The fame. The French King's Tent.
Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY.
Conft. Gone to be married! gone to fwear a peace! Falfe blood to falle blood join'd! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch thofe provinces ? It is not fo; thou haft misfpoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:
It cannot be; thou doft but fay, 'tis fo;
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 fick, and capable of fears;
Opprefs'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, hufbandlefs, fubject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears:
And though thou now confefs, thou didst but jeft,
With my vex'd fpirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head?
Why doft thou look fo fadly on my fon?
What means that hand upon that breaft of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be thefe fad figns 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 caufe to prove my saying true.
Conft. O, if thou teach me to believe this forrow,
Teach thou this forrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter fo,
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 fight;
This news hath made thee a moft ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Conft. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
Arth. I do befeech you, madam, be content.
Conft. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I fhould 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'ft with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rofe: 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 refpect of fovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to fortune, and king John;
That ftrumpet fortune, that ufurping John :-
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forfworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to underbear.
Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the kings.
Conft. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee: I will inftruct my forrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner ftout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings affemble; for my grief's so great,
That no fupporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and forrow fit ;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
[She throws herself on the ground.
Enter King JOHN, King PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, ELINOR, Baftard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants.
K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this bleffed day, Ever in France fhall be kept festival:
To folemnize this day, the glorious fun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist;
Turning, with fplendor of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly courfe, that brings this day about,
Shall never fee it but a holyday,
Conft. A wicked day, and not a holyday!-
What hath this day deferv'd? what hath it done;
That it in golden letters fhould be fet,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar?
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week;
This day of fhame, oppreffion, perjury:
D
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day,
Left that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd;
1 But on this day, let feamen 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 falfehood change!
K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curfe the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?
Conft. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit,
Refembling majefty; which, being touch'd, and tried,
Proves valueless: You are forfworn, forfworn;
You came in arms to fpill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you ftrengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppreffion 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 funset,
Set armed difcord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
Hear me, O, hear me !
Lady Constance, peace.
Conft. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.
Lymoges! O Auftria! thou doft shame
That bloody fpoil: Thou flave, thou wretch, thou coward;
Tho little valiant, great in villainy!
Thau ever ftrong upon the ftronger fide!
Thou fortune's champion, that doft never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee fafety! thou art perjur'd too,
And footh'ft up greatness. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool; to brag, and ftamp, and fwear,
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Haft thou not spoke like thunder on my fide?
Been fworn my foldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy ftars, thy fortune, and thy ftrength?
And doft thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for fhame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to me!
Baft. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.
Auft. Thou dar'ft not say so, villain, for thy life.
Baft. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.
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 doft fpurn; and, force perforce,
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy fee?
This, in our 'forefaid 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 facred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So flight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To charge me to an anfwer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England,
|
