Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up.I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, Let hell want pains enough to torture me! I left him well.

Bust. Go, bear him in thine arms.

I am amaz'd, methinks; and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How 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
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth
The unowedt interest of proud-swelling state.
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at
home,

Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture; can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed; I'll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.
[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-The same.-A Room in the Palace. 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

[Giring Joux 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 inflam'd.
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 mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
That present medicine must be minister'd,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tem

pest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : But, since you are a gentle convertite,§ My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blustering land. On this Ascension-day, remember well, Upon your oath of service to the pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet

Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon,
My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
I did suppose, it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

* Confounded. Unowned. Girdle. Convert.

Enter the BASTARD.

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out,

But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
To offer service to your enemy;
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone

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 damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en

away.

K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live.

Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he

But wherefore do you droop? why look you
knew.
[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:
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
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:
Show boldness, and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble
Q, let it not be said!-Forage, and run [there?
To meet displeasure further from the doors;
And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh.

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been

with me,

[Exeunt.

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-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 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 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) [weep To grace the gentry of a land remote, And follow unacquainted colours here? What, here?-O nation, that thou could'st remove!

That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thy And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; [self, Where these two Christian armies might comThe blood of malice in a vein of league, [bine 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!t
Let me wipe off this honourable 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,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than I had 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,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as
Into the purse of rich prosperity,

[deep 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 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 I am too high-born to be propertied,* [back; 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 chástis'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 enterprize into my heart;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, [me?
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?
[borne,
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome
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 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, 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, My holy lord of Milan, from the king Let me have audience; I am sent to speak :

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.

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize 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 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. [king; He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should:" This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque, and unadvised 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, * Appropriated.

Leap over the hatch.

+ Face down. Covered.

Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

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-mouth'd thunder: for at eld to hand

(Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath t us'd rather for sport than need,) Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd 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 Chaos not doubt. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The e same.-A Field of Battle. Alarums.-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!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The same.-Another part of the

same.

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others.

Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.

Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, bath left the field.

Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other

names.

Pem. It is the count Melun.

Sal. Wounded to death.

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, [sold;" 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, Het 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 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 a quantity of [view, Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolved from '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 lieus 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.

Sul. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my
But I do love the favour and the form [soul
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'er-
And calmly run on in obedience, [look'd,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;

A proverb intimating treachery. + Lewis.
In allusion to the images made by witches.
Place.
Ill betide.

For I do see the cruel pangs of death] [flight;
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New
And happy newness,† that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

SCENE V-The same.

-The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set; [blush, But stay'd, and made the western welkint 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 tatter'd 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 fallen off: long,
And your supply, which you have wish'd so
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 dy, 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 Neighbourhood 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 not I demand

Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Bast. Hubert, I think.

[well:

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so Who art thou?

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

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thon, 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

ear.

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

[Exeunt.

Enter PEMBROKE.

tremes,

should sing

* Forces.