Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH with the crown, and Attendants.

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory.

Pand. Take again [Giving JoHN the crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. John. Now keep your holy word: go meet
the French;

And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our people quarrel with obedience;
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistempered humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.

Then pause not; for the present time 's so sick
That present medicine must be ministered,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out

But Dover castle: London hath received,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy:
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again After they heard young Arthur was alive?

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the

streets:

An empty casket, where the jewel of life By some damned hand was robbed and ta'en away.

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did

live.

Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop; why look you sad?
Be great in act as you have been in thought:
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye.
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviours from the great,
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister like the god of war,
When he intendeth to become the field:
Shew boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there, and make him tremble
there?

O let it not be said!-Forage and run
To meet displeasure further from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh.

Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,

To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,
A cockered silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check?-Let us, my liege, to arms :
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
Or if he do, let it at least be said
They saw we had a purpose of defence.

K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time.

Bast. Away then, with good courage: yet I know

Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Plain near St. Edmund's-bury. Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Soldiers.

Lew. 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, Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes, May know wherefore we took the sacrament, And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear A 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 By 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 honourable rescue and defence Cries out upon the name of Salisbury! But 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 confuséd wrong.And is 't not pity, O my grievéd friends, That we, the sons and children of this isle, Were 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

Upon the spot of this enforcéd cause),
Το grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here!
What, here?-O nation, that thou couldst re-
move!

That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would 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 unneighbourly!

Lew. A noble temper dost thou shew in this;
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom,
Do make an earthquake of nobility.
O what a noble combat hast thou fought,
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew
That silverly doth progress on thy checks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation:

But this effusion of such manly drops,
This 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, renownéd Salisbury,
And 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.
Come, come: for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity

As Lewis himself.-So, nobles, shall you all
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.

Enter PANDULPH, attended.

And even there, methinks, an angel spake :-
Look where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven,
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.
Pand. Hail, noble prince of France!
The 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 threatening colours now wind up,
And 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.

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me; I will not back:

I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man and instrument,

To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chástised kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire:
And now 't is 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,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprize 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 honour of my marriage-bed,
After 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,
To 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
"Vive le roy!" 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, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promiséd
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And culled these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

[Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.My holy lord of Milan, from the King

I come, to learn how you have dealt for him:
And as you answer I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pan. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporise with my entreaties:
He flatly says he 'll not lay down his arms.

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breathed, The youth says well!-Now hear our English king:

For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepared; and reason too he should.
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harnessed masque and unadvised revel,

This unhaired sauciness and boyish troops,
The 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;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed 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
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his voice an arméd Englishman :-
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No:-know the gallant monarch is in arms;
And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.-
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame.
For your own ladies, and pale-visaged maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums:
Their thimbles into arméd gauntlets change,
Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face

And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready braced
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:
Sound but another, and another shall
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-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
A bare-ribbed death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger

out.

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The same. A Field of Battle. Alarams. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.

K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

K. John. This fever that hath troubled me so long

Lies heavy on me: O my heart is sick!

Enter a Messenger

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falconbridge,

Desires your majesty to leave the field,
And send him word by me which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the
abbey there.

Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wrecked three nights ago on Goodwin's sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now.
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news.-Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight; Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

[Exeunt,

Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? may this be truc? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view;

Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which 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

That I must die here, and live hence by truth?

I

say again, if Lewis do win the day,

He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night,-whose black contagious
breath

Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,-
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire
Paying the fine of rated treachery,
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King:
The love of him,-and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,-
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Sal. we do believe thee :-and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damnéd flight;
And, like a bated and retiréd flood,
Leaving 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,
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends!-new
flight:

And happy newness, that intends old right!
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

When the English measured backward their own

ground,

In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tattered colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it'

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lew.
Here. What news?

Mess. The Count Melun is slain: the English lords,

By his persuasion, are again fall'n off:
And your supply, which you have wished so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin sands.
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy
very heart!

I did not think to be so sad to-night

As this hath made me.-Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well keep good quarter and good care
to-night.

The day shall not be up so soon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-An open place, in the reighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and HUBERT, meeting. Hub. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

Bast. A friend.-What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go?

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand

Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

Bast. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought. I will, upon all hazards, well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well. Who art thou?

Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night

Have done me shame.-Brave soldier, pardon me That any accent breaking from thy tongue Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine car. Bast. Come, come: sans compliment, what news abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. To find you out.

Bast. Brief, then; and what s the news? Hub. O my sweet sir, news fitting to the night: Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill news: I am no woman; I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The King, I fear, is poisoned by a monk. I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might The better arm you to the sudden time Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hub. A monk, I tell you: a resolvéd villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.

Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. Why, know you not? The lords are all

come back,

And brought Prince Henry in their company: At whose request the King hath pardoned them, And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,

And tempt us not to bear above our power!—
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln washes have devoured them:
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away, before conduct me to the King:
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt.