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?

Baft. They found him dead, and caft into the Streets,
An empty Casket, where the Jewel of Life
By fome damn'd Hand was robb'd and ta'en away.
K. John. That Villain Hubert told me he did live.
Baft. So on my Soul he did, for ought he knew:
But wherefore do you droop? Why look you fad?
Be great in Act, as you have been in Thought:
Let not the World fee Fear and fad Distruft
Govern the Motion of a Kingly Eye;

Be ftirring as the time, be Fire with Fire;
Threaten the Threatner, and out-face the Brow
Of bragging Horror: So fhall inferior Eyes,
That borrow their Behaviours from the Great,
Grow great by your Example, and put on
The dauntlefs Spirit of Refolution.
Away, and glifter like the God of War
When he intendeth to become the Field;
Shew Boldness and afpiring Confidence.
What, fhall they feek the Lion in his Den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
Oh let it not be faid: Forage, and run

To meet Displeasure farther from the Doors,
And grapple with him e'er he come fo nigh.

K. John. The Legate of the Pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy Peace with him;

And he hath promis'd to difmifs the Powers

Led by the Dauphin.

Baft. Oh inglorious League:

Shall we upon the footing of our Land,
Send fair-play-Orders, and make comprimife,
Infinuation, Parly, and bafe Truce

To Arms invafive? Shall a beardlefs Boy,
A cockred-filken Wanton brave our Fields,
And fleth his Spirit in a War-like Soil,
Mocking the Air with Colours idely 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 leaft be faid

They faw we had a purpose of defence.

K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. Baft. Away then with good Courage; yet I know Our Party may well meet a prouder Foe.

[Exeunt.

Enter, in Arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke,
Bigot, and Soldiers.

Lewis. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it fafe for our remembrance:
Return the Prefident to these Lords again,
That having our fair Order written down,
Both they and we, perufing o'er thefe Notes,
May know wherefore we took the Sacrament,
And keep our Faiths firm and inviolable.

Sal. Upon our fides it never fhall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we fwear
A voluntary Zeal, and an un-urg'd Faith
To your Proceedings; yet believe me, Prince,
I am not glad that fuch a Sore of Time
Should feek a Plaifter by contemn'd Revolt,
And heal the inveterate Canker of one Wound,
By making many: Oh it grieves my Soul,
That I muft draw this Mettle from my Side
To be a Widow-maker: Oh, and there
Where honourable Refcue, and Defence,
Cries out upon the Name of Salisbury.
But fuch is the Infection of the time,
That for the Health and Phyfick of our Right,
We cannot deal but with the very Hand
Of stern Injustice, and confufed Wrongs
And is't not pity, oh my grieved Friends,
That we, the Sons and Children of this Ifle,
Were born to fee fo fad an Hour as this,
Wherein we step after a Stranger, march

Upon

Upon her gentle Bofom, and fill up

Her Enemies Ranks? I muft 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 couldft remove,
That Neptune's Arms who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thy felf,
And cripple thee unto a Pagan fhore,

Where these two Chriftian Armies might combine
The Blood of Malice, in a vein of League,
And not to spend it fo un-neighbourly.

Lewis. A noble Temper doft thou fhew in this,
And great Affections wrestling in thy Bosom
Doth make an Earthquake of Nobility.
Oh what a noble Combate haft thou fought,
Between Compulfion, and a brave Respect:
Let me wipe off this honourable Dew,
That filverly doth progrefs on thy Cheeks:
My Heart hath melted at a Lady's Tears,
Being an ordinary Inundation:

But this Effufion of fuch Manly Drops,
This fhowr blown up by tempeft of the Soul,
Startles mine Eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I feen the vaulty top of Heav'n
Figur'd quite o'er with burning Meteors,
Lift up thy Brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great Heart heave away this Storm:
Commend thefe Waters to thofe Baby-eyes
That never faw the Giant-world enrag'd,
Nor met with Fortune, other than at Feafts,
Full warm of Blood, of Mirth, of Goffipping.
Come, come, for thou shalt thruft thy Hand as deep
Into the Purfe of rich Profperity

As Lewis himself; fo, Nobles, shall you all,
That knit your. Sinews to the strength of mine.
Enter Pandulpho.

And even there, methinks an Angel fpake,
Look where the holy Legate comes apace,
To give us Warrant from the Hand of Heav'n,
And on our Actions fet the Name of Right

With holy Breath.

Pand. Hail, noble Prince of France.
The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd
Himfelf to Rome, his Spirit is come in,
That fo ftood out against the holy Church,
That great Metropolis and See of Rome :
Therefore thy threatning Colours now wind up,
And tame the Savage Spirit of wild War,
That like a Lion foftered up at Hand,
It may lye gently at the foot of Peace,
And be no further harmful than in fhew.

Lewis. Your Grace fhall pardon me, I will not back: I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a fecondary at Controul,

Or useful Serving-man, and Inftrument

To any Soveraign State throughout the World:
Your Breath firft kindled the dead Coal of Wars,
Between this chaftis'd Kingdom and my felf,
And brought in Matter that should feed this Fire:
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that fame weak wind which enkindled it:
You taught me how to know the face of Right,
Acquainted me with Intereft to this Land,
Yea thruft this Enterprize into my Heart,
And come ye 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 born?
What Men provided? What Munition fent
To under-prop this Action? Is't not I
That under-go this Charge? Who eife but I,
And fuch as to my Claim are liable,
Sweat in this Bufinefs, and maintain this War?
Have I not heard thefe Iflanders fhout out
Vive le Roy, as I have bank'd their Towns?
Have I not here the beft Cards for the Game
To win this eafie Match, plaid for a Crown?
And fhall I now give o'er the yielded Set?

No, no, on my Soul it fhall never be faid.
Find. You look but on the outfide of this Work.
Lewis. Outfide or infide, I will not return,
'Till my Attempt fo much be glorified,
As to my ample Hope was promifed,
Before I drew this gallant head of War,
And cull'd these fiery Spirits from the World
To out-look Conqueft, and to win Renown
Even in the Jaws of Danger, and of Death: [Trumpet founds.
What lufty Trumpet thus doth fummon us?
Enter Baftard.

Baft. According to the fair-play of the World,
Let me have Audience: I am fent to speak:
My holy Lord of Milain, 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.

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful, oppofite,
And will not temporize with my Entreaties:
He flatly fays, he'll not lay down his Arms.

Baft. By all the Blood that ever Fury breath'd,
The Youth fays well. Now hear our English King,
For thus his Royalty doth fpeak in me:

He is prepar'd, and Reafon too he should.
This apifh and unmannerly Approach.
This harnefs'd Mask, and unadvised Revel,
This unheard Sawcinefs and boyish Troops,
The King doth fmile 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 ftrength, 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 lye like Pawns, lock'd up in Chefts and Trunks,
To hug with Swine, to feek sweet fafety out
In Vaults and Prifons, and to thrill and fhake
Even at the crying of our Nation's Crow,
Thinking his Voice an armed English Man;
Shall that victorious Hand be feebled here,
That in your Chambers gave you Chaisement?

No;