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 you 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, BGOT, and Soldiers.

Lew. My Lord Mehun, 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 unurg'd faith,

To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd 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-inaker; 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 confused wrong.-
And is't not pity, O my grieved 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 enforced cause),
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here?-O nation, that thou couldst remove!
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 show 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 cheeks;
My heart hath inelted 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 amaz'd
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm
Commend these waters to those baby eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,

346

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 al ace,
To give us warrant from the hand of Heaven;
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pan.
Hail, noble prince of France!
The next is this,-King John hath reconcil'd
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 colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion foster'd 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 chastis'd 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,
Acquainted 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 honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, 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 have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, no, on my soul it never shall be said.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.--
[Trumpet sounds
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak: My holy lord of Milan, from the king I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And, as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue.

346

Pand. The dauphin is to 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 breath'd, The youth says well: now hear our English king, For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque and unadvis'd revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, The king doth smile at: and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories.

That hand, which had the strength, even at your door,

To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;
To crouch in litter of your stable planks;
To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake,
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;-
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: Know, the gallant monarch is in arms:
And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.--
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neros, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush, for shame:
For your own ladies, and pale visag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in
peace:

We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

Pand.

Give me leave to speak.
Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew.
We will attend to neither:-
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.
Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will
cry out;

And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouthed thunder: for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need),
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare ribb'd death, whose office 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.
Alarums. Enter King Jon 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.

SCENE IV.-The same.

same.

[Exeunt. Another part of the

Sal.

Wounded to death. Mel. 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;
For, 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 of Saint Edmund's-Bury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
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.

But I do love the favor and the form

Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,

Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,

Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train.

SCENE V.-The same.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set,

But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground,

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

Enter a Messenger.

That any accent, breaking from thy tongue Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk 1, in the black brow of night,

To find you out. Bust.

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

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

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might 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 resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all

come back,

And brought Prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withold thine indignation, mighty heaven And tempt us not to bear above our power! I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Myself, well mounted, hardly have escap'd. Away, before! conduct me to the king; I doubt he will be dead, or e'er I come.

[Exeunt.

?

very heart!

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought:

I will, upon all hazards, well believe

Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.

P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwellinghouse)

Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBROKE.

Pem. His 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.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.Doth he still rage?

Pem.

[Exit BIGOT. He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them invisible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold

should sing.

SCENE L-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King RICHARD, attended; JOHN of GAUNT, and other Nobles, with him.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could sit him on that
argument,

On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness,-no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and the accused, freely speak:-
[Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and
NORFOLK.

Boling. Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,

As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Boling. First (Heaven be the record to iny In the devotion of a subject's love, speech!) Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live; Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seen the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish (so please my sovereign), ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:

"Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech:
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds;
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Meantime, let this defend my loyalty,-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.