you. Iohn. The salt in them is hot.Within me is a hell, and there the poysonIs, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize,On vnrepreeuable condemned blood. Enter Bastard. Bast. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motionAnd spleene of speede, to see your Maiesty. Iohn. Oh Cozen, thou art come to set mine eye:The tackle of my heart, is crack'd and burnt,And all the shrowds wherewith my life should saile,Are turned to one thred, one little haire:My heart hath one poore string to stay it by,Which holds but till thy newes be vttered,And then all this thou seest, is but a clod,And module of confounded royalty. Bast. The Dolphin is preparing hither-ward,Where heauen he knowes how we shall answer him.For in a night the best part of my powre,As I vpon aduantage did remoue,Were in the Washes all vnwarily,Deuoured by the vnexpected flood. Sal. You breath these dead newes in as dead an eareMy Liege, my Lord: but now a King, now thus. Hen. Euen so must I run on, and euen so stop.What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,When this was now a King, and now is clay? Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behinde,To do the office for thee, of reuenge,And then my soule shall waite on thee to heauen,As it on earth hath bene thy seruant still.Now, now you Starres, that moue in your right spheres,Where be your powres? Shew now your mended faiths,And instantly returne with me againe.To push destruction, and perpetuall shameOut of the weake doore of our fainting Land:Straight let vs seeke, or straight we shall be sought,The Dolphine rages at our verie heeles. Sal. It seemes you know not then so much as we,The Cardinall Pandulph is within at rest,Who halfe an houre since came from the Dolphin,And brings from him such offers of our peace,As we with honor and respect may take,With purpose presently to leaue this warre. Bast. He will the rather do it, when he seesOur selues well sinew'd to our defence. Sal. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already,For many carriages hee hath dispatch'dTo the sea side, and put his cause and quarrellTo the disposing of the Cardinall,With whom your selfe, my selfe, and other Lords,If you thinke meete, this afternoone will poastTo consummate this businesse happily. Bast. Let it be so, and you my noble Prince,With other Princes that may best be spar'd,Shall waite vpon your Fathers Funerall. Hen. At Worster must his bodie be interr'd,For so he will'd it. Bast. Thither shall it then,And happily may your sweet selfe put onThe lineall state, and glorie of the Land,To whom with all submission on my knee,I do bequeath my faithfull seruicesAnd true subiection euerlastingly. Sal. And the like tender of our loue wee makeTo rest without a spot for euermore. Hen. I haue a kinde soule, that would giue thankes,And knowes not how to do it, but with teares. Bast. Oh let vs pay the time: but needfull woe,Since it hath beene before hand with our greefes.This England neuer did, nor neuer shallLye at the proud foote of a Conqueror,But when it first did helpe to wound it selfe.Now, these her Princes are come home againe,Come the three corners of the world in Armes,And we shall shocke them: Naught shall make vs rue,If England to it selfe, do rest but true. Exeunt.