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; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down.

K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt. Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

K. Phil. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What can'st thou say, but will perplex thee

more,

If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd?

K. Phil. 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 overstain'd
With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed 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 ordertess,
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 may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

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

Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
And, like a civil war, set'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,
And may not be performed by thyself:
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss,
Is not amiss when it is truly done;
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then most done not doing it:
The better act of purposes mistook
Is, to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,

And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is religion, that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion;

By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st ;
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn;
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear?
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore, thy latter 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 those 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.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion!
Bast.
Will't not be?
Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?
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,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.

Const.
O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous dauphin, alter not the doom
Fore-thought by heaven.

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour.
Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on
Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head.
K. Phil. Thou shalt not need:-England, I'll fall

from thee.

Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty!
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstaney!
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within

this hour.

Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton time, Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: Fair day,

adieu!

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phil. Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Enter Constance.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath:-
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! K. Phil. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death:-O amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy detestable bones; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me!

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:O. that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: I am not mad-I would to heaven, I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son ; Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity.

K. Phil. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note

In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by chance a silver drop bath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;

Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Const. To England if you will.
K. Phil.

Bind up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,

O that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty,

And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.—
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,

And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;

As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form';
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.-
I will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her head-dress.

When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! [Exit,
K. Phil. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.

Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me joy:

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ;

And bitter shame bath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,
That it yields naught, but shame, and bitterness.

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil:
What have you lost by losing of this day?

Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you have won it, certainly, you had.
No, no: when fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
"Tis strange, to think how much king Joun hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won:
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark.
John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, oue quiet breath of rest:
A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd:
And he, that stands upon a slippery place,

Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lew. And lose it, life and áll, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old
world!

John lays you plots; the times conspire with you:
For he, that steeps his safety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all bis people, and freeze up their zeal ;
That none so small advantage shall step forth,
To check his reign, but they will cherish it:
No natural exhalation in the sky,
No seape of nature, no distemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts Of all his people shall revolt from him, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot; And, O, what better matter breeds for you, Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulconbridge Is now in England, ransacking the church, Offending charity: If but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side; Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain. O noble dauphin, Go with me to the king: "Tis wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent : Now that their souls are topful of offence, For England go; I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: Let us go;

If you say, ay, the king will not say, no.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 1-Northampton. A Room in the Castle. Enter Hubert and two Attendants.

Hubert.

HEAT me these irons hot: and, look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth:
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.
1 Atten. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to't.-
[Exeunt Attendants.
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub.

Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a tisle
To be more prince.) as may be.-You are sad.

Methinks, no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven,

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.

[Aside.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:

In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night, and watch with you:

I warrant, I love you more than you do me.
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.-
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How
now, foolish rheum!

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!

I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

[Aside.

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth

Hub.

And will you?

And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but

ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again:

And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it, cunning; Do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?

Hub.

I have sworn to do it ; And with hot irons must I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age would do it' The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation,

Even in the matter of mine innocence:

Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth.
[Stamps

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.

Do, as I bid you do.