And such as to my claim are liable, Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? Have I not heard these islanders shout out, Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns? Have I not here the best cards for the game, To win this easy match play'd for a crown? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? No, on my soul, it never shall be said.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook' conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
[Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Enter the Bastard, attended.
Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:- My holy lord of Milan, from the king I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue.
Pand. The dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms.
Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well:-Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories.
That hand, which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;2 To dive, like buckets, in concealed3 wells; To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks; To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake, Even at the crying of your nation's crow,4 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;- Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No: Know, the gallant monarch is in arms; And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.- And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame: For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their needs to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination.
Lew. There end thy brave,' and turn thy face in peace,
We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.
Bast. No, I will speak. Lew.
Give me leave to speak. We will attend to neither:Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here. Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will
And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand (Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. Bast. And thou shall find it, dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A field of battle. Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert.
K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.
Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick! Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- bridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me, which way you go. K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the
Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply, That was expected by the dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now: The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news.Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight; Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. (Exe. SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the same. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others.
Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field.
Enter Melun wounded, and led by soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. Pem. It is the count Melun.
Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;" Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seck out king John, and fall before his feet; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, Helo means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love.
(5) Nest. (6) Needles. (7) Boast. (9) A proverb intimating treachery.
Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life; Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ?! What in the world should make me now deceive, Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? Why should I then be false; since it is true, That I must die here, and live hence by truth? I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night,-whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,- Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire; Paying the fine of rated treachery,
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, If Lewis, by your assistance, win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; The love of him,-and this respect besides, For that my grandsire was an Englishman,- Awakes my conscience to confess all this. In lieu2 whereof, I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my soul With contemplation and devout desires.
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well; keep good quarter," and good care to-night;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.—An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead abbey. Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting.
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.
Bast. A friend:-What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whither dost thou go?
Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I think.
Thou hast a perfect thought: I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: Who art thou?
Bast. Who thou wilt: an if you please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think, I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night,
Have done me shame :-Brave soldier, pardon me,
Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew3 my soul, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-- My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness,' that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading off Melun. SCENE V.-The same. The French camp.
Enter Lewis and his train.
Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set;
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground,
In faint retire: O, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin? Lew. Here:-What news? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again fallen off": And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart!
I did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me.-Who was he, that said, King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
In allusion to the images made by witches. 2) Place. (3) Ill betide. (4) Immediate. (5) Innovation. (6) Sky.
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?'
Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might Than if you had at leisure known of this. The better arm you to the sudden time,
Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him?" Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, And tempt us not to bear above our power! I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd." Away, before! conduct me to the king; I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. SCENE VII.-The orchard of Swinstead abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling- Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, house,)
(7) In your posts or stations. Without. (9) Forces.
Foretel the ending of mortality.
Enter Pembroke.
As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes all unwarily,
Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds Devoured by the unexpected flood.
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.
[Exit Bigot. Pem. He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing.-
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. Re-enter Bigot and attendants, who bring in King
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I shrink up.
How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare;-dead, forsook, cast off':
And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,' And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you! K. John. The salt in them is hot.-| Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an
My liege! my lord !-But now a king,-now thus. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. When this was now a king, and now is clay!
Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; As it on earth hath been thy servant still. And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths;
To push destruction, and perpetual shame, And instantly return with me again, Out of the weak door of our fainting land: Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; The dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we: The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, And brings from him such offers of our peace, Who half an hour since came from the dauphin; As we with honour and respect may take, Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. With purpose presently to leave this war. Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
For many carriages he hath despatch'd Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal:
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so-And you, my noble prince, With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; For so he will'd it.
Bast. Thither shall it then.. And happily may your sweet self put on To whom, with all submission, on my knee, The lineal state and glory of the land! And true subjection everlastingly. I do bequeath my faithful services
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful wo, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.- This England never did (nor never shall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Come the three corners of the world in arms, Now these her princes are come home again, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should'sail, If England to itself do rest but true. Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.
Bast. The dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him: For, in a night, the best part of my power, (2) Model.
The tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied characters. The lady's grief is very affecting; and with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and the character of the Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity, which this author delighted to exhibit. JOHNSON.
SCENE I-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, and other nobles, with him.
OLD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,' Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.
K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that ar-] gument,-
On some apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:- [Exeunt some attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter attendants, with Bolingbroke and Norfolk. Boling. May many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!
K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flat
As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
(1) Bond (2) Charge. (3) Uninhabitable.
Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater. Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. Lord Marshal; and another Lord. Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. Captain of a band of Welshmen.
Queen to King Richard. Duchess of Gloster. Duchess of York.
Lady attending on the Queen.
Lords, heralds, officers, soldiers, two gardeners, keeper, messenger, groom, and other attendants.
Scene, dispersedly in England and Wales.
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Boling. First (heaven be the record of my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence.- Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.' Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.
Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs mè From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable3 Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,- By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear, Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to bray's charge?
It must be great, that can inherit1 us So much as of a thought of ill in him.
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.- For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul: But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor: Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, Mow-To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true;-
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers; The which he hath detain'd for lewd2 employments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove,- Or here, or elsewhere, to the farthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye,- That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land, Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good,- That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death; Suggest his soon-believing adversaries; And, consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluie'd out his innocent soul through streams blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice, and rough chastisement; And by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood,4 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes,
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's brother's son,) Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul; He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom: In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use, thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, and The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die.
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers: The other part reserv'd I by consent; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie.--For Gloster's death,-
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace,
(1) Possess. (2) Wicked. (4) Reproach to his ancestry.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin.
Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard! Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear; And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt,
(3) Prompt. (5) Charged. (6) Arrogant.
(7) No advantage in delay.
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