As to my ample hope was promised What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? [Trumpet sounds. Bast. According to the fair play of the world, I come, to learn how you have dealt for him! Pand. The dauphin is too wilful opposite, Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, That hand which had the strength, even at your door, To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ; Of your dear mother England, blush for shame : (1) This unhaired sauciness, i.e. this sauciness of a beardless boy. For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, To fierce and bloody inclination. Lew. There end thy brave,1 and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler. Pand. Give me leave to speak. We will attend to neither : Bast. No, I will speak. Lew. Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest, and our being here. Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; An echo with the clamour of thy drum, Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. SCENE III.-The same. A Field of Battle. Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT. [Exeunt. K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? K. John. This fever that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick! Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field, And send him word by me which way you go. K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply, (1) End thy brave, i. e. cease from thy bravado. That was expected by the dauphin here, K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, SCENE IV.-The same. [Exeunt. Another part of the same. Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others. Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax What in the world should make me now deceive, (1) He. The Dauphin is here meant. He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours But even this night,-whose black contagious breath Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my soul Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, Even to our ocean, to our great king John. My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! And happy newness, that intends old right. New flight; [Exeunt, leading off MELUN. SCENE V.-The same. The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set, When with a volley of our needless shot, And wound our tottering colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! (1) Paying the fine of rated treachery, i.e. the dauphin has rated your treachery at a certain fine, namely, your lives. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin? Lew. Here:-What news? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off: And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be so sad to-night As this hath made me.-Who was he that said, King John did fly an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers? Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night; The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.—An open Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey. Enter the Bastard and HUBERT, meeting. Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. Bast. A friend.-What art thou? Hub. Bast. Whither dost thou go? Of the part of England. What's that to thee? Hubert, I think. Why may I not demand of thine affairs, Bast. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night,1 Have done me shame :-Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out. Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? (1) Eyeless night, i.e. night with no moon shining. Pindar in one of his odes calls the moon the eye of the night, |