The rather, that you give his offspring life,
Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
But with a heart full of unstained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.
Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee
right?

Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return,
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tide,
And coops from other lands her islanders,
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Const O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,

Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength

To make a more requital to your love.

K. Phi. Peace be to England; if that war return

their swords

In such a just and charitable war.

be bent

Against the brows of this resisting town.
Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
To cull the plot of best advantages;
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy,
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood:
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter CHATILLON.

K. Phi. A wonder, lady !-lo, upon thy wish,
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.—
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord,
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.
Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry
siege,

And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I :
His marches are expedient* to this town,
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen,
An Até,† stirring him to blood and strife;
With her, her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king's deceased:
And all the unsettled humours of the land,-
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,-
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,

* Expeditious. † Até, goddess of revenge,

But thou from loving England art so far,
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,
Cut off the sequence of posterity.

Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ;-
This little abstract doth contain that large,
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his :
Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,
And this is Geffrey's in the name of God,
How comes it, then, that thou art called a king,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest ?
K. John. From what hast thou this great com-
mission, France,

:

To draw my answer from thy articles?

K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs good In any breart of strong authority, thoughts

To look into the blots and stains of right.
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy
Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong;
And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it.

K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.

Lew. Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all,— England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? K. John. My life as soon:-I do defy thee,

France.

Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love, I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : Submit thee, boy.

* Mischief.

Eli. Come to thy grandame, child. Const. Do, child, go to it' grandame, child; Give grandame kingdom, and it' grandame will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandame.

Arth.

Good, my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave; I am not worth this coil that's made for me. Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

Const. His grandame's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,

Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor

eyes,

Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;

Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you.

K. Phi. Amen, Amen!-Mount, chevaliers! to

arms!

K. John. Up higher to the plain: where we'll set forth,

In best appointment, all our regiments.

Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. K. Phi. It shall be so ;-[to LEWIS.] and at the other hill

Command the rest to stand.-God, and our right! [Exeunt.

SCENE.-The same.

perate :

It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim
To these ill-tuned repetitions.

Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak,
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens upon the Walls.
Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?
K. Phi. 'Tis France for England.
K. John.
England, for itself:
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects!
K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's
subjects,

Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle-
K. John. For our advantage;-Therefore hear
us first.

These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of our town,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,
Who painfully, with much expedient march
Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,
Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle :
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke,
To make a faithless error in your ears:
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
And let us in.

Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's
subjects;

For him, and in his right, we hold this town. K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the
king,

To him will we prove loyal; till that time,
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove
the king?

Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls,

That to their everlasting residence,

Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French;
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king and yours!
Enter an English Herald, with Trumpets.
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your
bells;

King John, your king and England's, doth approach,

Commander of this hot malicious day!

Their armours, that march'd hence so silver bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood:
Our colours do return in those same hands,
That did display them when we first march'd forth,
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:
Open your gates, and give the victors way.
Hubert. Heralds, from off our towers we might
behold,

From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured :
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have an-
swer'd blows;

Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:

Both are alike; and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest, while they weigh so.
K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop
of blood,

In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: And by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we
bear,

Or add a royal number to the dead;
Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss,
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!

admit ?

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?

Hubert. The King of England, when we know the king.

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, And bear possession of our person here; Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

Hubert. Hear us, great kings; vouchsafe a
while to stay,

And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league;
Win you this city without stroke or wound;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
That here come sacrifices for the field:
Persevere not, but hear me, mighty kings.
K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent
to hear.

Hubert. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady
Blanch,

Is near to England: Look upon the years
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid:
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer lood than Lady Blanch?
Such as she is, in beauty, virute, birth,
Is the young Dauphin every way complete;
O, two such silver currents, when they join,
Do glorify the banks that bound them in:
And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can,
To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance; but, without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion, no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory,

As we to keep this city.

Holds hand with any princess of the world.

K. Phi. What sayst thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye; Which, being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : I do protest, I never lov'd myself, Till now infixed I beheld myself, Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Whispers with BLANCH.
Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine,
If he see aught in you, that makes him like,
That anything he sees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will;
Or, if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my love,
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love,
Than this, that nothing do I see in you,
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be
your judge,

That I can find should merit any hate.
K. John. What say these young ones? What

say you, my niece?

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak, then. Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love: For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine,
Maine,

Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
With her to thee; and this addition more,
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
Philip of France, if thou he pleas'd withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
K. Phi. It likes us well. Young princes, close
your hands.

Aust. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd That I did so, when I was first assur'd.

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,

Let in that amity which you have made;

match;

Give our niece a dowry large enough:

For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France;
Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while their
souls

Are capable o' this ambition.

Hubert. Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first

To speak unto this city: What say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely

son,

Can in this book of beauty read, I love, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen :

The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
I know she is not; for this match, made up,
Her presence would have interrupted much:
Where is she and her son? tell me who knows.
Lew. She is sad and passionate at your high-

ness' tent.

K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have made,

Will give her sadness very little cure.
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady? In her right we came;
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.

K. John.
We will heal up all,
For we'll create"young Arthur Duke of Bretagne
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of.-Call the Lady Constance;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair

To our solemnity:-I trust we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,]
Yet in some measure satisfy her so,
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.

[Exeunt all but the Bastard.-The Citizens retire from the walls. Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part : And France, whose armour, conscience buckled on; Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil; That broker that still breaks the pate of faith; That daily break-vow; he that wins of all, Commodity, the bias of the world; The world, who of itself is poised well, Made to run even; upon even ground;

*

* Commodity means interest, convenience.

Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent :
And this same bias, this commodity,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.-
And why rail I on this commodity?
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would salute my palm;,
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail,
And say,-there is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, there is no vice but beggary;
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain be my lord! for I will worship thee! [Exit.

SCENE.-The same. The French King's Tent. Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY. Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!

False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!

Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou? France friend with England! what becomes of me? Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert

grim,

vinces ?

It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again :
It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so:
I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man ;
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick, and capable of fears;
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;

And though thou now confess thou didst but jest
With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.—

For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy!
Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great :
Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose: but Fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty.
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.
Sal.

Pardon me, madam,

I may not go without you to the kings.
Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go
with thee:

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud :
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble; for my grief is so great
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
[She throws herself on the ground.
Enter King JOHN, King PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,
ELINOR, Bastard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants.

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed

day

Ever in France shall be kept festival :

The yearly course that brings this day about Shall never see it but a holiday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holiday;

[Rising.

What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar?
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd?
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person

yours,

cause

To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
Have I not pawned to you my majesty?

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried,

Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd
kings!

A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set arm'd discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
Hear me, O hear me !

Aust.
Lady Constance, peace.
Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.
O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou
coward,

Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the strongest side!
Thou Fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too.
And sooth'st up greatness. Thou cold-blooded
slave,

Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? Bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
And wear a lion's hide! doff* it for shame,
And hang a calf's-kin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words
to me!

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

limbs.

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

Enter PANDULPH.

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Let go the hand of that arch-heretic; And raise the power of France upon his head, Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.

Doff it means take off.

The latest breath that gave the sound of words
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves.
And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
So newly joined in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet?
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with
Heaven,

Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
As now again to snatch our palm from palm;
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
My reverend father, let it not be so :
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church!,
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
A chased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath,
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd;
That is, to be the champion of our church!
What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself,
Therefore, thy later vows, against thy first,
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself:
And better conquest never canst thou make,
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them: but, if not, then know
The peril of our curses light on thee

So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off,
But, in despair, die under their black weight.
Lew. Father, to arms!
Blanch.

Upon thy wedding-day?
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd

men ?

Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new

Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name,

H