That shakes the rotten carcase of old death
Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks,
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, [and seas,
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon,-fire and smoke and
bounce;

He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France:
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.
Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this
match;

Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yond' 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
Are capable of this ambition, [their souls
Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.

I Cit. 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 :
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea
(Except this city now by us besieg'd)
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,
As she in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hand with any princess of the world.
K. Phi. What say'st 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.
Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her
eve!-
[brow!
Fang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her
And quarter'd in her heart!--he doth espy

Himself love's traitor :-this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd, there should be,

In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

[mine.

Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is If he sees 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? [do Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to What you in wisdom will vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can

you love this lady?

gates,

Let in that amity which you have made;
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
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
highness' 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
To our own vantage.
[way,
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 except the Bastard. The Citizens retire from the walls.

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad com-
position!

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,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men,
maids,-

Who having no external thing to lose [that;
But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling com-
Commodity, the bias of the world; [modity,
The world, who of itself is peized well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
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,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
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!

ACT III.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-France. The French King's Tent.
Eater Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury,
Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a
peace!
[friends!
False blood to false blood join'd. Gone to be
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those
provinces ?

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;

[jest,

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;
And though thou now confess thou didst but
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. Ó, if thou teach me to believe this

Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains, Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,

I would not care, I then would be content; 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 may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose : but Fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on
France

To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to Fortune, and king John,-
That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John !-
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
A:n bound to under-bear.

Sal.

Pardon me, madam.

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 griefs 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 casts 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:
To solemnize this day the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist,
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holiday.

Const. [Rising.] A wicked day, and not a
holy day!
[done,
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the calendar?
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck ;
No bargains break, that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!
K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no

cause

To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?
Const. You have beguil'd me with a counter-
feit,
[tried,
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and
Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league.
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 armed 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 villainy !
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too, And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,

A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear,
Upon my party! 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?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those
words to me!

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those re-
creant limbs.
[thy life.
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for
Bast. And hang a calf s-skin on those re-
creant limbs.
[get thyself.
K. John. We like not this; thou dost for-
K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the
Enter Pandulpho. [pope.
Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
To thee, king John, my holy errand is.
I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
Do in his name religiously demand,
Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce,
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ?
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name,
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

K. John. What earthly name to interro-
gatories

Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of
England,

Add thus much more,-that no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
But, as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under Him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
So tell the pope; all reverence set apart
To him, and his usurp'd authority.
K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme
in this.
[of Christendom,
K. John. Though you, and all the kings
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself:
Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose [foes.
Against the pope, and count his friends my
Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I

have,

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! Good father cardinal, cry thou amen

To my keen curses; for, without my wrong,
There is no tongue hath power to curse him
right.
[my curse.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for
Const. And for mine too: when law can do
no right,

Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here;
For he that holds his kingdom holds the law:
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?
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.
[repent,
Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And hang a calf s-skin on his recreant
limbs.
[wrongs,
Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these
Because-

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them.
K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the
cardinal?
[dinal?

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,

And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and link'd together
With all religious strength of sacred vows;
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 even before this truce, but new before,-
No longer than we well could wash our hands,
To clap this royal bargain up of peace,-
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-
stain'd
[paint
With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did
The fearful difference of incensèd kings:
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
So newly join'd 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.

Blanch.
That's the curse of Rome.
Const. O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts
thee here,

In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.
Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not
from her faith,
But from her need.
Const.
O, if thou grant my need,
Which only lives but by the death of faith,
That need must needs infer this principle,-
That faith would live again by death of need!
O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts

up;

[well!

[tongue, [hold.

Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the
A chafèd lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost
K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my
faith.
[faith;
Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to
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 per-
form'd;

That is, to be the champion of our church!
What since thou swor'st is sworn against thy-
And may not be performed by thyself: [self,
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss,
Is not amiss when it is truly done;

to say.