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It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, 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;
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick, and capable of fears;
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears; [jest,
And though thou now confess thou didst but
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What 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?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Const. Ŏ, if thou teach me to believe this

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.-
Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art

France friend with England! what becomes of

Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert

Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,?
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I 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 join'd to make thee great :
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty.
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.

Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the kings.
Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go
with thee:

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great,
That no supporter but the huge firm earth

Susceptible. Appearing. + Unsightly.
Monstrous. || Dignity.
Put it off.

Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
[She throws herself on the ground.


K. Phi. "Tis true, fair daughter; and this
blessed day,

Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day.-
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done;
That it in golden letters should be set
Among the high tides in the calendar?
Nay, 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 cross'd:
But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
No bargains break, that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no
To curse the fair proceedings of this day : [cause
Have I not pawned to you my majesty?

Const. You have beguiled me with a counter-
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and
Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace,

And our oppression hath made up this league :—
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd

A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens !
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
Hear me, O, hear me !

Aust. Lady Constance, peace. [a war.
Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me
O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch,
thou coward;

Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd 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,
Hast 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,
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O that a man should speak those words
to me!
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant
K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget



K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. [ven Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaTo thee, King John, my holy errand is. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, And from Pope Innocent the legate here, Do, in his name, religiously demand, Why thou against the church our holy mother, So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce, Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop Of Canterbury, from that holy see? This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name, Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.


K. John. What earthly name to interroga-
Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. [land,
Tell him this tale; and, from the mouth of Eng-
Add thus much more,-That no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;

But as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
So tell the pope; all reverence set apart,
To him, and his usurp'd authority.

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme
in this.
K. John. Though you, and all the kings of
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreading 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,
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose

Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.
Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate:
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,
That takes away by any secret course
Thy hateful life.

O, lawful let it be,

Const. That I have room with Rome to curse a while! Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, To my keen curses; for, without my wrong, There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. [curse. Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my Const. 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;
For he that holds his kingdom, holds the law:
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?
Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
And raise the power of France upon his head,
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go
thy hand.
Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant

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But from her need. Const.

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; O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. [up; K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this.

Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. [doubt. Aust. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. [to say.

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd?
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my per-

son yours,

And 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 link'd together
With all religious strength of sacred vows;
The 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,
To clap this royal bargain up of peace,-
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-
With slaughter's pencil! where revenge did
The fearful difference of incensed kings:
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet?*
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with

Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
As now again to snatch our palm from palm;
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to match 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:
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, 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 may'st hoid a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; And, like a civil war, sett st oath to oath, Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd; Exchange of salutation.

That is, to be the champion of our church!
What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself,
And may not be performed by thyself:
For 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
Is, to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,

And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is religion that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion; [swear'st;
By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear 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 latter vows, against thy first,
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself:
And better conquest never canst thou make,
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If 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.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion!
Will 't not be?
Will not a calf-skin stop that mouth of thine?
Lew. Father, to arms.

Upon thy wedding-day? Against the blood that thou hast married? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? [drums,

Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish
Clamours of hell,-be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro-
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms [nounce,
Against mine uncle.


O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Fore-thought by heaven.

[may Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds ; [nour! His honour: Ó, thine honour, Lewis, thine hoLew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need :-England, I'll fall from thee.

Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty! Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy! K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. [ton, time, Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexIs it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. 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,
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win;

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Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive:
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss, before the match be play'd.
Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune
[my life dies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there
K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance
Exit Bast.
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ;
A rage, whose heat hath this condition,
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France.
K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou
shalt turn

To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

K. John. No more than he that threats.-To arms let's hie! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Plains near Angiers. Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with AUSTRIA'S Head.

Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won

drous hot;

Some airy devil hovers in the sky,


And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie While Philip breathes.

Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy:-Philip, My mother is assailed in our tent, [make up: And ta'en, I fear.

Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her; Her highness is in safety, fear you not: But on, my liege; for very little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same.

Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the Bastard, HUBERT and Lords.

K. John. So shall it be: your grace shall sta behind, [To Eli. So strongly guarded.-Cousin, look not sad: [To ARTH.

Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was. [grief.
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with
K. John. Cousin, [To the Bast.] away for
England; haste before:

And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; angels imprisoned
Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon :
Use our commission in his utmost force. [back,
Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me
When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness :-Grandam, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair safety: so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.
K. John.

Coz, farewell. [Exit Bast. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [She takes ARTH. aside. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O, my gentle Hubert,

We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,-
But I will fit it with some better time.
2 a

By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to
say so yet:
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say,-But let it go:
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, *
To give me audience :-If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick;
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes;)
Or if thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit † alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts;
But ah, I will not:-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct ‡ to my act,
By heaven, I'd do 't.

K. John.

Do not I know thou would'st? Good 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;

And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me; Dost thou understand me? Thou art his keeper.


And I will keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty.

K. John. Death.


My lord?

K. John.


K. John.

A grave.
He shall not live.

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.-Madam, fare you well:

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!
K. John.
For England, cousin :
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho!


SCENE IV.-The French King's Tent. Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado? of convicted sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. [so ill? K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified; So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, + Conception.

* Showy ornaments.



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Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath :-
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!

K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance !

Const. No, I defy ¶ all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death:-O amiable lovely death! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy détestable bones; And put my eye-balls 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: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me! K. Phi.

O fair affliction, peace.

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to


O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then 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.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not


Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
I am not mad;-I would to heaven I were;
For 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 canoniz'd, cardinal
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
If I were mad, I should forget my son;
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he;
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.
K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love
In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Const. To England, if you will.
K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.

[I note

[I do it?

Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud, "O that these hands could so redeem my son, As they have given these hairs their liberty!" But now I envy at their liberty, And will again commit them to their bonds, Because my poor child is a prisoner.And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,

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