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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;
But as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without the 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
Christendom,

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, That takes away, by any secret course, Thy hateful life.

Const. O, lawful let it be,

That I have room with Rome to curse a while!
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen,
To my keen curses; for, without my wrong,
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my

curse.

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Const. O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principle,— That faith would live again by death of need: O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this.

Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well.

Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt.

Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what

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yours,

And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. This royal hand 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 overstain'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 regret i
et?
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 shall be bless'd
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 curse,
A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,

Than keep in peace that hand, which thou dost hold.

K.Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath,

Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow, First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd;

That is, to be the champion of our church!
What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself,
And may not be performed by thyself:
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss,
Is not amiss, when it is truly done;
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then most done not doing it :
The better act of purposes mistook
Is, to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is religion, that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion;
By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou
swear'st;

And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ;
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear?
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first,
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself:

And better conquest never canst thou make,
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them: but, if not, then know,
The peril of our curses light on thee;
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off,
But, in despair, die under their black weight.

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Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion!

Bast. Will't not be?

Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? Lew. Father, to arms

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? Against the blood that thou hast married? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men ?

Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,

Clamours of hell,-be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro-

nounce,

Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.

Const. O, upon my knee,

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven.

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What mo

tive may

Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Const. That, which upholdeth him, that thee upholds,

His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine ho nour!

Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. 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 day, adieu !

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 lies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there
my life dies.

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.[Exit Bastard. France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest valued blood, of France. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn

To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire: Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

K. John. No more than he that threats.-To arms let's hie! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The same. Plains near Angiers.

Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bastard, with AUSTRIA's head.

Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;

Some airy devil hovers in the sky,

There is a soul, counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to

say so yet:

But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.

And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie I had a thing to say,-But let it go:

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Alarums; excursions; retreat. Enter King JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the Bastard, HuBERT, and Lords.

K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay behind, [To Elinor. So strongly guarded.-Cousin, look not sad: [To Arthur. Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.

K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for England; haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots; angels imprisoned Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in his utmost force. Bast. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,

When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness :-Grandam, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy,)

For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.
K. John. Coz, farewell.

[Exit Bastard. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [She takes Arthur aside. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,

We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh

The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience :-If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy 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, melancholy,

Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick;
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes ;)

Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, 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 undertake, 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, whereso'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.

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SCENE IV.-The same.

tent.

Enter King PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.

I am not mad ;-I would to heaven, I were! The French King's For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son; Or madly think a babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.

K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill?

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phi. Well could I bear, that England had this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Enter CONSTANCE.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath :—
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!

K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance !

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that, which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death:-O amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy détestable bones; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me!

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace.

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:

O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sor-

row.

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:

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K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love
I note

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
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Const. To England, if you will.
K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.

Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will
I do it?

I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,
O that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.-
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in
heaven:

If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
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 I 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 up 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 fond 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.

[Exit. [Exit.

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow
her.
Lew. There's nothing in this 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 bitterness.
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 had 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 Arthur is his prisoner?
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 spirit;
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,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's
veins,

The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:
A scepter, 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;

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:
For he that steeps his safety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
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 ap-
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, O, what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have nam'd!—The bastard Faulconbridge
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;

So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's If you say, ay, the king will not say, no.
fall?

[Exeunt.

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