Fran. 'Tis true (faire daughter) and this blessed day,Euer in France shall be kept festiuall:To solemnize this day the glorious sunneStayes in his course, and playes the Alchymist,Turning with splendor of his precious eyeThe meager cloddy earth to glittering gold:The yearely course that brings this day about,Shall neuer see it, but a holy day
Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day.What hath this day deseru'd? what hath it done,That it in golden letters should be setAmong the high tides in the Kalender?Nay, rather turne this day out of the weeke,This day of shame, oppression, periury.Or if it must stand still, let wiues with childePray that their burthens may not fall this day,Lest that their hopes prodigiously be crost:But (on this day) let Sea-men feare no wracke,No bargaines breake that are not this day made;This day all things begun, come to ill end,Yea, faith it selfe to hollow falshood change
Fra. By heauen Lady, you shall haue no causeTo curse the faire proceedings of this day:Haue I not pawn'd to you my Maiesty?Const. You haue beguil'd me with a counterfeitResembling Maiesty, which being touch'd and tride,Proues valuelesse: you are forsworne, forsworne,You came in Armes to spill mine enemies bloud,But now in Armes, you strengthen it with yours.The grapling vigor, and rough frowne of WarreIs cold in amitie, and painted peace,And our oppression hath made vp this league:Arme, arme, you heauens, against these periur'd Kings,A widdow cries, be husband to me (heauens)Let not the howres of this vngodly dayWeare out the daies in Peace; but ere Sun-set,Set armed discord 'twixt these periur'd Kings,Heare me, Oh, heare me
Aust. Lady Constance, peace
Const. War, war, no peace, peace is to me a warre:O Lymoges, O Austria, thou dost shameThat bloudy spoyle: thou slaue, thou wretch, y coward,Thou little valiant, great in villanie,Thou euer strong vpon the stronger side;Thou Fortunes Champion, that do'st neuer fightBut when her humourous Ladiship is byTo teach thee safety: thou art periur'd too,And sooth'st vp greatnesse. What a foole art thou,A ramping foole, to brag, and stamp, and sweare,Vpon my partie: thou cold blooded slaue,Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?Beene sworne my Souldier, bidding me dependVpon thy starres, thy fortune, and thy strength,And dost thou now fall ouer to my foes?Thou weare a Lyons hide, doff it for shame,And hang a Calues skin on those recreant limbes
Aus. O that a man should speake those words to me
Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbsAus. Thou dar'st not say so villaine for thy life
Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbs
Iohn. We like not this, thou dost forget thy selfe.Enter Pandulph.
Fra. Heere comes the holy Legat of the Pope
Pan. Haile you annointed deputies of heauen;To thee King Iohn my holy errand is:I Pandulph, of faire Millane Cardinall,And from Pope Innocent the Legate heere,Doe in his name religiously demandWhy thou against the Church, our holy Mother,So wilfully dost spurne; and force perforceKeepe Stephen Langton chosen ArchbishopOf Canterbury from that holy Sea:This in our foresaid holy Fathers namePope Innocent, I doe demand of thee
Iohn. What earthie name to InterrogatoriesCan tast the free breath of a sacred King?Thou canst not (Cardinall) deuise a nameSo slight, vnworthy, and ridiculousTo charge me to an answere, as the Pope:Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England,Adde thus much more, that no Italian PriestShall tythe or toll in our dominions:But as we, vnder heauen, are supreame head,So vnder him that great supremacyWhere we doe reigne, we will alone vpholdWithout th' assistance of a mortall hand:So tell the Pope, all reuerence set apartTo him and his vsurp'd authoritie
Fra. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this
Iohn. Though you, and all the Kings of ChristendomAre led so grossely by this medling Priest,Dreading the curse that money may buy out,And by the merit of vilde gold, drosse, dust,Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,Who in that sale sels pardon from himselfe:Though you, and al the rest so grossely led,This iugling witchcraft with reuennue cherish,Yet I alone, alone doe me opposeAgainst the Pope, and count his friends my foes
Pand. Then by the lawfull power that I haue,Thou shalt stand curst, and excommunicate,And blessed shall he be that doth reuoltFrom his Allegeance to an heretique,And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,Canonized and worship'd as a Saint,That takes away by any secret courseThy hatefull life
Con. O lawfull let it beThat I haue roome with Rome to curse a while,Good Father Cardinall, cry thou AmenTo my keene curses; for without my wrongThere is no tongue hath power to curse him right
Pan. There's Law and Warrant (Lady) for my curse
Cons. And for mine too, when Law can do no right.Let it be lawfull, that Law barre no wrong:Law cannot giue my childe his kingdome heere;For he that holds his Kingdome, holds the Law:Therefore since Law it selfe is perfect wrong,How can the Law forbid my tongue to curse?Pand. Philip of France, on perill of a curse,Let goe the hand of that Arch-heretique,And raise the power of France vpon his head,Vnlesse he doe submit himselfe to Rome
Elea. Look'st thou pale France? do not let go thy hand
Con. Looke to that Deuill, lest that France repent,And by disioyning hands hell lose a soule
Aust. King Philip, listen to the Cardinall
Bast. And hang a Calues-skin on his recreant limbs
Aust. Well ruffian, I must pocket vp these wrongs,Because,Bast. Your breeches best may carry them
Iohn. Philip, what saist thou to the Cardinall?Con. What should he say, but as the Cardinall?Dolph. Bethinke you father, for the differenceIs purchase of a heauy curse from Rome,Or the light losse of England, for a friend:Forgoe the easier
Bla. That's the curse of Rome
Con. O Lewis, stand fast, the deuill tempts thee heereIn likenesse of a new vntrimmed Bride
Bla. The Lady Constance speakes not from her faith,But from her need
Con. Oh, if thou grant my need,Which onely liues but by the death of faith,That need, must needs inferre this principle,That faith would liue againe by death of need:O then tread downe my need, and faith mounts vp,Keepe my need vp, and faith is trodden downe
Iohn. The king is moud, and answers not to this
Con. O be remou'd from him, and answere well
Aust. Doe so king Philip, hang no more in doubt
Bast. Hang nothing but a Calues skin most sweet lout
Fra. I am perplext, and know not what to say
Pan. What canst thou say, but wil perplex thee more?If thou stand excommunicate, and curst?Fra. Good reuerend father, make my person yours,And tell me how you would bestow your selfe?This royall hand and mine are newly knit,And the coniunction of our inward soulesMarried in league, coupled, and link'd togetherWith all religous strength of sacred vowes,The latest breath that gaue the sound of wordsWas deepe-sworne faith, peace, amity, true loueBetweene our kingdomes and our royall selues,And euen before this truce, but new before,No longer then we well could wash our hands,To clap this royall bargaine vp of peace,Heauen knowes they were besmear'd and ouer-staindWith slaughters pencill; where reuenge did paintThe fearefull difference of incensed kings:And shall these hands so lately purg'd of bloud?So newly ioyn'd in loue? so strong in both,Vnyoke this seysure, and this kinde regreete?Play fast and loose with faith? so iest with heauen,Make such vnconstant children of our seluesAs now againe to snatch our palme from palme:Vn-sweare faith sworne, and on the marriage bedOf smiling peace to march a bloody hoast,And make a ryot on the gentle browOf true sincerity? O holy SirMy reuerend father, let it not be so;Out of your grace, deuise, ordaine, imposeSome gentle order, and then we shall be blestTo doe your pleasure, and continue friends
Pand. All forme is formelesse, Order orderlesse,Saue what is opposite to Englands loue.Therefore to Armes, be Champion of our Church,Or let the Church our mother breathe her curse,A mothers curse, on her reuolting sonne:France, thou maist hold a serpent by the tongue,A cased Lion by the mortall paw,A fasting Tyger safer by the tooth,Then keepe in peace that hand which thou dost hold
Fra. I may dis-ioyne my hand, but not my faith
Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith,And like a ciuill warre setst oath to oath,Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vowFirst made to heauen, first be to heauen perform'd,That is, to be the Champion of our Church,What since thou sworst, is sworne against thy selfe,And may not be performed by thy selfe,For that which thou hast sworne to doe amisse,Is not amisse when it is truely done:And being not done, where doing tends to ill,The truth is then most done not doing it:The better Act of purposes mistooke,Is to mistake again, though indirect,Yet indirection thereby growes direct,And falshood, falshood cures, as fire cooles fireWithin the scorched veines of one new burn'd:It is religion that doth make vowes kept,But thou hast sworne against religion:By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,And mak'st an oath the suretie for thy truth,Against an oath the truth, thou art vnsureTo sweare, sweares onely not to be forsworne,Else what a mockerie should it be to sweare?But thou dost sweare, onely to be forsworne,And most forsworne, to keepe what thou dost sweare,Therefore thy later vowes, against thy first,Is in thy selfe rebellion to thy selfe:And better conquest neuer canst thou make,Then arme thy constant and thy nobler partsAgainst these giddy loose suggestions:Vpon which better part, our prayrs come in,If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then knowThe perill of our curses light on theeSo heauy, as thou shalt not shake them offBut in despaire, dye vnder their blacke weight
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion
Bast. Wil't not be?Will not a Calues-skin stop that mouth of thine?Daul. Father, to Armes
Blanch. Vpon thy wedding day?Against the blood that thou hast married?What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drumsClamors of hell, be measures to our pomp?O husband heare me: aye, alacke, how newIs husband in my mouth? euen for that nameWhich till this time my tongue did nere pronounce;Vpon my knee I beg, goe not to ArmesAgainst mine Vncle
Const. O, vpon my knee made hard with kneeling,I doe pray to thee, thou vertuous Daulphin,Alter not the doome fore-thought by heauen
Blan. Now shall I see thy loue, what motiue mayBe stronger with thee, then the name of wife?Con. That which vpholdeth him, that thee vpholds,His Honor, Oh thine Honor, Lewis thine Honor
Dolph. I muse your Maiesty doth seeme so cold,When such profound respects doe pull you on?Pand. I will denounce a curse vpon his head
Fra. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall fro[m] thee
Const. O faire returne of banish'd Maiestie
Elea. O foule reuolt of French inconstancy
Eng. France, y shalt rue this houre within this houre
Bast. Old Time the clocke setter, y bald sexton Time:Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue
Bla. The Sun's orecast with bloud: faire day adieu,Which is the side that I must goe withall?I am with both, each Army hath a hand,And in their rage, I hauing hold of both,They whurle a-sunder, and dismember mee.Husband, I cannot pray that thou maist winne:Vncle, I needs must pray that thou maist lose:Father, I may not wish the fortune thine:Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thriue:Who-euer wins, on that side shall I lose:Assured losse, before the match be plaid
Dolph. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies
Bla. There where my fortune liues, there my life dies
Iohn. Cosen, goe draw our puisance together,France, I am burn'd vp with inflaming wrath,A rage, whose heat hath this condition;That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,The blood and deerest valued bloud of France
Fra. Thy rage shall burne thee vp, & thou shalt turneTo ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:Looke to thy selfe, thou art in ieopardie
Iohn. No more then he that threats. To Arms let's hie.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Allarums, Excursions: Enter Bastard with Austria's head.
Bast. Now by my life, this day grows wondrous hot,Some ayery Deuill houers in the skie,And pour's downe mischiefe. Austrias head lye there,Enter Iohn, Arthur, Hubert.
While Philip breathes
Iohn. Hubert, keepe this boy: Philip make vp,My Mother is assayled in our Tent,And tane I feare
Bast. My Lord I rescued her,Her Highnesse is in safety, feare you not:But on my Liege, for very little painesWill bring this labor to an happy end.Enter.
Alarums, excursions, Retreat. Enter Iohn, Eleanor, Arthur Bastard,Hubert,Lords.
Iohn. So shall it be: your Grace shall stay behindeSo strongly guarded: Cosen, looke not sad,Thy Grandame loues thee, and thy Vnkle willAs deere be to thee, as thy father was
Arth. O this will make my mother die with griefe
Iohn. Cosen away for England, haste before,And ere our comming see thou shake the bagsOf hoording Abbots, imprisoned angellsSet at libertie: the fat ribs of peaceMust by the hungry now be fed vpon:Vse our Commission in his vtmost force
Bast. Bell, Booke, & Candle, shall not driue me back,When gold and siluer becks me to come on.I leaue your highnesse: Grandame, I will pray(If euer I remember to be holy)For your faire safety: so I kisse your hand
Ele. Farewell gentle Cosen
Iohn. Coz, farewell
Ele. Come hether little kinsman, harke, a worde
Iohn. Come hether Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,We owe thee much: within this wall of fleshThere is a soule counts thee her Creditor,And with aduantage meanes to pay thy loue:And my good friend, thy voluntary oathLiues in this bosome, deerely cherished.Giue me thy hand, I had a thing to say,But I will fit it with some better tune.By heauen Hubert, I am almost asham'dTo say what good respect I haue of thee
Hub. I am much bounden to your Maiesty
Iohn. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,But thou shalt haue: and creepe time nere so slow,Yet it shall come, for me to doe thee good.I had a thing to say, but let it goe:The Sunne is in the heauen, and the proud day,Attended with the pleasures of the world,Is all too wanton, and too full of gawdesTo giue me audience: If the mid-night bellDid with his yron tongue, and brazen mouthSound on into the drowzie race of night:If this same were a Church-yard where we stand,And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs:Or if that surly spirit melancholyHad bak'd thy bloud, and made it heauy, thicke,Which else runnes tickling vp and downe the veines,Making that idiot laughter keepe mens eyes,And straine their cheekes to idle merriment,A passion hatefull to my purposes:Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,Heare me without thine eares, and make replyWithout a tongue, vsing conceit alone,Without eyes, eares, and harmefull sound of words:Then, in despight of brooded watchfull day,I would into thy bosome poure my thoughts:But (ah) I will not, yet I loue thee well,And by my troth I thinke thou lou'st me well
Hub. So well, that what you bid me vndertake,Though that my death were adiunct to my Act,By heauen I would doe it
Iohn. Doe not I know thou wouldst?Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert throw thine eyeOn yon young boy: Ile tell thee what my friend,He is a very serpent in my way,And wheresoere this foot of mine doth tread,He lies before me: dost thou vnderstand me?Thou art his keeper
Hub. And Ile keepe him so,That he shall not offend your Maiesty
Iohn. Death
Hub. My Lord
Iohn. A Graue
Hub. He shall not liue
Iohn. Enough.I could be merry now, Hubert, I loue thee.Well, Ile not say what I intend for thee:Remember: Madam, Fare you well,Ile send those powers o're to your Maiesty
Ele. My blessing goe with thee
Iohn. For England Cosen, goe.Hubert shall be your man, attend on youWith al true duetie: On toward Callice, hoa.
Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter France, Dolphin, Pandulpho, Attendants.
Fra. So by a roaring Tempest on the flood,A whole Armado of conuicted saileIs scattered and dis-ioyn'd from fellowship
Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall yet goe well
Fra. What can goe well, when we haue runne so ill?Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?Arthur tane prisoner? diuers deere friends slaine?And bloudy England into England gone,Ore-bearing interruption spight of France?Dol. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:So hot a speed, with such aduice dispos'd,Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,Doth want example: who hath read, or heardOf any kindred-action like to this?Fra. Well could I beare that England had this praise,So we could finde some patterne of our shame:Enter Constance.
Looke who comes heere? a graue vnto a soule,Holding th' eternall spirit against her will,In the vilde prison of afflicted breath:I prethee Lady goe away with me
Con. Lo; now: now see the issue of your peace
Fra. Patience good Lady, comfort gentle Constance
Con. No, I defie all Counsell, all redresse,But that which ends all counsell, true Redresse:Death, death, O amiable, louely death,Thou odoriferous stench: sound rottennesse,Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,Thou hate and terror to prosperitie,And I will kisse thy detestable bones,And put my eye-balls in thy vaultie browes,And ring these fingers with thy houshold wormes,And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,And be a Carrion Monster like thy selfe;Come, grin on me, and I will thinke thou smil'st,And busse thee as thy wife: Miseries Loue,O come to me
Fra. O faire affliction, peace
Con. No, no, I will not, hauing breath to cry:O that my tongue were in the thunders mouth,Then with a passion would I shake the world,And rowze from sleepe that fell AnatomyWhich cannot heare a Ladies feeble voyce,Which scornes a moderne Inuocation
Pand. Lady, you vtter madnesse, and not sorrow
Con. Thou art holy to belye me so,I am not mad: this haire I teare is mine,My name is Constance, I was Geffreyes wife,Yong Arthur is my sonne, and he is lost:I am not mad, I would to heauen I were,For then 'tis like I should forget my selfe:O, if I could, what griefe should I forget?Preach some Philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be Canoniz'd (Cardinall.)For, being not mad, but sensible of greefe,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliuer'd of these woes.And teaches mee to kill or hang my selfe:If I were mad, I should forget my sonne,Or madly thinke a babe of clowts were he;I am not mad: too well, too well I feeleThe different plague of each calamitie
Fra. Binde vp those tresses: O what loue I noteIn the faire multitude of those her haires;Where but by chance a siluer drop hath falne,Euen to that drop ten thousand wiery fiendsDoe glew themselues in sociable griefe,Like true, inseparable, faithfull loues,Sticking together in calamitie
Con. To England, if you will
Fra. Binde vp your haires
Con. Yes that I will: and wherefore will I do it?I tore them from their bonds, and cride aloud,O, that these hands could so redeeme my sonne,As they haue giuen these hayres their libertie:But now I enuie at their libertie,And will againe commit them to their bonds,Because my poore childe is a prisoner.And Father Cardinall, I haue heard you sayThat we shall see and know our friends in heauen:If that be true, I shall see my boy againe;For since the birth of Caine, the first male-childeTo him that did but yesterday suspire,There was not such a gracious creature borne:But now will Canker-sorrow eat my bud,And chase the natiue beauty from his cheeke,And he will looke as hollow as a Ghost,As dim and meager as an Agues fitte,And so hee'll dye: and rising so againe,When I shall meet him in the Court of heauenI shall not know him: therefore neuer, neuerMust I behold my pretty Arthur more
Pand. You hold too heynous a respect of greefe
Const. He talkes to me, that neuer had a sonne
Fra. You are as fond of greefe, as of your childe
Con. Greefe fils the roome vp of my absent childe:Lies in his bed, walkes vp and downe with me,Puts on his pretty lookes, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffes out his vacant garments with his forme;Then, haue I reason to be fond of griefe?Fareyouwell: had you such a losse as I,I could giue better comfort then you doe.I will not keepe this forme vpon my head,When there is such disorder in my witte:O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my faire sonne,My life, my ioy, my food, my all the world:My widow-comfort, and my sorrowes cure.Enter.
Fra. I feare some out-rage, and Ile follow her.Enter
Dol. There's nothing in this world can make me ioy,Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,Vexing the dull eare of a drowsie man;And bitter shame hath spoyl'd the sweet words taste,That it yeelds nought but shame and bitternesse
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,Euen in the instant of repaire and health,The fit is strongest: Euils that take leaueOn their departure, most of all shew euill:What haue you lost by losing of this day?Dol. All daies of glory, ioy, and happinesse
Pan. If you had won it, certainely you had.No, no: when Fortune meanes to men most good,Shee lookes vpon them with a threatning eye:'Tis strange to thinke how much King Iohn hath lostIn this which he accounts so clearely wonne:Are not you grieu'd that Arthur is his prisoner?Dol. As heartily as he is glad he hath him
Pan. Your minde is all as youthfull as your blood.Now heare me speake with a propheticke spirit:For euen the breath of what I meane to speake,Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rubOut of the path which shall directly leadThy foote to Englands Throne. And therefore marke:Iohn hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be,That whiles warme life playes in that infants veines,The mis-plac'dIohn should entertaine an houre,One minute, nay one quiet breath of rest.A Scepter snatch'd with an vnruly hand,Must be as boysterously maintain'd as gain'd.And he that stands vpon a slipp'ry place,Makes nice of no vilde hold to stay him vp:That Iohn may stand, then Arthur needs must fall,So be it, for it cannot be but so
Dol. But what shall I gaine by yong Arthurs fall?Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,May then make all the claime that Arthur did
Dol. And loose it, life and all, as Arthur did
Pan. How green you are, and fresh in this old world?Iohn layes you plots: the times conspire with you,For he that steepes his safetie in true blood,Shall finde but bloodie safety, and vntrue.This Act so euilly borne shall coole the heartsOf all his people, and freeze vp their zeale,That none so small aduantage shall step forthTo checke his reigne, but they will cherish it.No naturall exhalation in the skie,No scope of Nature, no distemper'd day,No common winde, no customed euent,But they will plucke away his naturall cause,And call them Meteors, prodigies, and signes,Abbortiues, presages, and tongues of heauen,Plainly denouncing vengeance vpon Iohn
Dol. May be he will not touch yong Arthurs life,But hold himselfe safe in his prisonment
Pan. O Sir, when he shall heare of your approach,If that yong Arthur be not gone alreadie,Euen at that newes he dies: and then the heartsOf all his people shall reuolt from him,And kisse the lippes of vnacquainted change,And picke strong matter of reuolt, and wrathOut of the bloody fingers ends of Iohn.Me thinkes I see this hurley all on foot;And O, what better matter breeds for you,Then I haue nam'd. The Bastard FalconbridgeIs now in England ransacking the Church,Offending Charity: If but a dozen FrenchWere there in Armes, they would be as a CallTo traine ten thousand English to their side;Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,Anon becomes a Mountaine. O noble Dolphine,Go with me to the King, 'tis wonderfull,What may be wrought out of their discontent,Now that their soules are topfull of offence,For England go; I will whet on the King
Dol. Strong reasons makes strange actions: let vs go,If you say I, the King will not say no.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima.
Enter Hubert and Executioners.
Hub. Heate me these Irons hot, and looke thou standWithin the Arras: when I strike my footVpon the bosome of the ground, rush forthAnd binde the boy, which you shall finde with meFast to the chaire: be heedfull: hence, and watch
Exec. I hope your warrant will beare out the deed
Hub. Vncleanly scruples feare not you: looke too't.Yong Lad come forth; I haue to say with you.Enter Arthur.
Ar. Good morrow Hubert
Hub. Good morrow, little Prince
Ar. As little Prince, hauing so great a TitleTo be more Prince, as may be: you are sad
Hub. Indeed I haue beene merrier
Art. 'Mercie on me:Me thinkes no body should be sad but I:Yet I remember, when I was in France,Yong Gentlemen would be as sad as nightOnely for wantonnesse: by my Christendome,So I were out of prison, and kept SheepeI should be as merry as the day is long:And so I would be heere, but that I doubtMy Vnckle practises more harme to me:He is affraid of me, and I of him:Is it my fault, that I was Geffreyes sonne?No in deede is't not: and I would to heauenI were your sonne, so you would loue me, Hubert:Hub. If I talke to him, with his innocent prateHe will awake my mercie, which lies dead:Therefore I will be sodaine, and dispatch
Ar. Are you sicke Hubert? you looke pale to day,Insooth I would you were a little sicke,That I might sit all night, and watch with you.I warrant I loue you more then you do me
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosome.Reade heere yong Arthur. How now foolish rheume?Turning dispitious torture out of doore?I must be breefe, least resolution dropOut at mine eyes, in tender womanish teares.Can you not reade it? Is it not faire writ?Ar. Too fairely Hubert, for so foule effect,Must you with hot Irons, burne out both mine eyes?Hub. Yong Boy, I must
Art. And will you?Hub. And I will
Art. Haue you the heart? When your head did butake,I knit my hand-kercher about your browes(The best I had, a Princesse wrought it me)And I did neuer aske it you againe:And with my hand, at midnight held your head;And like the watchfull minutes, to the houre,Still and anon cheer'd vp the heauy time;Saying, what lacke you? and where lies your greefe?Or what good loue may I performe for you?Many a poore mans sonne would haue lyen still,And nere haue spoke a louing word to you:But you, at your sicke seruice had a Prince:Nay, you may thinke my loue was craftie loue,And call it cunning. Do, and if you will,If heauen be pleas'd that you must vse me ill,Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?These eyes, that neuer did, nor neuer shallSo much as frowne on you
Hub. I haue sworne to do it:And with hot Irons must I burne them out
Ar. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it:The Iron of it selfe, though heate red hot,Approaching neere these eyes, would drinke my teares,And quench this fierie indignation,Euen in the matter of mine innocence:Nay, after that, consume away in rust,But for containing fire to harme mine eye:Are you more stubborne hard, then hammer'd Iron?And if an Angell should haue come to me,And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,I would not haue beleeu'd him: no tongue but Huberts
Hub. Come forth: Do as I bid you do
Art. O saue me Hubert, saue me: my eyes are outEuen with the fierce lookes of these bloody men
Hub. Giue me the Iron I say, and binde him heere
Art. Alas, what neede you be so boistrous rough?I will not struggle, I will stand stone still:For heauen sake Hubert let me not be bound:Nay heare me Hubert, driue these men away,And I will sit as quiet as a Lambe.I will not stirre, nor winch, nor speake a word,Nor looke vpon the Iron angerly:Thrust but these men away, and Ile forgiue you,What euer torment you do put me too
Hub. Go stand within: let me alone with him
Exec. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deede
Art. Alas, I then haue chid away my friend,He hath a sterne looke, but a gentle heart:Let him come backe, that his compassion mayGiue life to yours
Hub. Come (Boy) prepare your selfe
Art. Is there no remedie?Hub. None, but to lose your eyes
Art. O heauen: that there were but a moth in yours,A graine, a dust, a gnat, a wandering haire,Any annoyance in that precious sense:Then feeling what small things are boysterous there,Your vilde intent must needs seeme horrible
Hub. Is this your promise? Go too, hold your toong
Art. Hubert, the vtterance of a brace of tongues,Must needes want pleading for a paire of eyes:Let me not hold my tongue: let me not Hubert,Or Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue,So I may keepe mine eyes. O spare mine eyes,Though to no vse, but still to looke on you.Loe, by my troth, the Instrument is cold,And would not harme me
Hub. I can heate it, Boy
Art. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with griefe,Being create for comfort, to be vs'dIn vndeserued extreames: See else your selfe,There is no malice in this burning cole,The breath of heauen, hath blowne his spirit out,And strew'd repentant ashes on his head
Hub. But with my breath I can reuiue it Boy
Art. And if you do, you will but make it blush,And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes:And, like a dogge that is compell'd to fight,Snatch at his Master that doth tarre him on.All things that you should vse to do me wrongDeny their office: onely you do lackeThat mercie, which fierce fire, and Iron extends,Creatures of note for mercy, lacking vses
Hub. Well, see to liue: I will not touch thine eye,For all the Treasure that thine Vnckle owes,Yet am I sworne, and I did purpose, Boy,With this same very Iron, to burne them out
Art. O now you looke like Hubert. All this whileYou were disguis'd
Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu,Your Vnckle must not know but you are dead.Ile fill these dogged Spies with false reports:And, pretty childe, sleepe doubtlesse, and secure,That Hubert for the wealth of all the world,Will not offend thee
Art. O heauen! I thanke you Hubert
Hub. Silence, no more; go closely in with mee,Much danger do I vndergo for thee.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Iohn, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lordes.
Iohn. Heere once againe we sit: once against crown'dAnd look'd vpon, I hope, with chearefull eyes
Pem. This once again (but that your Highnes pleas'd)Was once superfluous: you were Crown'd before,And that high Royalty was nere pluck'd off:The faiths of men, nere stained with reuolt:Fresh expectation troubled not the LandWith any long'd-for-change, or better State
Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pompe,To guard a Title, that was rich before;To gilde refined Gold, to paint the Lilly;To throw a perfume on the Violet,To smooth the yce, or adde another hewVnto the Raine-bow; or with Taper-lightTo seeke the beauteous eye of heauen to garnish,Is wastefull, and ridiculous excesse
Pem. But that your Royall pleasure must be done,This acte, is as an ancient tale new told,And, in the last repeating, troublesome,Being vrged at a time vnseasonable
Sal. In this the Anticke, and well noted faceOf plaine old forme, is much disfigured,And like a shifted winde vnto a saile,It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,Startles, and frights consideration:Makes sound opinion sicke, and truth suspected,For putting on so new a fashion'd robe
Pem. When Workemen striue to do better then wel,They do confound their skill in couetousnesse,And oftentimes excusing of a fault,Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse:As patches set vpon a little breach,Discredite more in hiding of the fault,Then did the fault before it was so patch'd
Sal. To this effect, before you were new crown'dWe breath'd our Councell: but it pleas'd your HighnesTo ouer-beare it, and we are all well pleas'd,Since all, and euery part of what we wouldDoth make a stand, at what your Highnesse will
Ioh. Some reasons of this double CorronationI haue possest you with, and thinke them strong.And more, more strong, then lesser is my feareI shall indue you with: Meane time, but askeWhat you would haue reform'd, that is not well,And well shall you perceiue, how willinglyI will both heare, and grant you your requests
Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue of theseTo sound the purposes of all their hearts,Both for my selfe, and them: but chiefe of allYour safety: for the which, my selfe and themBend their best studies, heartily requestTh' infranchisement of Arthur, whose restraintDoth moue the murmuring lips of discontentTo breake into this dangerous argument.If what in rest you haue, in right you hold,Why then your feares, which (as they say) attendThe steppes of wrong, should moue you to mew vpYour tender kinsman, and to choake his dayesWith barbarous ignorance, and deny his youthThe rich aduantage of good exercise,That the times enemies may not haue thisTo grace occasions: let it be our suite,That you haue bid vs aske his libertie,Which for our goods, we do no further aske,Then, whereupon our weale on you depending,Counts it your weale: he haue his liberty.Enter Hubert.
Iohn. Let it be so: I do commit his youthTo your direction: Hubert, what newes with you?Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed:He shew'd his warrant to a friend of mine,The image of a wicked heynous faultLiues in his eye: that close aspect of his,Do shew the mood of a much troubled brest,And I do fearefully beleeue 'tis done,What we so fear'd he had a charge to do
Sal. The colour of the King doth come, and goBetweene his purpose and his conscience,Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes set:His passion is so ripe, it needs must breake
Pem. And when it breakes, I feare will issue thenceThe foule corruption of a sweet childes death
Iohn. We cannot hold mortalities strong hand.Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing,The suite which you demand is gone, and dead.He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sicknesse was past cure
Pem. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was,Before the childe himselfe felt he was sicke:This must be answer'd either heere, or hence
Ioh. Why do you bend such solemne browes on me?Thinke you I beare the Sheeres of destiny?Haue I commandement on the pulse of life?Sal. It is apparant foule-play, and 'tis shameThat Greatnesse should so grossely offer it;So thriue it in your game, and so farewell
Pem. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) Ile go with thee,And finde th' inheritance of this poore childe,His little kingdome of a forced graue.That blood which ow'd the bredth of all this Ile,Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while:This must not be thus borne, this will breake outTo all our sorrowes, and ere long I doubt.
Exeunt.
Io. They burn in indignation: I repent:Enter Mes.
There is no sure foundation set on blood:No certaine life atchieu'd by others death:A fearefull eye thou hast. Where is that blood,That I haue seene inhabite in those cheekes?So foule a skie, cleeres not without a storme,Poure downe thy weather: how goes all in France?Mes. From France to England, neuer such a powreFor any forraigne preparation,Was leuied in the body of a land.The Copie of your speede is learn'd by them:For when you should be told they do prepare,The tydings comes, that they are all arriu'd
Ioh. Oh where hath our Intelligence bin drunke?Where hath it slept? Where is my Mothers care?That such an Army could be drawne in France,And she not heare of it?Mes. My Liege, her eareIs stopt with dust: the first of Aprill di'deYour noble mother; and as I heare, my Lord,The Lady Constance in a frenzie di'deThree dayes before: but this from Rumors tongueI idely heard: if true, or false I know not
Iohn. With-hold thy speed, dreadfull Occasion:O make a league with me, 'till I haue pleas'dMy discontented Peeres. What? Mother dead?How wildely then walkes my Estate in France?Vnder whose conduct came those powres of France,That thou for truth giu'st out are landed heere?Mes. Vnder the Dolphin.Enter Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
Ioh. Thou hast made me giddyWith these ill tydings: Now? What sayes the worldTo your proceedings? Do not seeke to stuffeMy head with more ill newes: for it is full
Bast. But if you be a-feard to heare the worst,Then let the worst vn-heard, fall on your head
Iohn. Beare with me Cosen, for I was amaz'dVnder the tide; but now I breath againeAloft the flood, and can giue audienceTo any tongue, speake it of what it will
Bast. How I haue sped among the Clergy men,The summes I haue collected shall expresse:But as I trauail'd hither through the land,I finde the people strangely fantasied,Possest with rumors, full of idle dreames,Not knowing what they feare, but full of feare.And here's a Prophet that I brought with meFrom forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I foundWith many hundreds treading on his heeles:To whom he sung in rude harsh sounding rimes,That ere the next Ascension day at noone,Your Highnes should deliuer vp your Crowne
Iohn. Thou idle Dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?Pet. Fore-knowing that the truth will fall out so
Iohn. Hubert, away with him: imprison him,And on that day at noone, whereon he sayesI shall yeeld vp my Crowne, let him be hang'dDeliuer him to safety, and returne,For I must vse thee. O my gentle Cosen,Hear'st thou the newes abroad, who are arriu'd?Bast. The French (my Lord) mens mouths are ful of it:Besides I met Lord Bigot, and Lord SalisburieWith eyes as red as new enkindled fire,And others more, going to seeke the graueOf Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to night, on your suggestion
Iohn. Gentle kinsman, goAnd thrust thy selfe into their Companies,I haue a way to winne their loues againe:Bring them before me
Bast. I will seeke them out
Iohn. Nay, but make haste: the better foote before.O, let me haue no subiect enemies,When aduerse Forreyners affright my TownesWith dreadfull pompe of stout inuasion.Be Mercurie, set feathers to thy heeles,And flye (like thought) from them, to me againe
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
Exit
Iohn. Spoke like a sprightfull Noble Gentleman.Go after him: for he perhaps shall needeSome Messenger betwixt me, and the Peeres,And be thou hee
Mes. With all my heart, my Liege
Iohn. My mother dead?Enter Hubert.
Hub. My Lord, they say fiue Moones were seene to night:Foure fixed, and the fift did whirle aboutThe other foure, in wondrous motion
Ioh. Fiue Moones?Hub. Old men, and Beldames, in the streetsDo prophesie vpon it dangerously:Yong Arthurs death is common in their mouths,And when they talke of him, they shake their heads,And whisper one another in the eare.And he that speakes, doth gripe the hearers wrist,Whilst he that heares, makes fearefull actionWith wrinkled browes, with nods, with rolling eyes.I saw a Smith stand with his hammer (thus)The whilst his Iron did on the Anuile coole,With open mouth swallowing a Taylors newes,Who with his Sheeres, and Measure in his hand,Standing on slippers, which his nimble hasteHad falsely thrust vpon contrary feete,Told of a many thousand warlike French,That were embattailed, and rank'd in Kent.Another leane, vnwash'd Artificer,Cuts off his tale, and talkes of Arthurs death
Io. Why seek'st thou to possesse me with these feares?Why vrgest thou so oft yong Arthurs death?Thy hand hath murdred him: I had a mighty causeTo wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him
H. No had (my Lord?) why, did you not prouoke me?Iohn. It is the curse of Kings, to be attendedBy slaues, that take their humors for a warrant,To breake within the bloody house of life,And on the winking of AuthoritieTo vnderstand a Law; to know the meaningOf dangerous Maiesty, when perchance it frownesMore vpon humor, then aduis'd respect
Hub. Heere is your hand and Seale for what I did
Ioh. Oh, when the last accompt twixt heauen & earthIs to be made, then shall this hand and SealeWitnesse against vs to damnation.How oft the sight of meanes to do ill deeds,Make deeds ill done? Had'st not thou beene by,A fellow by the hand of Nature mark'd,Quoted, and sign'd to do a deede of shame,This murther had not come into my minde.But taking note of thy abhorr'd Aspect,Finding thee fit for bloody villanie:Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,I faintly broke with thee of Arthurs death:And thou, to be endeered to a King,Made it no conscience to destroy a Prince
Hub. My Lord
Ioh. Had'st thou but shooke thy head, or made a pauseWhen I spake darkely, what I purposed:Or turn'd an eye of doubt vpon my face;As bid me tell my tale in expresse words:Deepe shame had struck me dumbe, made me break off,And those thy feares, might haue wrought feares in me.But, thou didst vnderstand me by my signes,And didst in signes againe parley with sinne,Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,And consequently, thy rude hand to acteThe deed, which both our tongues held vilde to name.Out of my sight, and neuer see me more:My Nobles leaue me, and my State is braued,Euen at my gates, with rankes of forraigne powres;Nay, in the body of this fleshly Land,This kingdome, this Confine of blood, and breatheHostilitie, and ciuill tumult reignesBetweene my conscience, and my Cosins death
Hub. Arme you against your other enemies:Ile make a peace betweene your soule, and you.Yong Arthur is aliue: This hand of mineIs yet a maiden, and an innocent hand.Not painted with the Crimson spots of blood,Within this bosome, neuer entred yetThe dreadfull motion of a murderous thought,And you haue slander'd Nature in my forme,Which howsoeuer rude exteriorly,Is yet the couer of a fayrer minde,Then to be butcher of an innocent childe
Iohn. Doth Arthur liue? O hast thee to the Peeres,Throw this report on their incensed rage,And make them tame to their obedience.Forgiue the Comment that my passion madeVpon thy feature, for my rage was blinde,And foule immaginarie eyes of bloodPresented thee more hideous then thou art.Oh, answer not; but to my Closset bringThe angry Lords, with all expedient hast,I coniure thee but slowly: run more fast.
Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Arthur on the walles.
Ar. The Wall is high, and yet will I leape downe.Good ground be pittifull, and hurt me not:There's few or none do know me, if they did,This Ship-boyes semblance hath disguis'd me quite.I am afraide, and yet Ile venture it.If I get downe, and do not breake my limbes,Ile finde a thousand shifts to get away;As good to dye, and go; as dye, and stay.Oh me, my Vnckles spirit is in these stones,Heauen take my soule, and England keep my bones.
Dies
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, & Bigot.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at S[aint]. Edmondsbury,It is our safetie, and we must embraceThis gentle offer of the perillous time
Pem. Who brought that Letter from the Cardinall?Sal. The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France,Whose priuate with me of the Dolphines loue,Is much more generall, then these lines import
Big. To morrow morning let vs meete him then
Sal. Or rather then set forward, for 'twill beTwo long dayes iourney (Lords) or ere we meete.Enter Bastard.
Bast. Once more to day well met, distemper'd Lords,The King by me requests your presence straight
Sal. The king hath dispossest himselfe of vs,We will not lyne his thin-bestained cloakeWith our pure Honors: nor attend the footeThat leaues the print of blood where ere it walkes.Returne, and tell him so: we know the worst
Bast. What ere you thinke, good words I thinkewere best
Sal. Our greefes, and not our manners reason now
Bast. But there is little reason in your greefe.Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now
Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his priuiledge
Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no mans else
Sal. This is the prison: What is he lyes heere?P. Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty,The earth had not a hole to hide this deede
Sal. Murther, as hating what himselfe hath done,Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge
Big. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to a graue,Found it too precious Princely, for a graue
Sal. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld,Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke?Or do you almost thinke, although you see,That you do see? Could thought, without this obiectForme such another? This is the very top,The heighth, the Crest: or Crest vnto the CrestOf murthers Armes: This is the bloodiest shame,The wildest Sauagery, the vildest strokeThat euer wall-ey'd wrath, or staring ragePresented to the teares of soft remorse
Pem. All murthers past, do stand excus'd in this:And this so sole, and so vnmatcheable,Shall giue a holinesse, a puritie,To the yet vnbegotten sinne of times;And proue a deadly bloodshed, but a iest,Exampled by this heynous spectacle
Bast. It is a damned, and a bloody worke,The gracelesse action of a heauy hand,If that it be the worke of any hand
Sal. If that it be the worke of any hand?We had a kinde of light, what would ensue:It is the shamefull worke of Huberts hand,The practice, and the purpose of the king:From whose obedience I forbid my soule,Kneeling before this ruine of sweete life,And breathing to his breathlesse ExcellenceThe Incense of a Vow, a holy Vow:Neuer to taste the pleasures of the world,Neuer to be infected with delight,Nor conuersant with Ease, and Idlenesse,Till I haue set a glory to this hand,By giuing it the worship of Reuenge
Pem. Big. Our soules religiously confirme thy words.Enter Hubert.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you,Arthur doth liue, the king hath sent for you
Sal. Oh he is bold, and blushes not at death,Auant thou hatefull villain, get thee gone
Hu. I am no villaine
Sal. Must I rob the Law?Bast. Your sword is bright sir, put it vp againe
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherers skin
Hub. Stand backe Lord Salsbury, stand backe I sayBy heauen, I thinke my sword's as sharpe as yours.I would not haue you (Lord) forget your selfe,Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;Least I, by marking of your rage, forgetYour Worth, your Greatnesse, and Nobility
Big. Out dunghill: dar'st thou braue a Nobleman?Hub. Not for my life: But yet I dare defendMy innocent life against an Emperor
Sal. Thou art a Murtherer
Hub. Do not proue me so:Yet I am none. Whose tongue so ere speakes false,Not truely speakes: who speakes not truly, Lies
Pem. Cut him to peeces
Bast. Keepe the peace, I say
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you Faulconbridge
Bast. Thou wer't better gaul the diuell Salsbury.If thou but frowne on me, or stirre thy foote,Or teach thy hastie spleene to do me shame,Ile strike thee dead. Put vp thy sword betime,Or Ile so maule you, and your tosting-Iron,That you shall thinke the diuell is come from hell
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?Second a Villaine, and a Murtherer?Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none
Big. Who kill'd this Prince?Hub. 'Tis not an houre since I left him well:I honour'd him, I lou'd him, and will weepeMy date of life out, for his sweete liues losse
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,For villanie is not without such rheume,And he, long traded in it, makes it seemeLike Riuers of remorse and innocencie.Away with me, all you whose soules abhorreTh' vncleanly sauours of a Slaughter-house,For I am stifled with this smell of sinne
Big. Away, toward Burie, to the Dolphin there
P. There tel the king, he may inquire vs out.
Ex. Lords.
Ba. Here's a good world: knew you of this faire work?Beyond the infinite and boundlesse reach of mercie,(If thou didst this deed of death) art y damn'd Hubert
Hub. Do but heare me sir
Bast. Ha? Ile tell thee what.Thou'rt damn'd as blacke, nay nothing is so blacke,Thou art more deepe damn'd then Prince Lucifer:There is not yet so vgly a fiend of hellAs thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this childe
Hub. Vpon my soule
Bast. If thou didst but consentTo this most cruell Act: do but dispaire,And if thou want'st a Cord, the smallest thredThat euer Spider twisted from her wombeWill serue to strangle thee: A rush will be a beameTo hang thee on. Or wouldst thou drowne thy selfe,Put but a little water in a spoone,And it shall be as all the Ocean,Enough to stifle such a villaine vp.I do suspect thee very greeuously
Hub. If I in act, consent, or sinne of thought,Be guiltie of the stealing that sweete breathWhich was embounded in this beauteous clay,Let hell want paines enough to torture me:I left him well
Bast. Go, beare him in thine armes:I am amaz'd me thinkes, and loose my wayAmong the thornes, and dangers of this world.How easie dost thou take all England vp,From forth this morcell of dead Royaltie?The life, the right, and truth of all this RealmeIs fled to heauen: and England now is leftTo tug and scamble, and to part by th' teethThe vn-owed interest of proud swelling State:Now for the bare-pickt bone of Maiesty,Doth dogged warre bristle his angry crest,And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:Now Powers from home, and discontents at homeMeet in one line: and vast confusion waitesAs doth a Rauen on a sicke-falne beast,The iminent decay of wrested pompe.Now happy he, whose cloake and center canHold out this tempest. Beare away that childe,And follow me with speed: Ile to the King:A thousand businesses are briefe in hand,And heauen it selfe doth frowne vpon the Land.Enter.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima.
Enter King Iohn and Pandolph, attendants.
K.Iohn. Thus haue I yeelded vp into your handThe Circle of my glory
Pan. Take againeFrom this my hand, as holding of the PopeYour Soueraigne greatnesse and authoritie
Iohn. Now keep your holy word, go meet the French,And from his holinesse vse all your powerTo stop their marches 'fore we are enflam'd:Our discontented Counties doe reuolt:Our people quarrell with obedience,Swearing Allegiance, and the loue of souleTo stranger-bloud, to forren Royalty;This inundation of mistempred humor,Rests by you onely to be qualified.Then pause not: for the present time's so sicke,That present medcine must be ministred,Or ouerthrow incureable ensues
Pand. It was my breath that blew this Tempest vp,Vpon your stubborne vsage of the Pope:But since you are a gentle conuertite,My tongue shall hush againe this storme of warre,And make faire weather in your blustring land:On this Ascention day, remember well,Vpon your oath of seruice to the Pope,Goe I to make the French lay downe their Armes.Enter.
Iohn. Is this Ascension day? did not the ProphetSay, that before Ascension day at noone,My Crowne I should giue off? euen so I haue:I did suppose it should be on constraint,But (heau'n be thank'd) it is but voluntary.Enter Bastard.
Bast. All Kent hath yeelded: nothing there holds outBut Douer Castle: London hath receiu'dLike a kinde Host, the Dolphin and his powers.Your Nobles will not heare you, but are goneTo offer seruice to your enemy:And wilde amazement hurries vp and downeThe little number of your doubtfull friends
Iohn. Would not my Lords returne to me againeAfter they heard yong Arthur was aliue?Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,An empty Casket, where the Iewell of lifeBy some damn'd hand was rob'd, and tane away
Iohn. That villaine Hubert told me he did liue
Bast. So on my soule he did, for ought he knew:But wherefore doe you droope? why looke you sad?Be great in act, as you haue beene in thought:Let not the world see feare and sad distrustGouerne the motion of a kinglye eye:Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire,Threaten the threatner, and out-face the browOf bragging horror: So shall inferior eyesThat borrow their behauiours from the great,Grow great by your example, and put onThe dauntlesse spirit of resolution.Away, and glister like the god of warreWhen he intendeth to become the field:Shew boldnesse and aspiring confidence:What, shall they seeke the Lion in his denne,And fright him there? and make him tremble there?Oh let it not be said: forrage, and runneTo meet displeasure farther from the dores,And grapple with him ere he come so nye
Iohn. The Legat of the Pope hath beene with mee,And I haue made a happy peace with him,And he hath promis'd to dismisse the PowersLed by the Dolphin
Bast. Oh inglorious league:Shall we vpon the footing of our land,Send fayre-play-orders, and make comprimise,Insinuation, parley, and base truceTo Armes Inuasiue? Shall a beardlesse boy,A cockred-silken wanton braue our fields,And flesh his spirit in a warre-like soyle,Mocking the ayre with colours idlely spred,And finde no checke? Let vs my Liege to Armes:Perchance the Cardinall cannot make your peace;Or if he doe, let it at least be saidThey saw we had a purpose of defence
Iohn. Haue thou the ordering of this present time
Bast. Away then with good courage: yet I knowOur Partie may well meet a prowder foe.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Enter (in Armes) Dolphin, Salisbury, Meloone, Pembroke, Bigot,Souldiers.
Dol. My Lord Melloone, let this be coppied out,And keepe it safe for our remembrance:Returne the president to these Lords againe,That hauing our faire order written downe,Both they and we, perusing ore these notesMay know wherefore we tooke the Sacrament,And keepe our faithes firme and inuiolable
Sal. Vpon our sides it neuer shall be broken.And Noble Dolphin, albeit we sweareA voluntary zeale, and an vn-urg'd FaithTo your proceedings: yet beleeue me Prince,I am not glad that such a sore of TimeShould seeke a plaster by contemn'd reuolt,And heale the inueterate Canker of one wound,By making many: Oh it grieues my soule,That I must draw this mettle from my sideTo be a widdow-maker: oh, and thereWhere honourable rescue, and defenceCries out vpon the name of Salisbury.But such is the infection of the time,That for the health and Physicke of our right,We cannot deale but with the very handOf sterne Iniustice, and confused wrong:And is't not pitty, (oh my grieued friends)That we, the sonnes and children of this Isle,Was borne to see so sad an houre as this,Wherein we step after a stranger, marchVpon her gentle bosom, and fill vpHer Enemies rankes? I must withdraw, and weepeVpon the spot of this inforced cause,To grace the Gentry of a Land remote,And follow vnacquainted colours heere:What heere? O Nation that thou couldst remoue,That Neptunes Armes who clippeth thee about,Would beare thee from the knowledge of thy selfe,And cripple thee vnto a Pagan shore,Where these two Christian Armies might combineThe bloud of malice, in a vaine of league,And not to spend it so vn-neighbourly
Dolph. A noble temper dost thou shew in this,And great affections wrastling in thy bosomeDoth make an earth-quake of Nobility:Oh, what a noble combat hast foughtBetween compulsion, and a braue respect:Let me wipe off this honourable dewe,That siluerly doth progresse on thy cheekes:My heart hath melted at a Ladies teares,Being an ordinary Inundation:But this effusion of such manly drops,This showre, blowne vp by tempest of the soule,Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'dThen had I seene the vaultie top of heauenFigur'd quite ore with burning Meteors.Lift vp thy brow (renowned Salisburie)And with a great heart heaue away this storme:Commend these waters to those baby-eyesThat neuer saw the giant-world enrag'd,Nor met with Fortune, other then at feasts,Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping:Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deepeInto the purse of rich prosperityAs Lewis himselfe: so (Nobles) shall you all,That knit your sinewes to the strength of mine.Enter Pandulpho.
And euen there, methinkes an Angell spake,Looke where the holy Legate comes apace,To giue vs warrant from the hand of heauen,And on our actions set the name of rightWith holy breath
Pand. Haile noble Prince of France:The next is this: King Iohn hath reconcil'dHimselfe to Rome, his spirit is come in,That so stood out against the holy Church,The great Metropolis and Sea of Rome:Therefore thy threatning Colours now winde vp,And tame the sauage spirit of wilde warre,That like a Lion fostered vp at hand,It may lie gently at the foot of peace,And be no further harmefull then in shewe
Dol. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not backe:I am too high-borne to be proportiedTo be a secondary at controll,Or vsefull seruing-man, and InstrumentTo any Soueraigne State throughout the world.Your breath first kindled the dead coale of warres,Betweene this chastiz'd kingdome and my selfe,And brought in matter that should feed this fire;And now 'tis farre too huge to be blowne outWith that same weake winde, which enkindled it:You taught me how to know the face of right,Acquainted me with interest to this Land,Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart,And come ye now to tell me Iohn hath madeHis peace with Rome? what is that peace to me?I (by the honour of my marriage bed)After yong Arthur, claime this Land for mine,And now it is halfe conquer'd, must I backe,Because that Iohn hath made his peace with Rome?Am I Romes slaue? What penny hath Rome borne?What men prouided? What munition sentTo vnder-prop this Action? Is't not IThat vnder-goe this charge? Who else but I,And such as to my claime are liable,Sweat in this businesse, and maintaine this warre?Haue I not heard these Islanders shout outViue le Roy, as I haue bank'd their Townes?Haue I not heere the best Cards for the gameTo winne this easie match, plaid for a Crowne?And shall I now giue ore the yeelded Set?No, no, on my soule it neuer shall be said