"Till now infixed I behold my felf,

Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye.

[Whispering with Blanch.

Baft. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espie Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,

That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there fhould be
In fuch a love fo vile a lout as he.

Blanch. My uncle's will in this refpect is mine.
If he fee ought in you that makes him like,
That any thing, he fees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will:
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my Lord,
That all I fee in you is worthy love,
Than this; that nothing do I fee in you,

(Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge) That I can find fhould merit any hate.

K. John. What fay these young ones? what say you, my

neice ?

Blanch. That she is bound in honour ftill to do What you in wifdom will vouchsafe to say.

K. John. Speak then, Prince Dauphin, can you love this Lady?

Lervis. Nay, afk me if I can refrain from love, For I do love her moft unfeignedly.

K. John. Then do I give Volqueffen, Touraine, Maine, Poitiers, and Anjou, thefe five provinces, With her to thee, and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, Command thy fon and daughter to join hands.

K. Philip. It likes us well; young Princes, clofe your hands. *

clofe your hands.

Au. And your lips too. for I am well afur'd

That I did fo, when I was firft affur'd.

K, Philip. Now, citizens,

Now,

Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made:
For at Saint Mary's chappel prefently
The rites of marriage fhall be folemniz'd.
Is not the Lady Conftance in this troop?
I know the is not; for this match made up
Her prefence would have interrupted much.
Where is the and her fon, tell me, who knows?
Lewis. She's fad and paffionate at your Highness' tent.
K. Philip. And by my faith, this league that we have
made

Will give her fadnefs very little cure.

Brother of England, how may we content

This widow Lady? in her right we came,

Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way
To our own vantage.

K. John. We will heal up all,

For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Conftance,
Some speedy meffenger bid her repair
To our folemnity: I trust we fhall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in fome measure fatisfie her fo,
That we will ftop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as hafte will fuffer us,

To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. [Exeunt all but Baft
SCENE VI.

Baß. Mad world, mad Kings, mad compofition! Jobn to ftop Arthur's title in the whole,

Hath willingly departed with a part:

And France, whofe armour confcience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own foldier, rounded in the ear
With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil,
That broker, that fill breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of Kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who, as they have no external thing to lofe
But the word maids, cheats the poor maids of that,

That

That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling Commodity
Commodity, the biafs of the world:
The world, which of it felf is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
'Till this advantage, this vile-drawing biass,
This fway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this fame biafs, this Commodity,

This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapt on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a refolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this Commodity ?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet,
Nor, that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would falute my palm
But that my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well! while I am a beggar, I will rail,
And fay there is no fin but to be rich:
And being rich, my virtue then fhall be,
To fay there is no vice, but beggary.
Since Kings break faith upon Commodity,
Gain, be my Lord! for I will worship thee.

Conft.

:

ACT III. SCENE I.
The French King's Pavilion.

Enter Conftance, Arthur and Salisbury.

G

[Exit

One to be marry'd! gone to fwear a peace!
Falfe blood to falfe blood join'd! Gone to be
friends!..

Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces ?
It is not fo; thou haft mis-spoke, mif-heard ;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again,
It cannot be; thou doft but say 'tis fo.
I think I may not truft thee, for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man :

I have a King's oath to the contrary.

Thou

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am fick and capable of fears,

Oppreft with wrongs, and therefore, full of fears:
A widow, husbandless, fubject to fears,

A woman, naturally born to fears.

And though thou now confefs thou didst but jeft,
With my vext fpirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head?
Why doft thou look fo fadly on my fon?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be thefe fad figns confirmers of thy words?
Then fpeak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
Sal. As true, as I believe you think them false
That give you caufe to prove my faying true.
Conft. Oh, if thou teach me to believe this forrow,
Teach thou this forrow how to make me die
And let belief and life encounter fo,
As doth the fury of two defp'rate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.
Lewis wed Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
France friend with England! what becomes of me?
Fellow, be gone, I cannot brook thy fight. *

Arth. I do befeech you, mother, be content.
Conft. If thou that bidft me be content wert grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks
I would not care; I then would be content :
For then I fhould not love thee: no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deferve a crown.
I cannot brook thy fight;

This news hath made thee a moit ugly man.
Sal What other harm have'l, good Lady, done,
But fpoke the harm that is by others done?
Conf. Which harm within a felf fo heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that peak of it.
Arth. I do beleuch you, .

But

But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy!'
Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great.
Of Nature's gifts thou may'ft with lillies boaft,
And with the half-blown rofe. But Fortune, oh!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee,
Adulterates hourly with thine uncle Jobs,
And with her golden hand hath pluckt on France
To tread down fair refpect of fovereignty,
And made his Majefty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to Fortune, and to John,
That ftrumpet Fortune, that ufurping John !
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forlworn?
Envenom him with words, or get thee gone,
And leave these woes alone which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.

Sal. Pardon me, Madam,

I may not go without you to the Kings.

Conft. Thou may'ft, thou fhalt, I will not go with thee, I will inftruct my forrow to be proud;

-For grief is proud, and makes his owner ftout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let Kings affemble: for my grief's so great,
That no fupporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: Here I and forrow fit ;
Here is my throne, bid Kings come bow to it.

[Sits down on the Floor

SCENE II.

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, the Baftard, and Auftria.

K. Philip. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this bleffed day Ever in France fhall be kept festival:

To folemnize this day, the glorious fun
Stays in his courfe, and plays the alchymift,
Turning with splendour of his precious eye
The meager cloddy earth to glitt'ring gold.
The yearly courfe that brings this day about,
Shall never fee it but a holy-day.

Conft. A wicked day, and not a holy-day.
What hath this day deferv'd? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters fhould be fet
Among the high-tides in the kalendar?

[Rifing,

Nay