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Now say, Chatillion, what would France with us?
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
In my behavior to the majesty,
The borrowed majesty, of England here.
55A strange beginning: “borrowed majesty”!
Silence, good mother. Hear the embassy.
Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceasèd brother Geoffrey’s son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
1010To this fair island and the territories,
To Ireland, Poitiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
And put the same into young Arthur’s hand,
1515Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.
What follows if we disallow of this?
The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
2020Controlment for controlment: so answer France.
Then take my king’s defiance from my mouth,
The farthest limit of my embassy.
Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace.
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France,
2525For ere thou canst report, I will be there;
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.
So, hence. Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay.—
An honorable conduct let him have.
3030Pembroke, look to ’t.—Farewell, Chatillion.
What now, my son! Have I not ever said
How that ambitious Constance would not cease
Till she had kindled France and all the world
Upon the right and party of her son?
3535This might have been prevented and made whole
With very easy arguments of love,
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
Our strong possession and our right for us.
4040Your strong possession much more than your right,
Or else it must go wrong with you and me—
So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
Which none but God and you and I shall hear.
My liege, here is the strangest controversy
4545Come from the country to be judged by you
That e’er I heard. Shall I produce the men?
Let them approach.Sheriff exits.
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition’s charge.
Enter Robert Faulconbridge and Philip Faulconbridge.
5050What men are you?
Your faithful subject I, a gentleman,
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
A soldier, by the honor-giving hand
5555Of Coeur de Lion knighted in the field.
What art thou?
The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.
Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
6060Most certain of one mother, mighty king—
That is well known—and, as I think, one father.
But for the certain knowledge of that truth
I put you o’er to heaven and to my mother.
Of that I doubt, as all men’s children may.
6565Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy
mother
And wound her honor with this diffidence.
I, madam? No, I have no reason for it.
That is my brother’s plea, and none of mine,
7070The which if he can prove, he pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year.
Heaven guard my mother’s honor and my land!
A good blunt fellow.—Why, being younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
7575I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slandered me with bastardy.
But whe’er I be as true begot or no,
That still I lay upon my mother’s head.
But that I am as well begot, my liege—
8080Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!—
Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
If old Sir Robert did beget us both
And were our father, and this son like him,
O, old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
8585I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!
Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!
He hath a trick of Coeur de Lion’s face;
The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
Do you not read some tokens of my son
9090In the large composition of this man?
Mine eye hath well examinèd his parts
And finds them perfect Richard. To Robert
Faulconbridge Sirrah, speak.
What doth move you to claim your brother’s land?
9595Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
With half that face would he have all my land—
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!
My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
Your brother did employ my father much—
100100Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land.
Your tale must be how he employed my mother.
And once dispatched him in an embassy
To Germany, there with the Emperor
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
105105Th’ advantage of his absence took the King
And in the meantime sojourned at my father’s;
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak.
But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
Between my father and my mother lay,
110110As I have heard my father speak himself,
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his deathbed he by will bequeathed
His lands to me, and took it on his death
That this my mother’s son was none of his;
115115An if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father’s land, as was my father’s will.
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate.
120120Your father’s wife did after wedlock bear him,
An if she did play false, the fault was hers,
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who as you say took pains to get this son,
125125Had of your father claimed this son for his?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;
In sooth he might. Then if he were my brother’s,
My brother might not claim him, nor your father,
130130Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:
My mother’s son did get your father’s heir;
Your father’s heir must have your father’s land.
Shall then my father’s will be of no force
To dispossess that child which is not his?
135135Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
Whether hadst thou rather: be a Faulconbridge
And, like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Coeur de Lion,
140140Lord of thy presence, and no land besides?
Madam, an if my brother had my shape
And I had his, Sir Robert’s his like him,
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuffed, my face so thin
145145That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose,
Lest men should say “Look where three-farthings
goes,”
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
Would I might never stir from off this place,
150150I would give it every foot to have this face.
I would not be Sir Nob in any case.
I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?
I am a soldier and now bound to France.
155155Brother, take you my land. I’ll take my chance.
Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
Yet sell your face for five pence and ’tis dear.—
Madam, I’ll follow you unto the death.
Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
160160Our country manners give our betters way.
What is thy name?
Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
Philip, good old Sir Robert’s wife’s eldest son.
From henceforth bear his name whose form thou
165165bearest.
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great.
Philip kneels. King John dubs him a knight,
tapping him on the shoulder with his sword.
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
Brother by th’ mother’s side, give me your hand.
My father gave me honor, yours gave land.
170170Now blessèd be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, Sir Robert was away!
The very spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam, Richard. Call me so.
Madam, by chance but not by truth. What though?
175175Something about, a little from the right,
In at the window, or else o’er the hatch.
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
And have is have, however men do catch.
Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
180180And I am I, howe’er I was begot.
Go, Faulconbridge, now hast thou thy desire.
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.—
Come, madam,—and come, Richard. We must
speed
185185For France, for France, for it is more than need.
Brother, adieu, good fortune come to thee,
For thou wast got i’ th’ way of honesty.
All but Bastard exit.
A foot of honor better than I was,
But many a many foot of land the worse.
190190Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
“Good den, Sir Richard!” “God-a-mercy, fellow!”
An if his name be George, I’ll call him “Peter,”
For new-made honor doth forget men’s names;
’Tis too respective and too sociable
195195For your conversion. Now your traveler,
He and his toothpick at my Worship’s mess,
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
Why then I suck my teeth and catechize
My pickèd man of countries: “My dear sir,”
200200Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin,
“I shall beseech you”—that is Question now,
And then comes Answer like an absey-book:
“O, sir,” says Answer, “at your best command,
At your employment, at your service, sir.”
205205“No, sir,” says Question, “I, sweet sir, at yours.”
And so, ere Answer knows what Question would,
Saving in dialogue of compliment
And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean and the river Po,
210210It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society
And fits the mounting spirit like myself;
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation,
215215And so am I whether I smack or no;
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accouterment,
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth,
220220Which though I will not practice to deceive,
Yet to avoid deceit I mean to learn,
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney.
But who comes in such haste in riding robes?
What woman post is this? Hath she no husband
225225That will take pains to blow a horn before her?
O me, ’tis my mother.—How now, good lady?
What brings you here to court so hastily?
Where is that slave thy brother? Where is he
That holds in chase mine honor up and down?
230230My brother Robert, old Sir Robert’s son?
Colbrand the Giant, that same mighty man?
Is it Sir Robert’s son that you seek so?
“Sir Robert’s son”? Ay, thou unreverent boy,
Sir Robert’s son. Why scorn’st thou at Sir Robert?
235235He is Sir Robert’s son, and so art thou.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?
Good leave, good Philip.
“Philip Sparrow,” James.
There’s toys abroad. Anon I’ll tell thee more.
James Gurney exits.
240240Madam, I was not old Sir Robert’s son.
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good Friday and ne’er broke his fast.
Sir Robert could do well—marry, to confess—
Could he get me. Sir Robert could not do it;
245245We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.
Hast thou conspirèd with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine
250250honor?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
What, I am dubbed! I have it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert’s son.
255255I have disclaimed Sir Robert and my land.
Legitimation, name, and all is gone.
Then, good my mother, let me know my father—
Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?
Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?
260260As faithfully as I deny the devil.
King Richard Coeur de Lion was thy father.
By long and vehement suit I was seduced
To make room for him in my husband’s bed.
Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
265265Thou art the issue of my dear offense,
Which was so strongly urged past my defense.
Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some sins do bear their privilege on Earth,
270270And so doth yours. Your fault was not your folly.
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
Subjected tribute to commanding love,
Against whose fury and unmatchèd force
The aweless lion could not wage the fight,
275275Nor keep his princely heart from Richard’s hand.
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
May easily win a woman’s. Ay, my mother,
With all my heart I thank thee for my father.
Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
280280When I was got, I’ll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin,
And they shall say when Richard me begot,
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.
Who says it was, he lies. I say ’twas not.
285Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.—
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robbed the lion of his heart
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
5By this brave duke came early to his grave.
290And, for amends to his posterity,
At our importance hither is he come
To spread his colors, boy, in thy behalf,
And to rebuke the usurpation
10Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
295Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
God shall forgive you Coeur de Lion’s death
The rather that you give his offspring life,
Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
15I give you welcome with a powerless hand
300But with a heart full of unstainèd love.
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.
A noble boy. Who would not do thee right?
Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss
20As seal to this indenture of my love:
305That to my home I will no more return
Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean’s roaring tides
25And coops from other lands her islanders,
310Even till that England, hedged in with the main,
That water-wallèd bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the West
30Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,
315Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
O, take his mother’s thanks, a widow’s thanks,
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
To make a more requital to your love.
35The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
320In such a just and charitable war.
Well, then, to work. Our cannon shall be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town.
Call for our chiefest men of discipline
40To cull the plots of best advantages.
325We’ll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the marketplace in Frenchmen’s blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.
Stay for an answer to your embassy,
45Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood.
330My lord Chatillion may from England bring
That right in peace which here we urge in war,
And then we shall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.
50A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish
335Our messenger Chatillion is arrived.—
What England says say briefly, gentle lord.
We coldly pause for thee. Chatillion, speak.
Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
55And stir them up against a mightier task.
340England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stayed, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I.
60His marches are expedient to this town,
345His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the Mother Queen,
An Ate stirring him to blood and strife;
With her her niece, the Lady Blanche of Spain;
65With them a bastard of the King’s deceased.
350And all th’ unsettled humors of the land—
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies’ faces and fierce dragons’ spleens—
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
70Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
355To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
Than now the English bottoms have waft o’er
Did never float upon the swelling tide
75To do offense and scathe in Christendom.
Drum beats.
360The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance. They are at hand,
To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.
How much unlooked-for is this expedition.
80By how much unexpected, by so much
365We must awake endeavor for defense,
For courage mounteth with occasion.
Let them be welcome, then. We are prepared.
Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
85Our just and lineal entrance to our own.
370If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
Whiles we, God’s wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heaven.
Peace be to England, if that war return
90From France to England, there to live in peace.
375England we love, and for that England’s sake
With burden of our armor here we sweat.
This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
But thou from loving England art so far
95That thou hast underwrought his lawful king,
380Cut off the sequence of posterity,
Outfacèd infant state, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geoffrey’s face.
He points to Arthur.
100These eyes, these brows, were molded out of his;
385This little abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geoffrey, and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
That Geoffrey was thy elder brother born,
105And this his son. England was Geoffrey’s right,
390And this is Geoffrey’s. In the name of God,
How comes it then that thou art called a king,
When living blood doth in these temples beat
Which owe the crown that thou o’ermasterest?
110From whom hast thou this great commission,
395France,
To draw my answer from thy articles?
From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority
115To look into the blots and stains of right.
400That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,
And by whose help I mean to chastise it.
Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
120Excuse it is to beat usurping down.
405Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
Let me make answer: thy usurping son.
Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king
That thou mayst be a queen and check the world.
125My bed was ever to thy son as true
410As thine was to thy husband, and this boy
Liker in feature to his father Geoffrey
Than thou and John, in manners being as like
As rain to water or devil to his dam.
130My boy a bastard? By my soul, I think
415His father never was so true begot.
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
There’s a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.
There’s a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.
135Peace!
420Hear the crier!
What the devil art thou?
One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
An he may catch your hide and you alone.
140You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
425Whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard.
I’ll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right.
Sirrah, look to ’t. I’ faith, I will, i’ faith!
O, well did he become that lion’s robe
145That did disrobe the lion of that robe.
430It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides’ shoes upon an ass.—
But, ass, I’ll take that burden from your back
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.
150What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
435With this abundance of superfluous breath?
Louis, determine what we shall do straight.
Women and fools, break off your conference.—
King John, this is the very sum of all:
155England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
440In right of Arthur do I claim of thee.
Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?
My life as soon! I do defy thee, France.—
Arthur of Brittany, yield thee to my hand,
160And out of my dear love I’ll give thee more
445Than e’er the coward hand of France can win.
Submit thee, boy.
Come to thy grandam, child.
Do, child, go to it grandam, child.
165Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
450Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
There’s a good grandam.
Good my mother, peace.
I would that I were low laid in my grave.
170I am not worth this coil that’s made for me.
455His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
Now shame upon you whe’er she does or no!
His grandam’s wrongs, and not his mother’s
shames,
175Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor
460eyes,
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee.
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed
To do him justice and revenge on you.
180Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and Earth!
465Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and Earth,
Call not me slanderer. Thou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights
Of this oppressèd boy. This is thy eldest son’s son,
185Infortunate in nothing but in thee.
470Thy sins are visited in this poor child.
The canon of the law is laid on him,
Being but the second generation
Removèd from thy sin-conceiving womb.
190Bedlam, have done.
475I have but this to say,
That he is not only plaguèd for her sin,
But God hath made her sin and her the plague
On this removèd issue, plagued for her,
195And with her plague; her sin his injury,
480Her injury the beadle to her sin,
All punished in the person of this child
And all for her. A plague upon her!
Thou unadvisèd scold, I can produce
200A will that bars the title of thy son.
485Ay, who doubts that? A will—a wicked will,
A woman’s will, a cankered grandam’s will.
Peace, lady. Pause, or be more temperate.
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
205To these ill-tunèd repetitions.—
490Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers. Let us hear them speak
Whose title they admit, Arthur’s or John’s.
Who is it that hath warned us to the walls?
210’Tis France, for England.
495England, for itself.
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects—
You loving men of Angiers, Arthur’s subjects,
Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle—
215For our advantage. Therefore hear us first.
500These flags of France that are advancèd here
Before the eye and prospect of your town,
Have hither marched to your endamagement.
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
220And ready mounted are they to spit forth
505Their iron indignation ’gainst your walls.
All preparation for a bloody siege
And merciless proceeding by these French
Confronts your city’s eyes, your winking gates,
225And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones,
510That as a waist doth girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixèd beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
230For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
515But on the sight of us your lawful king,
Who painfully with much expedient march
Have brought a countercheck before your gates
To save unscratched your city’s threatened cheeks,
235Behold, the French, amazed, vouchsafe a parle.
520And now, instead of bullets wrapped in fire
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke
To make a faithless error in your ears,
240Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
525And let us in. Your king, whose labored spirits
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Craves harborage within your city walls.
When I have said, make answer to us both.
He takes Arthur by the hand.
245Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
530Is most divinely vowed upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son to the elder brother of this man,
And king o’er him and all that he enjoys.
250For this downtrodden equity we tread
535In warlike march these greens before your town,
Being no further enemy to you
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressèd child
255Religiously provokes. Be pleasèd then
540To pay that duty which you truly owe
To him that owes it, namely, this young prince,
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear
Save in aspect, hath all offense sealed up.
260Our cannons’ malice vainly shall be spent
545Against th’ invulnerable clouds of heaven,
And with a blessèd and unvexed retire,
With unbacked swords and helmets all unbruised,
We will bear home that lusty blood again
265Which here we came to spout against your town,
550And leave your children, wives, and you in peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffered offer,
’Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war,
270Though all these English and their discipline
555Were harbored in their rude circumference.
Then tell us, shall your city call us lord
In that behalf which we have challenged it?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage
275And stalk in blood to our possession?
560In brief, we are the King of England’s subjects.
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
Acknowledge then the King and let me in.
That can we not. But he that proves the King,
280To him will we prove loyal. Till that time
565Have we rammed up our gates against the world.
Doth not the crown of England prove the King?
And if not that, I bring you witnesses,
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England’s breed—
285Bastards and else.
570To verify our title with their lives.
As many and as wellborn bloods as those—
Some bastards too.
Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
290Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
575We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet
295In dreadful trial of our kingdom’s king.
580Amen, amen.—Mount, chevaliers! To arms!
Saint George, that swinged the dragon and e’er
since
Sits on ’s horseback at mine hostess’ door,
300Teach us some fence! To Austria. Sirrah, were I at
585home
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,
I would set an ox head to your lion’s hide
And make a monster of you.
305Peace! No more.
590O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar.
Up higher to the plain, where we’ll set forth
In best appointment all our regiments.
Speed, then, to take advantage of the field.
310It shall be so, and at the other hill
595Command the rest to stand. God and our right!
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
And let young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in,
Who by the hand of France this day hath made
315Much work for tears in many an English mother,
600Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.
Many a widow’s husband groveling lies
Coldly embracing the discolored earth,
And victory with little loss doth play
320Upon the dancing banners of the French,
605Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,
To enter conquerors and to proclaim
Arthur of Brittany England’s king and yours.
Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells!
325King John, your king and England’s, doth approach,
610Commander of this hot malicious day.
Their armors, that marched hence so silver bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen’s blood.
There stuck no plume in any English crest
330That is removèd by a staff of France.
615Our colors do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first marched forth,
And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
335Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.
620Open your gates, and give the victors way.
Heralds, from off our towers we might behold
From first to last the onset and retire
Of both your armies, whose equality
340By our best eyes cannot be censurèd.
625Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answered
blows,
Strength matched with strength, and power
confronted power.
345Both are alike, and both alike we like.
630One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,
We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
Say, shall the current of our right roam on,
350Whose passage, vexed with thy impediment,
635Shall leave his native channel and o’erswell
With course disturbed even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean?
355England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood
640In this hot trial more than we of France,
Rather lost more. And by this hand I swear
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
360We’ll put thee down, ’gainst whom these arms we
645bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead,
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war’s loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
365Ha, majesty! How high thy glory towers
650When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel,
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs,
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men
370In undetermined differences of kings.
655Why stand these royal fronts amazèd thus?
Cry havoc, kings! Back to the stainèd field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits.
Then let confusion of one part confirm
375The other’s peace. Till then, blows, blood, and
660death!
Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
Speak, citizens, for England. Who’s your king?
The King of England, when we know the King.
380Know him in us, that here hold up his right.
665In us, that are our own great deputy
And bear possession of our person here,
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
A greater power than we denies all this,
385And till it be undoubted, we do lock
670Our former scruple in our strong-barred gates,
Kings of our fear, until our fears resolved
Be by some certain king purged and deposed.
By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
390And stand securely on their battlements
675As in a theater, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences, be ruled by me:
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
395Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
680Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon chargèd to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawled down
400The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.
685I’d play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfencèd desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths
405And part your mingled colors once again;
690Turn face to face and bloody point to point.
Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion,
To whom in favor she shall give the day
410And kiss him with a glorious victory.
695How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks it not something of the policy?
Now by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers
415And lay this Angiers even with the ground,
700Then after fight who shall be king of it?
An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
Being wronged as we are by this peevish town,
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
420As we will ours, against these saucy walls,
705And when that we have dashed them to the ground,
Why, then, defy each other and pell-mell
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.
Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?
425We from the west will send destruction
710Into this city’s bosom.
I from the north.
Our thunder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
430O, prudent discipline! From north to south,
715Austria and France shoot in each other’s mouth.
I’ll stir them to it. — Come, away, away!
Hear us, great kings. Vouchsafe awhile to stay,
And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league,
435Win you this city without stroke or wound,
720Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds
That here come sacrifices for the field.
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.
Speak on with favor. We are bent to hear.
440That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanche,
725Is near to England. Look upon the years
Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche?
445If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
730Where should he find it purer than in Blanche?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady
Blanche?
450Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
735Is 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.
455He is the half part of a blessèd man,
740Left to be finishèd by such as she,
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
O, two such silver currents when they join
460Do glorify the banks that bound them in,
745And 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
465To our fast-closèd gates, for at this match,
750With 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 enragèd is not half so deaf,
470Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
755More free from motion, no, not Death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory
As we to keep this city.
Here’s a stay
475That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
760Out of his rags! Here’s a large mouth indeed
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and
seas;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
480As maids of thirteen do of puppy dogs.
765What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke, and
bounce.
He gives the bastinado with his tongue.
485Our ears are cudgeled. Not a word of his
770But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds, I was never so bethumped with words
Since I first called my brother’s father Dad.
Son, list to this conjunction; make this match.
490Give with our niece a dowry large enough,
775For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsured assurance to the crown
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
495I see a yielding in the looks of France.
780Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their
souls
Are capable of this ambition,
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
500Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
785Cool and congeal again to what it was.
Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threatened town?
Speak England first, that hath been forward first
505To speak unto this city. What say you?
790If 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, Poitiers,
510And all that we upon this side the sea—
795Except this city now by us besieged—
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
In titles, honors, and promotions,
515As she in beauty, education, blood,
800Holds hand with any princess of the world.
What sayst thou, boy? Look in the lady’s face.
I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder or a wondrous miracle,
520The shadow of myself formed in her eye,
805Which, being but the shadow of your son,
Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow.
I do protest I never loved myself
Till now infixèd I beheld myself
525Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
810“Drawn in the flattering table of her eye”?
Hanged in the frowning wrinkle of her brow
And quartered in her heart! He doth espy
Himself love’s traitor. This is pity now,
530That hanged and drawn and quartered there should
815be
In such a love so vile a lout as he.
My uncle’s will in this respect is mine.
If he see aught in you that makes him like,
535That anything he sees which moves his liking
820I can with ease translate it to my will.
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it eas’ly to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
540That all I see in you is worthy love,
825Than this: that nothing do I see in you,
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be
your judge,
That I can find should merit any hate.
545What say these young ones? What say you, my
830niece?
That she is bound in honor still to do
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
Speak then, Prince Dauphin. Can you love this lady?
550Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love,
835For I do love her most unfeignedly.
Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
Poitiers and Anjou, these five provinces
With her to thee, and this addition more:
555Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.—
840Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
It likes us well.—Young princes, close your hands.
And your lips too, for I am well assured
560That I did so when I was first assured.
845Now, 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 solemnized.—
565Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
850I 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.
She is sad and passionate at your Highness’ tent.
570And by my faith, this league that we have made
855Will 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 turned another way
575To our own vantage.
860We will heal up all,
For we’ll create young Arthur Duke of Brittany
And Earl of Richmond, and this rich, fair town
We make him lord of.—Call the Lady Constance.
580Some speedy messenger bid her repair
865To our solemnity. Salisbury exits. I trust we
shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so
585That we shall stop her exclamation.
870Go we as well as haste will suffer us
To this unlooked-for, unpreparèd pomp.
Mad world, mad kings, mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur’s title in the whole,
590Hath willingly departed with a part;
875And France, whose armor 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,
595That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,
880That 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
600that—
885That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world—
The world, who of itself is peisèd well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
605Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
890This sway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent.
And this same bias, this Commodity,
610This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
895Clapped on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determined aid,
From a resolved and honorable war
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
615And why rail I on this Commodity?
900But for because he hath not wooed me yet.
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute my palm,
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
620Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.
905Well, 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.
625Since kings break faith upon Commodity,
910Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee!
Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?
False blood to false blood joined? Gone to be friends?
Shall Louis have Blanche and Blanche those
provinces?
5915It is not so. Thou hast misspoke, misheard.
Be well advised; 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.
10920Believe me, I do not believe thee, man.
I have a king’s oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punished for thus flighting me,
For I am sick and capable of fears,
Oppressed with wrongs and therefore full of fears,
15925A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
A woman naturally born to fears.
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
With my vexed spirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
20930What 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?
25935Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again—not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
As true as I believe you think them false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
30940O, 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.
35945Louis marry Blanche?—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.
40950What other harm have I, good lady, done
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Which harm within itself so heinous is
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
I do beseech you, madam, be content.
45955If thou that bidd’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,
Patched with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
50960I 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 joined to make thee great.
55965Of Nature’s gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,
She is corrupted, changed, and won from thee;
Sh’ adulterates hourly with thine Uncle John,
And with her golden hand hath plucked on France
60970To 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?
65975Envenom 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.
70980Thou mayst, thou shalt, I will not go with thee.
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,
For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
She sits down.
To me and to the state of my great grief
Let kings assemble, for my griefs so great
75985That 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.
’Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessèd day
Ever in France shall be kept festival.
80990To solemnize this day the glorious sun
Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
Turning with splendor of his precious eye
The meager cloddy earth to glittering gold.
The yearly course that brings this day about
85995Shall never see it but a holy day.
A wicked day, and not a holy day!
What hath this day deserved? What hath it done
That it in golden letters should be set
Among the high tides in the calendar?
901000Nay, 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 crossed.
951005But on this day let seamen fear no wrack;
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!
By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
1001010To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
Have I not pawned to you my majesty?
You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
Resembling majesty, which, being touched and tried,
Proves valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn.
1051015You came in arms to spill mine enemies’ blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league.
1101020Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured
kings!
A widow cries; be husband to me, God!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the days in peace, but ere sunset
1151025Set armèd discord ’twixt these perjured kings.
Hear me, O, hear me!
Lady Constance, peace.
War, war, no peace! Peace is to me a war.
O Limoges, O Austria, thou dost shame
1201030That 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
1251035But when her humorous Ladyship is by
To teach thee safety. Thou art perjured 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,
1301040Hast 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,
1351045And hang a calfskin on those recreant limbs.
O, that a man should speak those words to me!
“And hang a calfskin on those recreant limbs.”
Thou dar’st not say so, villain, for thy life!
“And hang a calfskin on those recreant limbs.”
1401050We like not this. Thou dost forget thyself.
Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.
Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
I, Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal
1451055And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
Do in his name religiously demand
Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,
So willfully dost spurn, and force perforce
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop
1501060Of Canterbury, from that Holy See.
This, in our foresaid Holy Father’s name,
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.
What earthy name to interrogatories
Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
1551065Thou 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
1601070Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
But as we under God are supreme head,
So, under Him, that great supremacy
Where we do reign we will alone uphold
Without th’ assistance of a mortal hand.
1651075So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart
To him and his usurped authority.
Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
Though you and all the kings of Christendom
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
1701080Dreading 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,
1751085This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish,
Yet I alone, alone do me oppose
Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.
Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate;
1801090And blessèd shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be called,
Canonizèd and worshiped as a saint,
That takes away by any secret course
1851095Thy hateful life.
O, lawful let it be
That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
Good father cardinal, cry thou “Amen”
To my keen curses, for without my wrong
1901100There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
There’s law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
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,
1951105For he that holds his kingdom holds the law.
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?
Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,
2001110And raise the power of France upon his head
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.
Look’st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.
Look to that, devil, lest that France repent
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.
2051115King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.
And hang a calfskin on his recreant limbs.
Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,
Because—
Your breeches best may carry them.
2101120Philip, what sayst thou to the Cardinal?
What should he say, but as the Cardinal?
Bethink you, father, for the difference
Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend.
2151125Forgo the easier.
That’s the curse of Rome.
O Louis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here
In likeness of a new untrimmèd bride.
The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
2201130But from her need.
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.
2251135O, then tread down my need, and faith mounts up;
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down.
The King is moved, and answers not to this.
O, be removed from him, and answer well!
Do so, King Philip. Hang no more in doubt.
2301140Hang nothing but a calfskin, most sweet lout.
I am perplexed and know not what to say.
What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
If thou stand excommunicate and cursed?
Good reverend father, make my person yours,
2351145And 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 linked together
With all religious strength of sacred vows.
2401150The 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
2451155To clap this royal bargain up of peace,
God knows they were besmeared and overstained
With slaughter’s pencil, where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensèd kings.
And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
2501160So newly joined 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,
2551165Unswear 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!
2601170Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order, and then we shall be blest
To do your pleasure and continue friends.
All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England’s love.
2651175Therefore 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 chafèd lion by the mortal paw,
2701180A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.
So mak’st thou faith an enemy to faith,
And like a civil war sett’st oath to oath,
2751185Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to God, first be to God performed,
That is, to be the champion of our Church!
What since thou swor’st is sworn against thyself
And may not be performèd by thyself,
2801190For 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
2851195Is to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
Within the scorchèd veins of one new-burned.
It is religion that doth make vows kept,
2901200But 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
2951205To swear swears 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 later vows against thy first
3001210Is in thyself rebellion to thyself.
And better conquest never canst thou make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions,
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
3051215If 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.
Rebellion, flat rebellion!
3101220Will ’t not be?
Will not a calfskin stop that mouth of thine?
Father, to arms!
Upon thy wedding day?
Against the blood that thou hast marrièd?
3151225What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
Clamors of hell, be measures to our pomp?
She kneels.
O husband, hear me! Ay, alack, how new
Is “husband” in my mouth! Even for that name,
3201230Which 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,
3251235Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven!
Now shall I see thy love. What motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
3301240His honor.—O, thine honor, Louis, thine honor!
I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.
I will denounce a curse upon his head.
Thou shalt not need.—England, I will fall from
3351245thee.
O, fair return of banished majesty!
O, foul revolt of French inconstancy!
France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.
Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
3401250Is it as he will? Well, then, France shall rue.
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,
3451255They whirl asunder 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.
3501260Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose.
Assurèd loss before the match be played.
Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.
Cousin, go draw our puissance together.
Bastard exits.
3551265France, I am burned 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.
Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
3601270To ashes ere our blood shall quench that fire.
Look to thyself. Thou art in jeopardy.
No more than he that threats.—To arms let’s hie!
Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot.
Some airy devil hovers in the sky
1275And pours down mischief. Austria’s head lie there,
While Philip breathes.
5Hubert, keep this boy.—Philip, make up.
My mother is assailèd in our tent
And ta’en, I fear.
1280My lord, I rescued her.
Her Highness is in safety, fear you not.
10But on, my liege, for very little pains
Will bring this labor to an happy end.
So shall it be. Your Grace shall stay behind
1285So strongly guarded. To Arthur. Cousin, look not sad.
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.
5O, this will make my mother die with grief!
Cousin, away for England! Haste before,
1290And ere our coining see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels
Set at liberty. The fat ribs of peace
10Must by the hungry now be fed upon.
Use our commission in his utmost force.
1295Bell, 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,
15If ever I remember to be holy,
For your fair safety. So I kiss your hand.
1300Farewell, gentle cousin.
Coz, farewell.
Bastard exits.
Come hither, little kinsman. Hark, a word.
20Come hither, Hubert.He takes Hubert aside.
O, my gentle Hubert,
1305We owe thee much. Within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love.
25And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom dearly cherishèd.
1310Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,
But I will fit it with some better tune.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
30To say what good respect I have of thee.
I am much bounden to your Majesty.
1315Good 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.
35I had a thing to say—but let it go.
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
1320Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton and too full of gauds
To give me audience. If the midnight bell
40Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
1325If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
And thou possessèd with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
45Had baked thy blood and made it heavy, thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
1330Making that idiot, laughter, keep men’s eyes
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes;
50Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
1335Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
55I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.
But, ah, I will not. Yet I love thee well,
1340And by my troth I think thou lov’st me well.
So well that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
60By heaven, I would do it.
Do not I know thou wouldst?
1345Good 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,
65And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?
1350Thou art his keeper.
And I’ll keep him so
That he shall not offend your Majesty.
70Death.
My lord?
1355A grave.
He shall not live.
Enough.
75I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.
Well, I’ll not say what I intend for thee.
1360Remember. He turns to Queen Eleanor. Madam, fare
you well.
I’ll send those powers o’er to your Majesty.
80My blessing go with thee.
For England, cousin, go.
1365Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.—On toward Calais, ho!
So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole armada of convicted sail
Is scattered and disjoined from fellowship.
1370Courage and comfort. All shall yet go well.
5What 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,
1375O’erbearing interruption, spite of France?
10What he hath won, that hath he fortified.
So hot a speed, with such advice disposed,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example. Who hath read or heard
1380Of any kindred action like to this?
15Well could I bear that England had this praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter Constance, with her hair unbound.
Look who comes here! A grave unto a soul,
Holding th’ eternal spirit against her will
1385In the vile prison of afflicted breath.—
20I prithee, lady, go away with me.
Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace!
Patience, good lady. Comfort, gentle Constance.
No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
1390But that which ends all counsel, true redress.
25Death, death, O amiable, lovely death,
Thou odoriferous stench, sound rottenness,
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
1395And I will kiss thy detestable bones
30And 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.
1400Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil’st,
35And buss thee as thy wife. Misery’s love,
O, come to me!
O fair affliction, peace!
No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.
1405O, that my tongue were in the thunder’s mouth!
40Then 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.
1410Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.
45Thou art not holy to belie me so.
I am not mad. This hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geoffrey’s wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.
1415I am not mad; I would to heaven I were,
50For 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 canonized, cardinal.
1420For, being not mad but sensible of grief,
55My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be delivered of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I should forget my son,
1425Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.
60I am not mad. Too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.
Bind up those tresses.—O, what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs;
1430Where but by chance a silver drop hath fall’n,
65Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
1435To England, if you will.
70Bind up your hairs.
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,
1440As they have given these hairs their liberty!”
75But now I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.
She binds up her hair.
And father cardinal, I have heard you say
1445That we shall see and know our friends in heaven.
80If 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.
1450But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
85And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meager as an ague’s fit,
And so he’ll die; and, rising so again,
1455When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
90I shall not know him. Therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
He talks to me that never had a son.
1460You are as fond of grief as of your child.
95Grief 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,
1465Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
100Then, 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.
She unbinds her hair.
I will not keep this form upon my head
1470When there is such disorder in my wit.
105O 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!
I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her.
1475There’s nothing in this world can make me joy.
110Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
And bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet world’s
taste,
1480That it yields naught but shame and bitterness.
115Before 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.
1485What have you lost by losing of this day?
120All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
If you had won it, certainly you had.
No, no. When Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threat’ning eye.
1490’Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
125In this which he accounts so clearly won.
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?
As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
1495Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit.
130For 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:
1500John hath seized Arthur, and it cannot be
135That, whiles warm life plays in that infant’s veins,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A scepter snatched with an unruly hand
1505Must be as boisterously maintained as gained.
140And he that stands upon a slipp’ry place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall.
So be it, for it cannot be but so.
1510But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall?
145You, in the right of Lady Blanche your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
How green you are and fresh in this old world!
1515John lays you plots. The times conspire with you,
150For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act so evilly borne shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
1520That none so small advantage shall step forth
155To check his reign but they will cherish it.
No natural exhalation in the sky,
No scope of nature, no distempered day,
No common wind, no customèd event,
1525But they will pluck away his natural cause
160And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Maybe he will not touch young Arthur’s life,
1530But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
165O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
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
1535And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,
170And 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
1540Than I have named! The bastard Faulconbridge
175Is 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,
1545Or as a little snow, tumbled about,
180Anon 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 topful of offense.
1550For England, go. I will whet on the King.
185Strong reasons makes strange actions. Let us go.
If you say ay, the King will not say no.
Heat me these irons hot, and look thou stand
Within the arras. When I strike my foot
1555Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
5Fast to the chair. Be heedful. Hence, and watch.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Uncleanly scruples fear not you. Look to ’t.
Executioners exit.
1560Young lad, come forth. I have to say with you.
Good morrow, Hubert.
10Good morrow, little prince.
As little prince, having so great a title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
1565Indeed, I have been merrier.
Mercy on me!
15Methinks nobody should be sad but I.
Yet I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night
1570Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
20I should be as merry as the day is long.
And so I would be here but that I doubt
My uncle practices more harm to me.
1575He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey’s son?
25No, indeed, is ’t not. And I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
1580He will awake my mercy, which lies dead.
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.
30Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale today.
In sooth, I would you were a little sick
That I might sit all night and watch with you.
1585I warrant I love you more than you do me.
His words do take possession of my bosom.
He shows Arthur a paper.
35Read here, young Arthur. (Aside.) How now,
foolish rheum?
Turning dispiteous torture out of door?
1590I must be brief lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.—
40Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
1595Young boy, I must.
And will you?
45And I will.
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows—
1600The best I had, a princess wrought it me—
And I did never ask it you again;
50And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,
1605Saying “What lack you?” and “Where lies your
grief?”
55Or “What good love may I perform for you?”
Many a poor man’s son would have lien still
And ne’er have spoke a loving word to you;
1610But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
60And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes—
1615These eyes that never did nor never shall
So much as frown on you?
65I have sworn to do it.
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Ah, none but in this Iron Age would do it.
1620The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears
70And quench this fiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust
1625But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron?
75An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed him. No tongue but
1630Hubert’s.
Come forth.
Enter Executioners with ropes, a heated iron, and a
brazier of burning coals.
80Do as I bid you do.
O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
1635Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Alas, what need you be so boist’rous-rough?
85I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still.
For God’s sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,
1640And I will sit as quiet as a lamb.
I will not stir nor wince nor speak a word
90Nor look upon the iron angerly.
Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.
1645Go stand within. Let me alone with him.
I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
95Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.
Let him come back, that his compassion may
1650Give life to yours.
Come, boy, prepare yourself.
100Is there no remedy?
None but to lose your eyes.
O God, that there were but a mote in yours,
1655A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense.
105Then, feeling what small things are boisterous
there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
1660Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.
Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
110Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.
Let me not hold my tongue. Let me not, Hubert,
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
1665So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,
Though to no use but still to look on you.
He seizes the iron.
115Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me.
I can heat it, boy.
1670No, in good sooth. The fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used
120In undeserved extremes. See else yourself.
There is no malice in this burning coal.
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out
1675And strewed repentant ashes on his head.
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
125An if you do, you will but make it blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,
1680And, like a dog that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tar him on.
130All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office. Only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
1685Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
Well, see to live. I will not touch thine eye
135For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
1690O, now you look like Hubert. All this while
You were disguisèd.
140Peace. No more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead.
I’ll fill these doggèd spies with false reports.
1695And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
145Will not offend thee.
O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
Silence. No more. Go closely in with me.
1700Much danger do I undergo for thee.
Here once again we sit, once again crowned
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
This “once again,” but that your Highness pleased,
Was once superfluous. You were crowned before,
51705And that high royalty was ne’er plucked off,
The faiths of men ne’er stainèd with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land
With any longed-for change or better state.
Therefore, to be possessed with double pomp,
101710To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refinèd gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
151715To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
201720Being urgèd at a time unseasonable.
In this the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigurèd,
And like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,
251725Startles and frights consideration,
Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected
For putting on so new a fashioned robe.
When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness,
301730And oftentimes excusing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worse by th’ excuse,
As patches set upon a little breach
Discredit more in hiding of the fault
Than did the fault before it was so patched.
351735To this effect, before you were new-crowned,
We breathed our counsel; but it pleased your
Highness
To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,
Since all and every part of what we would
401740Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.
Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possessed you with, and think them strong;
And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,
I shall endue you with. Meantime, but ask
451745What you would have reformed that is not well,
And well shall you perceive how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
Then I, as one that am the tongue of these
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,
501750Both for myself and them, but chief of all
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies, heartily request
Th’ enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
551755To break into this dangerous argument:
If what in rest you have in right you hold,
Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman and to choke his days
601760With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise.
That the time’s enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit
That you have bid us ask, his liberty,
651765Which for our goods we do no further ask
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
Counts it your weal he have his liberty.
Let it be so. I do commit his youth
To your direction.
Enter Hubert.
701770Hubert, what news with you?
This is the man should do the bloody deed.
He showed his warrant to a friend of mine.
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye. That close aspect of his
751775Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,
And I do fearfully believe ’tis done
What we so feared he had a charge to do.
The color of the King doth come and go
Between his purpose and his conscience,
801780Like heralds ’twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child’s death.
We cannot hold mortality’s strong hand.—
851785Good lords, although my will to give is living,
The suit which you demand is gone and dead.
He tells us Arthur is deceased tonight.
Indeed, we feared his sickness was past cure.
Indeed, we heard how near his death he was
901790Before the child himself felt he was sick.
This must be answered either here or hence.
Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
951795It is apparent foul play, and ’tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it.
So thrive it in your game, and so farewell.
Stay yet, Lord Salisbury. I’ll go with thee
And find th’ inheritance of this poor child,
1001800His little kingdom of a forcèd grave.
That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,
Three foot of it doth hold. Bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne; this will break out
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.
1051805They burn in indignation. I repent.
There is no sure foundation set on blood,
No certain life achieved by others’ death.
Enter Messenger.
A fearful eye thou hast. Where is that blood
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
1101810So foul a sky clears not without a storm.
Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?
From France to England. Never such a power
For any foreign preparation
Was levied in the body of a land.
1151815The copy of your speed is learned by them,
For when you should be told they do prepare,
The tidings comes that they are all arrived.
O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
Where hath it slept? Where is my mother’s care,
1201820That such an army could be drawn in France
And she not hear of it?
My liege, her ear
Is stopped with dust. The first of April died
Your noble mother. And as I hear, my lord,
1251825The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before. But this from rumor’s tongue
I idly heard. If true or false, I know not.
Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me till I have pleased
1301830My discontented peers. What? Mother dead?
How wildly then walks my estate in France!—
Under whose conduct came those powers of France
That thou for truth giv’st out are landed here?
Under the Dauphin.
1351835Thou hast made me giddy
With these ill tidings.
Enter Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
To Bastard.Now, what says the world
To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
1401840But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
Bear with me, cousin, for I was amazed
Under the tide, but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood and can give audience
1451845To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
How I have sped among the clergymen
The sums I have collected shall express.
But as I traveled hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied,
1501850Possessed with rumors, full of idle dreams,
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear.
And here’s a prophet that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels,
1551855To whom he sung in rude harsh-sounding rhymes
That ere the next Ascension Day at noon,
Your Highness should deliver up your crown.
Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?
Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
1601860Hubert, away with him! Imprison him.
And on that day at noon, whereon he says
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hanged.
Deliver him to safety and return,
For I must use thee.Hubert and Peter exit.
1651865O my gentle cousin,
Hear’st thou the news abroad, who are arrived?
The French, my lord. Men’s mouths are full of it.
Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
1701870And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, whom they say is killed tonight
On your suggestion.
Gentle kinsman, go
And thrust thyself into their companies.
1751875I have a way to win their loves again.
Bring them before me.
I will seek them out.
Nay, but make haste, the better foot before!
O, let me have no subject enemies
1801880When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion.
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
And fly like thought from them to me again.
The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
1851885Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.
To Messenger. Go after him, for he perhaps shall
need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers,
And be thou he.
1901890With all my heart, my liege.
Messenger exits.My mother dead!
Enter Hubert.
My lord, they say five moons were seen tonight—
Four fixèd, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.
1951895Five moons!
Old men and beldams in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously.
Young Arthur’s death is common in their mouths,
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads
2001900And whisper one another in the ear,
And he that speaks doth grip the hearer’s wrist,
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
2051905The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor’s news,
Who with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
2101910Told of a many thousand warlike French
That were embattlèd and ranked in Kent.
Another lean, unwashed artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur’s death.
Why seek’st thou to possess me with these fears?
2151915Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur’s death?
Thy hand hath murdered him. I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?
It is the curse of kings to be attended
2201920By slaves that take their humors for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life,
And on the winking of authority
To understand a law, to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
2251925More upon humor than advised respect.
Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
O, when the last accompt twixt heaven and Earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation!
2301930How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature marked,
Quoted, and signed to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind.
2351935But taking note of thy abhorred aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,
Apt, liable to be employed in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur’s death;
And thou, to be endearèd to a king,
2401940Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
My lord—
Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause
When I spake darkly what I purposèd,
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face,
2451945As bid me tell my tale in express words,
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break
off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
But thou didst understand me by my signs
2501950And didst in signs again parley with sin,
Yea, without stop didst let thy heart consent
And consequently thy rude hand to act
The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.
Out of my sight, and never see me more.
2551955My nobles leave me, and my state is braved,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers.
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
2601960Between my conscience and my cousin’s death.
Arm you against your other enemies.
I’ll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
2651965Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never entered yet
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought,
And you have slandered nature in my form,
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
2701970Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
Throw this report on their incensèd rage,
And make them tame to their obedience.
2751975Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature, for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not, but to my closet bring
2801980The angry lords with all expedient haste.
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.
The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.
Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not.
There’s few or none do know me. If they did,
1985This shipboy’s semblance hath disguised me quite.
5I am afraid, and yet I’ll venture it.
If I get down and do not break my limbs,
I’ll find a thousand shifts to get away.
As good to die and go as die and stay.
He jumps.
1990O me, my uncle’s spirit is in these stones.
10Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones.
Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.
1995Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?
15The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
Whose private with me of the Dauphin’s love
Is much more general than these lines import.
Tomorrow morning let us meet him, then.
2000Or rather then set forward, for ’twill be
20Two long days’ journey, lords, or ere we meet.
Once more today well met, distempered lords.
The King by me requests your presence straight.
The King hath dispossessed himself of us.
2005We will not line his thin bestainèd cloak
25With our pure honors, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where’er it walks.
Return, and tell him so. We know the worst.
Whate’er you think, good words I think were best.
2010Our griefs and not our manners reason now.
30But there is little reason in your grief.
Therefore ’twere reason you had manners now.
Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
’Tis true, to hurt his master, no man’s else.
2015This is the prison.
He sees Arthur’s body.
35What is he lies here?
O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
The Earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
2020Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.
40Or when he doomed this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
Sir Richard, what think you? You have beheld.
Or have you read or heard, or could you think,
2025Or do you almost think, although you see,
45That you do see? Could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder’s arms. This is the bloodiest shame,
2030The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke
50That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.
All murders past do stand excused in this.
And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
2035Shall give a holiness, a purity,
55To the yet unbegotten sin of times
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
It is a damnèd and a bloody work,
2040The graceless action of a heavy hand,
60If that it be the work of any hand.
If that it be the work of any hand?
We had a kind of light what would ensue.
It is the shameful work of Hubert’s hand,
2045The practice and the purpose of the King,
65From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet lifeHe kneels.
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow:
2050Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
70Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand
By giving it the worship of revenge.
2055Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
75Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.
Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.
O, he is bold and blushes not at death!—
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
2060I am no villain.
80Must I rob the law?
Your sword is bright, sir. Put it up again.
Not till I sheathe it in a murderer’s skin.
Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say.
2065By heaven, I think my sword’s as sharp as yours.
He puts his hand on his sword.
85I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defense,
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
2070Out, dunghill! Dar’st thou brave a nobleman?
90Not for my life. But yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
Thou art a murderer.
Do not prove me so.
2075Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe’er speaks false,
95Not truly speaks. Who speaks not truly, lies.
Cut him to pieces.
Keep the peace, I say.
Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
2080Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.
100If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I’ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron
2085That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
105What wilt thou do, renownèd Faulconbridge?
Second a villain and a murderer?
Lord Bigot, I am none.
Who killed this prince?
2090’Tis not an hour since I left him well.
110I honored him, I loved him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life’s loss.
Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum,
2095And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
115like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
Th’ uncleanly savors of a slaughterhouse,
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
2100Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there.
120There, tell the King, he may inquire us out.
Here’s a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
2105Art thou damned, Hubert.
125Do but hear me, sir.
Ha! I’ll tell thee what.
Thou ’rt damned as black—nay, nothing is so black—
Thou art more deep damned than Prince Lucifer.
2110There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
130As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Upon my soul—
If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
2115And if thou want’st a cord, the smallest thread
135That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on. Or wouldst thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon
2120And it shall be as all the ocean,
140Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.
If I in act, consent, or sin of thought
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
2125Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
145Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
I left him well.
Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
2130Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
Hubert takes up Arthur’s body.
150How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven, and England now is left
2135To tug and scamble and to part by th’ teeth
155The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-picked bone of majesty
Doth doggèd war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace.
2140Now powers from home and discontents at home
160Meet in one line, and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fall’n beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
2145Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
165And follow me with speed. I’ll to the King.
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.
Thus have I yielded up into your hand
2150The circle of my glory.
Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,
5Your sovereign greatness and authority.
Now keep your holy word. Go meet the French,
2155And from his Holiness use all your power
To stop their marches ’fore we are inflamed.
Our discontented counties do revolt,
10Our people quarrel with obedience,
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
2160To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistempered humor
Rests by you only to be qualified.
15Then pause not, for the present time’s so sick
That present med’cine must be ministered,
2165Or overthrow incurable ensues.
It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope;
20But since you are a gentle convertite,
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
2170And make fair weather in your blust’ring land.
On this Ascension Day, remember well:
Upon your oath of service to the Pope,
25Go I to make the French lay down their arms.
Is this Ascension Day? Did not the prophet
2175Say that before Ascension Day at noon
My crown I should give off? Even so I have.
I did suppose it should be on constraint,
30But, God be thanked, it is but voluntary.
All Kent hath yielded. Nothing there holds out
2180But Dover Castle. London hath received
Like a kind host the Dauphin and his powers.
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
35To offer service to your enemy;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
2185The little number of your doubtful friends.
Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
40They found him dead and cast into the streets,
An empty casket where the jewel of life
2190By some damned hand was robbed and ta’en away.
That villain Hubert told me he did live!
So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
45But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought.
2195Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye.
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
50Threaten the threat’ner, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes,
2200That borrow their behaviors from the great,
Grow great by your example and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
55Away, and glister like the god of war
When he intendeth to become the field.
2205Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den
And fright him there? And make him tremble there?
60O, let it not be said! Forage, and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
2210And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.
The legate of the Pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him,
65And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.
2215O inglorious league!
Shall we upon the footing of our land
Send fair-play orders and make compromise,
70Insinuation, parley, and base truce
To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,
2220A cockered silken wanton, brave our fields
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colors idly spread,
75And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms!
Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace;
2225Or if he do, let it at least be said
They saw we had a purpose of defense.
Have thou the ordering of this present time.
80Away, then, with good courage! (Aside.) Yet I
know
2230Our party may well meet a prouder foe.
My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance.
Return the precedent to these lords again,
That having our fair order written down,
52235Both they and we, perusing o’er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the Sacrament,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble dauphin, albeit we swear
102240A voluntary zeal and unurged faith
To your proceedings, yet believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemned revolt
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
152245By making many. O, it grieves my soul
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker! O, and there
Where honorable rescue and defense
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
202250But such is the infection of the time
That for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confusèd wrong.
And is ’t not pity, O my grievèd friends,
252255That we, the sons and children of this isle,
Was born to see so sad an hour as this,
Wherein we step after a stranger, march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies’ ranks? I must withdraw and weep
302260Upon the spot of this enforcèd cause,
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colors here.
What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove,
That Neptune’s arms, who clippeth thee about,
352265Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it so unneighborly.
402270A noble temper dost thou show in this,
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
452275Let me wipe off this honorable dew
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady’s tears,
Being an ordinary inundation,
But this effusion of such manly drops,
502280This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes and makes me more amazed
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figured quite o’er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renownèd Salisbury,
552285And with a great heart heave away this storm.
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enraged,
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
602290Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself.—So, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
And even there, methinks, an angel spake.
Enter Pandulph.
652295Look where the holy legate comes apace
To give us warrant from the hand of God,
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath.
Hail, noble prince of France.
702300The next is this: King John hath reconciled
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in
That so stood out against the holy Church,
The great metropolis and See of Rome.
Therefore thy threat’ning colors now wind up,
752305And tame the savage spirit of wild war
That, like a lion fostered up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace
And be no further harmful than in show.
Your Grace shall pardon me; I will not back.
802310I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at control,
Or useful servingman and instrument
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
852315Between this chastised kingdom and myself
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now ’tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
902320Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart.
And come you now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honor of my marriage bed,
952325After young Arthur claim this land for mine.
And now it is half conquered, must I back
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome’s slave? What penny hath Rome borne?
What men provided? What munition sent
1002330To underprop this action? Is ’t not I
That undergo this charge? Who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out
1052335“Vive le Roi” as I have banked their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game
To win this easy match played for a crown?
And shall I now give o’er the yielded set?
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.
1102340You look but on the outside of this work.
Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promisèd
Before I drew this gallant head of war
1152345And culled these fiery spirits from the world
To outlook conquest and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
A trumpet sounds.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?
According to the fair play of the world,
1202350Let 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.
1252355The Dauphin is too willful-opposite
And will not temporize with my entreaties.
He flatly says he’ll not lay down his arms.
By all the blood that ever fury breathed,
The youth says well! Now hear our English king,
1302360For thus his royalty doth speak in me:
He is prepared—and reason too he should.
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harnessed masque and unadvisèd revel,
This unheard sauciness and boyish troops,
1352365The King doth smile at, and is well prepared
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,
1402370To dive like buckets in concealèd wells,
To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
To lie like pawns locked up in chests and trunks,
To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
1452375Even at the crying of your nation’s crow,
Thinking this voice an armèd Englishman—
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No! Know the gallant monarch is in arms,
1502380And like an eagle o’er his aerie 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!
1552385For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
Their thimbles into armèd gauntlets change,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
1602390There 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.
Give me leave to speak.
1652395No, I will speak.
We will attend to neither.
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest and our being here.
Indeed, your drums being beaten will cry out,
1702400And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
An echo with the clamor of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready braced
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine.
Sound but another, and another shall,
1752405As loud as thine, rattle the welkin’s ear
And mock the deep-mouthed thunder. For at hand,
Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath used rather for sport than need,
Is warlike John, and in his forehead sits
1802410A bare-ribbed Death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
And thou shalt find it, dauphin, do not doubt.
How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.
2415Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?
This fever that hath troubled me so long
Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick.
5My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Desires your Majesty to leave the field
2420And send him word by me which way you go.
Tell him toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.
Be of good comfort, for the great supply
10That was expected by the Dauphin here
Are wracked three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
2425This news was brought to Richard but even now.
The French fight coldly and retire themselves.
Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up
15And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on toward Swinstead. To my litter straight.
2430Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.
I did not think the King so stored with friends.
Up once again. Put spirit in the French.
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
52435In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.
When we were happy, we had other names.
It is the Count Melun.
102440Wounded to death.
Fly, noble English; you are bought and sold.
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John and fall before his feet,
152445For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He 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 Edmundsbury,
202450Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.
May this be possible? May this be true?
Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
252455Which bleeds away even as a form of wax
Resolveth 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
302460That I must die here and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Louis do win the day,
He is forsworn if e’er those eyes of yours
Behold another daybreak in the East.
But even this night, whose black contagious breath
352465Already 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,
402470If Louis 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.
452475In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumor 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.
502480We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favor and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damnèd flight,
And like a bated and retirèd flood,
552485Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlooked
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,
602490For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.
The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
But stayed and made the western welkin blush,
2495When English measured backward their own
ground
5In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night
2500And wound our tott’ring colors clearly up,
Last in the field and almost lords of it.
10Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Here. What news?
The Count Melun is slain. The English lords,
2505By his persuasion, are again fall’n off,
And your supply, which you have wished so long,
15Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Ah, foul, shrewd news. Beshrew thy very heart!
I did not think to be so sad tonight
2510As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
20The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Well, keep good quarter and good care tonight.
2515The day shall not be up so soon as I
To try the fair adventure of tomorrow.
Who’s there? Speak ho! Speak quickly, or I shoot.
A friend. What art thou?
Of the part of England.
2520Whither dost thou go?
5What’s that to thee?
Why may not I demand of thine affairs
As well as thou of mine? Hubert, I think?
Thou hast a perfect thought.
2525I will upon all hazards well believe
10Thou art my friend, that know’st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?
Who thou wilt. An if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
2530I come one way of the Plantagenets.
15Unkind remembrance! Thou and endless night
Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should ’scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
2535Come, come. Sans compliment, what news abroad?
20Why, here walk I in the black brow of night
To find you out.
Brief, then; and what’s the news?
O my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
2540Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
25Show me the very wound of this ill news.
I am no woman; I’ll not swoon at it.
The King, I fear, is poisoned by a monk.
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
2545To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
30The better arm you to the sudden time
Than if you had at leisure known of this.
How did he take it? Who did taste to him?
A monk, I tell you, a resolvèd villain,
2550Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King
35Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.
Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?
Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company,
2555At whose request the King hath pardoned them,
40And they are all about his Majesty.
Withhold thine indignation, mighty God,
And tempt us not to bear above our power.
I’ll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
2560Passing these flats, are taken by the tide.
45These Lincoln Washes have devourèd them.
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away before. Conduct me to the King.
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.
2565It is too late. The life of all his blood
Is touched corruptibly, and his pure brain,
Which some suppose the soul’s frail dwelling-house,
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
5Foretell the ending of mortality.
2570His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
That being brought into the open air
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
10Let him be brought into the orchard here.
Bigot exits.
2575Doth he still rage?
He is more patient
Than when you left him. Even now he sung.
O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes
15In their continuance will not feel themselves.
2580Death, having preyed upon the outward parts,
Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
20Which in their throng and press to that last hold
2585Confound 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,
25And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
2590His soul and body to their lasting rest.
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.
30Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room.
2595It 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
35Upon a parchment, and against this fire
2600Do I shrink up.
How fares your Majesty?
Poisoned—ill fare—dead, forsook, cast off,
And none of you will bid the winter come
40To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
2605Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their course
Through my burned bosom, nor entreat the North
To make his bleak winds kiss my parchèd lips
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much.
45I beg cold comfort, and you are so strait
2610And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
O, that there were some virtue in my tears
That might relieve you!
The salt in them is hot.
50Within me is a hell, and there the poison
2615Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize
On unreprievable, condemnèd blood.
O, I am scalded with my violent motion
And spleen of speed to see your Majesty.
55O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye.
2620The tackle of my heart is cracked and burnt,
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
Are turnèd to one thread, one little hair.
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
60Which holds but till thy news be utterèd,
2625And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.
The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where God He knows how we shall answer him.
65For in a night the best part of my power,
2630As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the Washes all unwarily
Devourèd by the unexpected flood.
You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.—
70My liege! My lord!—But now a king, now thus.
2635Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king and now is clay?
Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
75To do the office for thee of revenge,
2640And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on Earth hath been thy servant still.—
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers? Show now your mended
80faiths
2645And instantly return with me again
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
85The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
2650It seems you know not, then, so much as we.
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
And brings from him such offers of our peace
90As we with honor and respect may take,
2655With purpose presently to leave this war.
He will the rather do it when he sees
Ourselves well-sinewèd to our defense.
Nay, ’tis in a manner done already,
95For many carriages he hath dispatched
2660To 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
100To consummate this business happily.
2665Let it be so.—And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spared,
Shall wait upon your father’s funeral.
At Worcester must his body be interred,
105For so he willed it.
2670Thither shall it, then,
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land,
To whom with all submission on my knee
110I do bequeath my faithful services
2675And true subjection everlastingly.
And the like tender of our love we make
To rest without a spot forevermore.
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
115And knows not how to do it but with tears.
2680O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
This England never did nor never shall
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror
120But when it first did help to wound itself.
2685Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms
And we shall shock them. Naught shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.