Lew. She is sad and passionate, at your highness'tent. K. Phil. Brother of England, how may we con

tent This widow lady? [The Citizens

open

the Gates, and enter, to present the Keys of the Town. 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 hiin lord of.—Call the Lady Constance, Some speedy messenger; bid her repair To our solemnity.

[Exit SALISBURY. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd-for, unprepared, pomp. [Flourish of Drums and Trumpets.—Exeunt all

but FAULCON BRIDGE. Faul. 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 Heaven's own soldier,) rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling 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;

[Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

France.

The French King's Tent.

Enter ARTHUR, CONSTANCE, and SALISBURY.

Con. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro

vinces ?
It is not so; thou hast mis-spoke, mis-heard ;
I have a King's oath to the contrary.
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
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 gave you cause to prove my saying true.

Con. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die. Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou ? France friend with England ! what becomes of me?Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight. Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content,

Con. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content: 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, 0! 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. Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? Enevnom him with words; or get thee gone, And leave those woes alone, which I alone Am bound to underbear.

Sal. Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the Kings.
Con. 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 stout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble; for my grief's 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.

[Throws herself on the Ground. Flourish of Trumpets and Drums. Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, BLANCH,

AUSTRIA, ELINOR, FAULCON BRIDGE, CHATILLON, PEMBROKE, Essex, HUBERT, ENGLISH Herald, French HERALD, English and FRENCH GENTLEMEN, and GUARDS,

K.Phil. '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 holyday.
Con. [Rising.] A wicked day, and not a holy

day!
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. Phil. 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?

Con. You have beguild me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and

try'd, 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, 0, hear me !

Aust, Lady Constance, peace,

Con. 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 !

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight,
But when her humourous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety !
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! Faul, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

limbs, Aust, Thou dar’st not say so, villain, for thy life. Faul. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

limbs, K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thy

self.

A Trumpet sounds.

Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH, Attended,
K. Phil. Here comes the holy Legate of the Pope.

Pan. 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 per force,
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 interrogatorics