And lay this Angiers even with the ground, Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why, then defy each other, and pell-mell, Make work upon ourselves for heaven, or hell.

K. Phi. Let it be so.-Say, where will you assault. K. John. We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom.

Aust. I from the north. K. Phi.

But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

Bast. O, prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.

I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!

[Aside.

Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league ; Win you this city without stroke, or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field. Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

K. John. Speak on, with favour: we are bent to hear. Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, Is niece' to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid. If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,

2

Is the young Dauphin every way complete :
If not complete of, say, he is not she;
And she again wants nothing, to name want,
If want it be not, that she is not he :

He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such a3 she;

And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.

O! two such silver currents, when they join,

Do glorify the banks that bound them in ;

And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance; but, without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion: no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory,

That shakes the rotten carcase of old death

Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,

That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas;

Talks as familiarly of roaring lions,

As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs.

What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?

Cool and congeal again to what it was.

Cit. Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first

To speak unto this city: what say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read, I love, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, (Except this city now by us besieg'd) Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich In titles, honours, and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world.

[face.

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's Lew. I do, my lord; and in her eye I find

A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,

The shadow of myself form'd in her eye,
Which, being but the shadow of your son,
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.

I do protest, I've never lov'd myself,
Till now infixed I behold myself

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Whispers with BLANCH. Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye, Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,

And quarter'd in her heart, he doth espy

Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be, In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine :

If he see aught in you, that makes him like,

That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,

I can with ease translate it to my will;

Or if you will, to speak more properly,

I will enforce it easily to my love.

Farther I will not flatter you, my lord,

That all I see in you is worthy love,

Than this, that nothing do I see in you,

Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,

That I can find should merit any hate.

K. John. What say these young ones? What say

you, my niece?

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do

What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin: can you love this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love,

He gives the bastinado with his tongue :

Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his,

1 near in f. e. 2 Complete in the qualities. 3 as in f. e.

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 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. Phi. It likes us well.-Young princes, close
your hands.
[They join hands.'
Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well-assur'd,
That I did so, when I was first assur'd2.

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made;
For at saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.-
Is not the lady Constance in this troop?

I know, she is not; for this match, made up,
Her presence would have interrupted much.
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows,
Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.
K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have
Will give her sadness very little cure.-
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow'd lady? In her right we came,
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.

We will heal up all;

[made,

K. John.
For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne,
And earl of Richmond, and this rich fair town
We make him lord of.-Call the lady Constance :
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity.-I trust we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so,
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp.

[Exeunt all but the Bastard.—The Citizens retire
from the walls.

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!

John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field,
As God's own soldier, rounded3 in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That broker that still 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 lose
But the word maid,-cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,-
Commodity, the bias of the world;

The world, who of itself is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this same bias, this commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aim*,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this commodity :
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
Not that I have no power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would salute my palm;
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail,
And say, there is no sin, but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, there is no vice but beggary.
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-The Same. The French King's Tent. Enter CONSTANCE, Arthur, and SALISBURY. Const. Gone to be married? gone to swear a peace? False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends? Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces It is not so thou hast misspoke, misheard: Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: It cannot be; thou dost but say 't is so.

I trust, I may not trust 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 sick, and capable of fears;

Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears:
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;

And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest,
With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
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 sad signs 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 false,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Const. O if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
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 I, 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, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert grim,

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-blown rose. But fortune, O !
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee:
Sh' 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 to theirs.
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 alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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 sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

[day,

[She sits on the ground. Enter King JOHN, King PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANch, ELINOR, Bastard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants. K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed Ever in France shall be kept festival: To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist, Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: The yearly course, that brings this day about, Shall never see it but a holyday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day! [Rising. What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done, That it in golden letters should be set, Among the high tides, in the calendar? 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 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 counterfeit, Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried, Proves valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: The grappling vigour, and rough frown of war, Is cold in amity and faint in 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!

1 Except on. 2 painted in f. e. 3 him in f. e.

Lady Constance, peace!

Aust.
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 villainy!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous 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! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
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 to me!
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
K. John. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.
Enter PANDUlph.

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 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
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.

K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories
Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,

To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England,
Add thus much more,-that no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ;

3

But as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under heaven, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without th' assistance of a mortal hand.
So tell the pope; all reverence set apart
To him, and his usurp'd authority.

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christen-

dom,

Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreading the curse that money may buy out,
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of; a man,
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself;
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led,
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish,
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose

Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.

Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate: And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt From his allegiance to an heretic; And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,