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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,
Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
If not complete, O 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 a 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,

As we to keep this city.

Here's a stay,

That shakes the rotten carcass 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?

He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his,
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.
Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France;

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Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine,
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. Phil. It likes us well;-Young princes, close
your hands.

Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd,
That I did so, when I was first assur'd.

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'


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 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 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,

Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp.
Are capable of this ambition:

Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath

Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,

Cool and congeal again to what it was.


1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties.
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?
K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for-
To speak unto this city: What say you? [ward first
K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely
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.
K. Phi. What sayst thou, boy? look in the
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 never lov'd myself,
Till now infixed I beheld myself,
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
[Whispers with Blanch.


[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), rounded 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 peised 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 aid,
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:

Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!-Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!-Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, 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
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),

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 mis-spoke, mis-heard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:
It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis 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 thon?
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 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 mayst with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, O! 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 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.



Pardon me, madam, I may not go without you to the kings. Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt, I will not go with 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.

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Const. A wicked day, and not a holiday!What hath this day desery'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; Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child This day of shame, oppression, perjury: 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 fors worn, 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 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 !

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
Thou little valiant, great in villany! [coward;
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?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to


Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant 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,
And thus much more,-That no Italian priest
Sball tithe or toll in our dominious;
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 Christen-
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, [dom,
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.

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That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
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.
Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right,
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong:
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here;
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the 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. [hand.
Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy
Const. Look to that, devi!! 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,


Your breeches best may carry them.

K. John. Philip, what sayst thou to the cardinal? Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal? 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.


That's the curse of Rome.

Const. O, Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. [here, Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her But from her need." [faith, 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 monats 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 to say.
Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee
If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd? (more,
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. [yours,
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 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 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 mayst 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 tatter 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.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion !
Will't not be?
Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?
Lew. Father, to arms!

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

O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous dauphin, alter not the doom
Fore-thought by heaven.

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive.
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife!
Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour !
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, Is it as he will? well then France shall rue. [Time, Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: Fair day, Which is the side that I must go withal ?


I am with both each army hath a hand;
And, in their rage, I having hoid of both,
They whirl asuuder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst 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 valu'd blood, of France.
K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thon
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!
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,

And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there; While Philip breathes.

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert.

I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not:-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thon 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 wouldst?
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, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, -
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
And I will keep him so,
That be shall not offend your majesty.
K. John. Death.

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I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:

K. John. Hubert, keep this boy:-Philip, make up: Remember.Madam, fare you well: My mother is assailed in our tent,

And ta'en, I fear. Bast.

My lord, I rescu'd ber; Her highness is in safety, fear you not; But on, my liege; for very little pains, Will bring this labour to an happy end.


SCENE III. The same. 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 land; haste before:

And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots: angels imprisoned
Set thon at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
Use our commission in his utmost force.

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!
K. John.
For England, cousin :
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho!


SCENE IV. The same. The French King's Tent.
Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and

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?
Eng-Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain ?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?


Bast. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me
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 Hu-
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh [bert,
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 my 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. [yet:
K. John: Good friend, thou hast no canse to say so
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say,-But let it go:
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 couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,

Without eyes, ears, and harmful sonnd of words; Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,

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? [praise,

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this
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 :-
1 pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!
K. Pi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Con-
Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, [stance!
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 detestable bones;
And put my eyeballs 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 sorrow.
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:
I am not mad ;-I would to heaven, I were !
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. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her bairs!
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 han ls 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 lieinous 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;
Pats on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacaut 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.
K. Phi. I fear sonie outrage, and I'll follow her.


Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale," Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;


Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pand. How green you are, 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, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not goue 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. [us go; Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: Let If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt.

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Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you lock [Exeunt Attendants.


And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

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 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 urust 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.

Enter Arthur. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Mercy on me!
Methinks, nobody 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 ?
No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Habert,
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:"
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
I warrant, I love you more than you do me."
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.-
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a Paper] How
now, foolish rheum?

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?


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