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.
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, 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.-I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
Enter Pandulpho, 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 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 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 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 [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. [work. Pand. You look but on the outside of this Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
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
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 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 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, Even at the crying of your nation's crow, Thinking his voice an armèd 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-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; [well: We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.
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 (Not trusting to this halting legate here, [hand 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 is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Lew. Strike up your drums, to find this dan- ger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Near St. Edmund's-Bury. A Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. K. John. How goes the day with us? tell me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty? [so long, K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me Lies heavy on me ;-O, my heart is sick! Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman,
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, 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 at St. 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 Retaining but a quantity of life, [view Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? What in the world should make me now de- Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? [ceive, 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, Faul-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.
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. [supply, Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great That was expected by the Dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. (now This news was brought to Richard but even The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me
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.
SCENE IV.-Near St. Edmund's-Bury. Another Part of the Field. 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 If they miscarry, we miscarry too. [French: Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Pem. They say, king John sore sick hath left the field.
Enter Melun, wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Sal. 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 For I do see the cruel pangs of death [hence; Right in thine eye.--Away, my friends! New flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off Melun.
SCENE V.-Near St. Edmund's-Bury. The French Camp.
Enter Lewis and his train.
Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
Sal. When we were happy we had other But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, Pem. It is the count Melun. [names. When the English measur'd backward their Sal. Wounded to death. I 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 tottering colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger.
Than if you had at leisure known of this. [him? Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolvèd villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bast. Whom didst thou leave to tend his majesty? [all come back, Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are Mess. The count Melun is slain: the Eng-And brought prince Henry in their company;
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Lew. Here-what news?
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, [said, As this hath made me.-Who was he, that 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.
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty. [heaven, Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty 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 ere I come.
SCENE VII.-The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey.
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
SCENE VI.-An open Place in the Neighbour-(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling
hood 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? [demand Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I think?
Thou hast a perfect thought: I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that knowest my tongue so Who art thou? well.
Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou mayest befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke.
Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds That, being brought into the open air, [belief, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the or- chard here.- [Exit Bigot. Doth he still rage? Pem.
He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. P. Hen. Ó, vanity of sickness! fierce ex-
In their continuance will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies, [hold, Which, in their throng and press to that last Confound themselves. "Tis strange that death should sing.
Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, [me, Have done me shame :-brave soldier, pardon That any accent breaking from thy tongue Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine [news abroad? Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, To find you out. Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.
[of night, 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,
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you To set a form upon that indigest, [are born Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. Re-enter Bigot, and Attendants who bring in King John in a chair.
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: 1 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment: and against this fire Do I shrink up. P. Hen.
How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,-ill-fare; -dead, for- sook, cast off;
And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold :-I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen, O, that there were some virtue in [my tears, That might relieve you! The salt in them is hot.- K. John. Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent moAnd spleen of speed to see your majesty. [tion, K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should Are turned to one thread, one little hair : [sail, My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou seest is but a clod, And model of confounded royalty. Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where, heaven he knows, how we shall an- swer him;
For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood.
[The King dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as [thus. dead an ear.- My liege my lord!-But now a king,-now P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even [stay, so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what When this was now a king, and now is clay? I do but stay be- Bast. Art thou gone so? To do the office for thee of revenge
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.- Now, now, you stars, that move in your right [mended faiths; spheres, Show now your
Where be your powers?
And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak door of our fainting land. Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels. [as we : Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour since came from the Dau- phin,
And brings from him such offers of our peace As we with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees Ourselves well sinewèd to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'd To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal : With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily. [prince, Bast. Let it be so and you, my noble With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral. P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be in- [terr'd; Bast. For so he will'd it.
Thither shall it, then ; And happily may your sweet self put on The lineal state and glory of the land! To whom, with all submission, on my knee, I do bequeath my faithful services, And true subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.- This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these, her princes, are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: nought shall make
[hind If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.
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 Mow- Gaunt. I have, my liege. [bray?
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 sift 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 Th' accuser, and th' 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 befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Norf. 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? [speech!)
Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my In the devotion of a subject's love, 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 seem 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 '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: [me First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs
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