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
Command the rest to stand.-God, and our right! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The same. Alarums and Excursions; then a Retreat. Enter a French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates.
F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your
And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter'd 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
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; There stuck no plume in any English crest, That is removed by a staff of France; 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, Died in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates, and give the victors way.
Cit. 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:1 Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd
Strength match'd with strength, and power con
Both are alike; and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither; yet for both.
Enter, at one side, King John, with his power; Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other, King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces.
K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to
Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores; Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean.
K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop
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
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! O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men,
In undetermin'd differences of kings.- Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field, You equal potents,1 fiery-kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and
K. John. Whose party do the townsınen yet admit?
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?
1 Cit. 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.
1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this; And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates: King'd of our fears; until our fears, resolv'd, Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.
Bast. By heaven, these scroyles2 of Angiers flout you, kings;
And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me; Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
(1) Potentates. (3) Mutineers.
Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion; To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy?
K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our
I like it well;-France, shall we knit our powers, And lay this Angiers even with the ground; Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?
Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,- Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town,- Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls: And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why, then defy each other; and, pell-mell, Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell.
K. Phi. Let it be so:-Say, where will you as
K. John. We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom.
Our thunder from the south,
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bast. O prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: [Aside.
I'll stir them to it:-Come, away, away!
1 Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while
to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke, or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field:
Perséver not, but hear me, mighty kings. K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent to
1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady
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 zealous1 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 blood than lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete, O say, he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not, that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such a she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 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 spleen2 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,
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