Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and 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:
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have 1, good lady,
done,

But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth. I do beseech you, nadam, be content.
Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content,
wert grim,

Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending
marks,

I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I should 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'st with lilies boast,
And with the half b'own rose but fortune, oh!
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,
And made his majesty the bawd of their's.
France is a bawd to fortune and king John;
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John :-
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes aloue, which I alone,
Am bound to under-bear.

Sal Pardon me, madam,

The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday!-
[Rising.
What hath this day deserv'd, what bath 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:
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
But, on this day, let seamen fear no wreck ;
No bargains break, that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change?
K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no

I may not go without you to the kings.
Const. 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.

[She throws herself on the ground.
Enter King JOHN, King PHILIP, LEWIS,
BLANCH, ELINOR, BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and
Attendants.

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this
blessed day,

Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:

cause

To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ?

Const. You have beguil'd me with a coun-
terfeit,

[tried,
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and
Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with your's:
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, O hear me !

Aust. Lady Constance, peace.

Const. 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 villany!
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 art perjur'd too,
And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art
thou!

A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and swear,
Upon my party! Thon cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side!
Being sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength 1
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

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the
pope.

Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
To thee, king John, my holy errand is.
I Pandulpb, of fair Milan cardinal,
And from pope Innocent the legate bere,
Do, in his name, religiously demand,
Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
So wilfully dost spurn: and, force perforce,
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.

But here means except.

law:

Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
And raise the power of France upon his head
Unless he do submit himself to Rome,

Ell. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go
thy band.

Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France
repent,

And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant

limbs.

Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,

Berause

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

Const. What should he say, but as the car

dinal?

Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend:
Forego the easier.

Blanch. That's the curse of Rome.
Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts
thee here,
bride.

In likeness of a new untrimmed

• Undressed.

thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my per-
son your's,

And tell me, how you would bestow yourself.
This royal band 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 over-
stain'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

bless'd

shall be

To do your pleasure, and continue friends..
Pand. All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore to arms! be champion of our church!
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her

Lew. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,

When such profound respects do pull you ou.
Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head.
K. Phi. Thou shalt not need :-England, I'll
fall from thee.

Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty !
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy !
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

Which is the side that I must go withal?
I am with both each army hath a hand;
And, in their rage, I having hold of both,
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st
lose;

Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive:
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss, before the match be play'd.
Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune

Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ab, I will not :-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me under-
take,

Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I'd do't.

K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my
friend-

He is a very serpent in my way;

And, whersoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I will keep him so,

That he shall not offend your majesty.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The same.-The French King's

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

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 1 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. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your
child.

Const. Grief fills the room 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 foud 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!

[Erit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow
her.
[Erit.
Lew. There's nothing in the 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 hath spoil'd the sweet world's
taste,

That it yields naught, but shame and bitter

ness.

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 John hath
lost

In this which he accounts so clearly won:
Are not you griev'd, that Authur is his pri-
soner ?

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 spiri;
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,

This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his 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 scape 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, présages and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Ar-
thur's life,

But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. O Sir, when he shall hear of your sp

proach,

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 oh what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulcon-
bridge

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 topfull 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.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look
to'l.-
[Ereunt ATTENDANTS.

That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's Young lad, come forth; I have to say with veins,

The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one 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 all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this
old world!

John lays you plots; the times conspire with

you.

Enter ARTHUR.

Auth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having so great a
title

To be more prince,) as may be.-Yon are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me!

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 1

• Tapestry.