As fhe in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hand with any Princess of the world.
K. Philip. What fay'ft thou, boy? look in the lady's face.
Lewis. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
'A wonder, or a wondrous miracle;
The fhadow of my self form'd in her eye;
Which, being but the fhadow of your fon,
Becomes a Sun, and makes your fon a shadow.
I do proteft, I never lov'd my self,
Till now, infixed, I beheld my self,
Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye.
[Whispering with Blanch. Faulc. Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espie
Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there fhould be,
In fuch a Love, o vile a lout as he.
Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine.
If he fee aught in you, that makes him like,
That any thing he fees, which moves his liking,
I can with eale tranflate it to my will:
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it eafily to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I fee in you is worthy love,
Than this; that nothing do I fee in you,
(Though churlish thoughts themselves fhould be your judge)
That I can find fhould merit any hate.
K. John. What fay these young Ones? what fay you, my Neice?
Blanch. That he is bound in Honour ftill to do What you in wisdom ftill vouchfafe to say.
K. John. Speak then, Prince Dauphin, can you love this lady?
Lervis. Nay, ask me, if I can refrain from love; For I do love her moft unfeignedly.
K. John. Then do I give Volqueffen, Touraine, Maine, Poitiers, and Anjou, these five Provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand Marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, Command thy Son and Daughter to join hands.
K. Philip. It likes us well; young Princes, clofe your
Auft. And your lips too; for, I am well affur'd, That I did fo, when I was first affur'd.
K. Philip. Now, Citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made: For at Saint Mary's Chappel prefently The Rites of Marriage fhall be folemniz'd. Is not the lady Conftance in this troop? I know, fhe is not; for this Match made up Her prefence would have interrupted much. Where is fhe and her fon, tell me, who knows? Lewis. She's fad and paffionate at your Highness Tent.
K. Philip. And, by my faith, this league, that we have made,
Will give her fadness very little Cure.
Brother of England, how may we content.
This widow lady? in her Right we came;
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way
To our own vantage.
K. John. We will heal up all,
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britain,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. Call the lady Conftance;
Some speedy Meffenger bid her repair
To our Solemnity: I truft, we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in fome measure satisfie her fo,
That we fhall ftop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will fuffer us,
To this unlook'd-for, unprepared, Pomp.
Faule. Mad world, mad Kings, mad compofition!
John, to ftop Arthur's Title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part:
And France, whofe armour Confcience buckled on,
Whom Zeal and Charity brought to the field,
As God's own foldier, rounded in the ear
With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil,
That broker, that ftill breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of Kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lofe
But the word Maid, cheats the poor maid of that;
That fmooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling Commodity,-
Commodity, the biafs of the world,
The world, which of it felf is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing biafs,
This fway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpofe, courfe, intent.
And this fame biafs, this Commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapt on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a refolv'd and honourable war,
To a moft bafe and vile-concluded peace.-
And why rail I on this Commodity ?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would falute my palm;
But that my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, while I am a beggar, I will rail;
And fay, there is no fin but to be rich:
And being rich, my virtue then fhall be,
To fay, there is no vice, but beggary.
Since Kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord; for I will worship thee!
Enter Conftance, Arthur, and Salisbury.
ONE to be marry'd! gone to fwear a peace!
Falfe blood to falfe blood join'd! Gone to be
friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch thofe provinces ?
It is not fo, thou haft mis-spoke, mif-heard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again,
It cannot be; thou doft but say, 'tis fo.
I truft, I may not truft thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man:
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a King's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am fick, and capable of fears;
Oppreft with wrongs, and therefore full of fears:
A widow, husbandless, fubject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears,
And, tho' thou now confess thou didst but jest,
With my vext spirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head?
Why doft thou look fo fadly on my fon?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these fad fighs 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 falle,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Q4
Conft. Oh, if thou teach me to believe this forrow,
Teach thou this forrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter fo,
As doth the fury of two defp'rate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.
Lewis wed Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
France friend with England! what becomes of me?
Fellow, be gone, I cannot brook thy fight:
This news hath made thee a moft ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But ipoke the harm that is by others done?
Conft. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
Arth. I do befeech you, mother, be content.
Conft. If thou, that bidft me be content, wert grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks;
I would not care, I then would be content:
For then I fhould not love thee: no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
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'ft with lillies boast,
And with the half-blown rofe. But fortune, oh!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and, won from thee,
Adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluckt on France
To tread down fair refpect of fovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to fortune, and to John;
That ftrumpet fortune, that ufurping John!
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France torfworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave thefe woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.
Sal. Pardon me, Madam,
I may not go without you to the Kings.
Conft. Thou may'ft, thou fhalt, I w.ll not go with thee.
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