Part	The Life and Death of King John
	ACT I. SCENE 1
	KING JOHN's palace
	[Enter K JOHN, ELINOR, and CHATLN]
K John	Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?
Chatln	Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
	In my behaviour to the majesty,
	The borrowed majesty, of England here.
Elinor	A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'!
K John	Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.
Chatln	Philip of France, in right and true behalf
	Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
	Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
	To this fair island and the territories,
	To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
	Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
	And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
	Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.
K John	What follows if we disallow of this?
Chatln	The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
	To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
K John	Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,
	Controlment for controlment- so answer France.
Chatln	Then take my king's defiance from my mouth-
	The farthest limit of my embassy.
K John	Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;
	[Exit CHATLN]
Elinor	What now, my son! Have I not ever said
	How that ambitious Constance would not cease
	Till she had kindled France and all the world
	Upon the right and party of her son?
	This might have been prevented and made whole
	With very easy arguments of love,
	Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
	With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
K John	Our strong possession and our right for us!
Elinor	Your strong possession much more than your right,
	Or else it must go wrong with you and me;
	So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
	Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.
K John	Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
	This expedition's charge.
	[Enter ROBERT and BASTRD]
	What men are you?
Bastrd	Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
	Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
	As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-
	A soldier by the honour-giving hand
	Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.
K John	What art thou?
Robert	The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.
K John	Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
	You came not of one mother then, it seems.
Bastrd	Most certain of one mother, mighty king-
	That is well known- and, as I think, one father;
	But for the certain knowledge of that truth
	I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother.
Elinor	Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,
	And wound her honour with this diffidence.
Bastrd	I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-
	That is my brother's plea, and none of mine;
	The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
	At least from fair five hundred pound a year.
	Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!
K John	A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
	Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
Bastrd	I know not why, except to get the land.
	But once he slander'd me with bastardy;
	Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
Elinor	He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
	The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
	Do you not read some tokens of my son
	In the large composition of this man?
K John	Mine eye hath well examined his parts
	And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
	What doth move you to claim your brother's land?
Bastrd	Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
	With half that face would he have all my land:
Robert	My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd,
	Your brother did employ my father much-
Bastrd	Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
	Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.
Robert	And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
	To Germany, there with the Emperor
	To treat of high affairs touching that time.
	Th' advantage of his absence took the King,
	And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;
	Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-
	But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
	Between my father and my mother lay,
	As I have heard my father speak himself,
	When this same lusty gentleman was got.
	Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
	His lands to me, and took it on his death
	That this my mother's son was none of his;
	And if he were, he came into the world
	Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
	Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
	My father's land, as was my father's will.
K John	Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:
	Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
	And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
	Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
	That marry wives.
	My mother's son did get your father's heir;
	Your father's heir must have your father's land.
Robert	Shall then my father's will be of no force
	To dispossess that child which is not his?
Bastrd	Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
	Than was his will to get me, as I think.
Elinor	Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,
	And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
	Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
	Lord of thy presence and no land beside?
	I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
	Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
	I am a soldier and now bound to France.
Bastrd	Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
	Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
	Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.
	Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
Elinor	Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
K John	What is thy name?
Bastrd	Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:
	Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
K John	From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:
	Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-
	Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
Bastrd	Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand;
	My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
	Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
	When I was got, Sir Robert was away!
Elinor	The very spirit of Plantagenet!
	I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.
Bastrd	Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?
	Near or far off, well won is still well shot;
	And I am I, howe'er I was begot.
K John	Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:
	A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
Bastrd	Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!
	For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.
K John	Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
	For France, for France, for it is more than need.
	And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
	Of hoarding abbots;
	Use our commission in his utmost force.
Bastrd	Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,
	When gold and silver becks me to come on.
	[Exit K JOHN, ELINOR, and ROBERT]
	A foot of honour better than I was;
	But many a many foot of land the worse.
	Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!'
	And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
	For new-made honour doth forget men's names:
	Tis too respective and too sociable
	For your conversion. 'My dear sir,'
	Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin
	'I shall beseech you'-That is question now;
	'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command,
	At your employment, at your service, sir!'
	No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.'
	But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
	[Enter LADY F]
	O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady!
	What brings you here to court so hastily?
Lady F	Where is that slave, thy brother? Where is he
	That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
Bastrd	My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son?
	Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?
Lady F	Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
	Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?
	He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou.
Bastrd	Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son;
	Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
	Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.
	Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess-
	Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:
	We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,
	To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
	Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.
Lady F	Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
	That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
	What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
Bastrd	Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
	What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.
	But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son:
	I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land;
	Legitimation, name, and all is gone.
	Then, good my mother, let me know my father-
	Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?
Lady F	Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?
Bastrd	As faithfully as I deny the devil.
Lady F	King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.
	By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd
	To make room for him in my husband's bed.
	Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!
	Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
	Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence.
Bastrd	Now, by this light, were I to get again,
	Madam, I would not wish a better father.
	He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
	May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
	With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
	Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well
	When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
	Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin. [Exit BASTRD, LADY F]
	ACT II. SCENE 1
	France. Before Angiers
	[Enter AUST, FRANCE, LEWIS, CONST, and ARTHUR]
France	Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
	Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
	Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
	And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
	By this brave duke came early to his grave;
	And for amends to his posterity,
	At our importance hither is he come
	To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
	And to rebuke the usurpation
	Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
	Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
Arthur	God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
	The rather that you give his offspring life,
	I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
	But with a heart full of unstained love;
	Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.
Aust	Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss
	As seal to this indenture of my love:
	That to my home I will no more return
	Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
	Even till that England,
	Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,
	Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
Const	O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
	Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
	To make a more requital to your love!
Aust	The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
	In such a just and charitable war.
France	Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent
	Against the brows of this resisting town;
	That we will make it subject to this boy.
Const	Stay for an answer to your embassy,
	Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood;
	My Lord Chatillon may from England bring
	That right in peace which here we urge in war,
	[Enter CHATLN]
France	A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,
	Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.
	What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
Chatln	In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
	Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
	Did never float upon the swelling tide
	To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats]
	The interruption of their churlish drums
	Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;
	To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.
Aust	Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd.
	[Enter K JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, BASTRD,
	PEMB, SALS, and HUBERT]
K John	Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
	Our just and lineal entrance to our own!
	If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
	Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
	Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!
France	Peace be to England, if that war return
	From France to England, there to live in peace!
	England we love, and for that England's sake
	With burden of our armour here we sweat.
	This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
	But thou from loving England art so far
	That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,
	That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
	And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,
	And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God,
	How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,
	When living blood doth in these temples beat
	Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?
K John	From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
	To draw my answer from thy articles?
France	From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts
	In any breast of strong authority.
	That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,
	Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,
	And by whose help I mean to chastise it.
K John	Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
France	Excuse it is to beat usurping down.
Elinor	Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
Const	Let me make answer: thy usurping son.
Elinor	Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,
	That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!
Const	My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
	His father never was so true begot;
Elinor	There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.
Const	There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.
Aust	Peace!
Bastrd	Hear the crier.
Aust	What the devil art thou?
Bastrd	One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
	An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.
	You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
	Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
	I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;
	Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.
Aust	What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
	With this abundance of superfluous breath?
	King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.
France	Women and fools, break off your conference.
	King John, this is the very sum of all:
	England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
	In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;
	Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?
K John	My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.
	Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,
	And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
	Than e'er the coward hand of France can win.
	Submit thee, boy.
Elinor	Come to thy grandam, child.
Const	Do, child, go to it grandam, child;
	Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
	Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
	There's a good grandam!
Elinor	Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
	A will that bars the title of thy son.
Const	Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;
	A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will!
France	Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.
	Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
	These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak
	Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
	[Trumpet sounds. Enter CITIZN upon the walls]
Citizn	Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?
France	Tis France, for England.
K John	England for itself.
	You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-
France	You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
	Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-
K John	For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
	These flags of France, that are advanced here
	Before the eye and prospect of your town,
	Have hither march'd to your endamagement;
	But on the sight of us your lawful king,
	Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle;
	And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
	They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
	To make a faithless error in your ears;
	Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
	And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits,
	Craves harbourage within your city walls.
France	When I have said, make answer to us both.
	Lo, in this hand, stands young Plantagenet,
	Son to the elder brother of this man,
	And king o'er him and all that he enjoys;
	For this down-trodden equity we tread
	In warlike march these greens before your town,
	Being no further enemy to you
	Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
	In the relief of this oppressed child
	Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
	To pay that duty which you truly owe
	To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;
	And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
	With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd,
	We will bear home that lusty blood again
	Which here we came to spout against your town,
	And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.
	But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
	Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls
	Can hide you from our messengers of war,
	Though all these English and their discipline
	Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
	Then tell us, shall your city call us lord
	In that behalf which we have challeng'd it;
	Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
	And stalk in blood to our possession?
Citizn	In brief: we are the King of England's subjects;
	For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
K John	Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.
Citizn	That can we not; but he that proves the King,
	To him will we prove loyal. Till that time
	Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
K John	Doth not the crown of England prove the King?
	And if not that, I bring you witnesses:
	Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed-
Bastrd	Bastards and else.
K John	To verify our title with their lives.
France	As many and as well-born bloods as those-
Bastrd	Some bastards too.
France	Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
Citizn	Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
	We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
K John	Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
	That to their everlasting residence,
	Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet
	In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!
France	Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!
K John	Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth
	In best appointment all our regiments.
Bastrd	Speed then to take advantage of the field.
France	It shall be so; and at the other hill
	Command the rest to stand. God and our right!  [Exeunt]
	[Here, after excursions, enter CHATLN, to the gates]
Chatln	You men of Angiers, open wide your gates
	And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,
	Who by the hand of France this day hath made
	Much work for tears in many an English mother,
	And victory with little loss doth play
	Upon the dancing banners of the French,
	Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,
	To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
	Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours.
	[Enter PEMB with trumpet]
Pemb	Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
	King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
	Commander of this hot malicious day.
	Our colours do return in those same hands
	That did display them when we first march'd forth;
	Open your gates and give the victors way.
Citizn	Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold
	From first to last the onset and retire
	Of both your armies, whose equality
	By our best eyes cannot be censured.
	Both are alike, and both alike we like.
	One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,
	We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
	[Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors]
K John	France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
France	England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood
	In this hot trial more than we of France;
Bastrd	Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
	Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field,
K John	Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
France	Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?
Citizn	The King of England, when we know the King.
France	Know him in us that here hold up his right.
K John	In us that are our own great deputy
Citizn	A greater pow'r than we denies all this;
	And till it be undoubted, we do lock
	Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
	King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,
	Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.
Bastrd	By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
	And stand securely on their battlements
	As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
	At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
	Your royal presences be rul'd by me:
	Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
	Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
	By east and west let France and England mount
	Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
	Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
	The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.
	That done, dissever your united strengths
	And part your mingled colours once again,
	Turn face to face and bloody point to point;
	Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth
	Out of one side her happy minion,
	To whom in favour she shall give the day,
	And kiss him with a glorious victory.
	How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
	Smacks it not something of the policy?
K John	I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs
	And lay this Angiers even with the ground;
	Then after fight who shall be king of it?
Bastrd	An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
	Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town,
	Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
	As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
	And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
	Why then defy each other, and pell-mell
	Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.
France	Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?
K John	We from the west will send destruction
	Into this city's bosom.
Aust	I from the north.
France	Our thunder from the south
	Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
Bastrd	[Aside]  O prudent discipline! From north to south,
	Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.
	I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!
Citizn	Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
	And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league;
	Win you this city without stroke or wound;
	Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.
K John	Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.
Citizn	That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
	Is niece to England; look upon the years
	Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.
	If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
	Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
	If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
	Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
	If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
	Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
	Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
	Is the young Dauphin every way complete-
	To these two princes, if you marry them.
	This union shall do more than battery can
	To our fast-closed gates; for at this match
	With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
	The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope
	And give you entrance; but without this match,
	The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
	Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
	More free from motion-no, not Death himself
	In mortal fury half so peremptory
	As we to keep this city.
Bastrd	Here's a stay
	That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
	Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
	That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;
	Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
	As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
Blanch	Puppy-dogs!
Bastrd	Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
	Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.
Elinor	Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
	Give with our niece a dowry large enough;
	For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
	Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown
	That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
	The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
	I see a yielding in the looks of France;
	Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls
	Are capable of this ambition,
Citizn	Why answer not the double majesties
	This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?
France	Speak England first, that hath been forward first
	To speak unto this city: what say you?
K John	If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
	Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
	Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;
	For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
	And all that we upon this side the sea-
	Except this city now by us besieg'd-
	Find liable to our crown and dignity,
	Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich
	In titles, honours, and promotions.
France	What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face.
Lewis	I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
	A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
	I do protest I never lov'd myself
	Till now infixed I beheld myself
	Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
Blanch	My uncle's will in this respect is mine.
	If he see aught in you that makes him like,
	That anything he sees which moves his liking
	I can with ease translate it to my will;
	Or if you will, to speak more properly,
	I will enforce it eas'ly to my love.
K John	What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?
Blanch	That she is bound in honour still to do
	What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
K John	Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?
Lewis	Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
	For I do love her most unfeignedly.
K John	Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
	Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
	With her to thee; and this addition more,
	Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
	Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
	Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
France	It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.
	Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
	Let in that amity which you have made;
	For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
	The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.
	Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
	I know she is not; for this match made up
	Her presence would have interrupted much.
	Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.
Lewis	She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.
France	And, by my faith, this league that we have made
	Will give her sadness very little cure.
	Brother of England, how may we content
	This widow lady? In her right we came;
	Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
	To our own vantage.
K John	We will heal up all,
	For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,
	And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
	We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
	Some speedy messenger bid her repair
	To our solemnity. I trust we shall,
	If not fill up the measure of her will,
	Yet in some measure satisfy her so
	That we shall stop her exclamation.
	Go we as well as haste will suffer us
	To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.
	[Exeunt all but the BASTRD]
Bastrd	Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
	John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,
	Hath willingly departed with a part;
	And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
	Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
	As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
	With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
	That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,
	Commodity, the bias of the world-
	The world, who of itself is peised well,
	Made to run even upon even ground,
	Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
	This sway of motion, this commodity,
	Makes it take head from all indifferency,
	From all direction, purpose, course, intent-
	And this same bias, this commodity,
	This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
	Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
	Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
	From a resolv'd and honourable war,
	To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
	And why rail I on this commodity?
	But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;
	Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
	When his fair angels would salute my palm,
	But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
	Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.
	Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
	And say there is no sin but to be rich;
	And being rich, my virtue then shall be
	To say there is no vice but beggary.
	Since kings break faith upon commodity,
	Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.   [Exit BASTRD]
	ACT III. SCENE 1.
	France. The FRENCH KING'S camp
	[Enter CONST, ARTHUR, and SALS]
Const	Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
	France friend with England; what becomes of me?
	Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;
	This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sals	What other harm have I, good lady, done
	But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Arthur	I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const	If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,
	Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,
	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:
	France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-
	That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!
	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.
Sals	Pardon me, madam,
	I may not go without you to the kings.
Const	Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;
	I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,
	For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
	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
	Can hold it up. [Seats herself on the ground]
	Here I and sorrows sit;
	Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
	[Enter K JOHN, FRANCE, LEWIS, BLANCH, ELINOR,
	BASTRD, AUST, HUBERT, and PEMB]
France	Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day
	Ever in France shall be kept festival.
	The yearly course that brings this day about
	Shall never see it but a holiday.
Const	[Rising]  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!
France	By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
	To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
	Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?
Const	You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit
	Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
	Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;
	You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
	But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.
	Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings!
	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!
Const	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 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's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust	O that a man should speak those words to me!
Bastrd	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust	Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
Bastrd	And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
K John	We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.
	[Enter PAND]
France	Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.
Pand	Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
	To 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 interrogatories
	Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
	Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England
	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 th' assistance of a mortal hand.
	So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart
	To him and his usurp'd authority.
France	Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
K John	Though you and all the kings of Christendom
	Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
	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.
Const	O, lawful let it be
	That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
	Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen'
	To my keen curses; for without my wrong
	There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
Pand	There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
Const	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.
Elinor	Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.
Const	Look to that, devil, lest that France repent
	And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.
Aust	King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.
Bastrd	And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.
K John	Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal?
Const	What should he say, but as the Cardinal?
Lewis	Bethink you, father; for the difference
	Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome
	Or the light loss of England for a friend.
	Forgo the easier.
Blanch	That's the curse of Rome.
Const	O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here
	In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.
Blanch	The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
	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 up:
	Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!
K John	The King is mov'd, and answers not to this.
Const	O be remov'd from him, and answer well!
Aust	Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.
Bastrd	Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.
France	I am perplex'd and know not what to say.
Pand	What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
	If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?
France	Good reverend father, make my person yours,
	And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
	This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
	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 shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
	Play fast and loose with faith? 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 blest
	To do your pleasure, and continue friends.
Pand	It is religion that doth make vows kept;
	But thou hast sworn against religion
	By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,
	And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
	Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure
	To swear swears 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 later vows against thy first
	Is in thyself rebellion to thyself.
Aust	Rebellion, flat rebellion!
Bastrd	Will't not be?
	Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?
Lewis	Father, to arms!
Blanch	Upon thy wedding-day?
	Against the blood that thou hast married?
	What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?
	Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
	Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
	O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
	Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name,
	Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
	Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
	Against mine uncle.
Const	O, upon my knee,
	Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
	Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
	Forethought by heaven!
Blanch	Now shall I see thy love. What motive may
	Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
Const	That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
	His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!
Lewis	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.
France	Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.
Const	O fair return of banish'd majesty!
Elinor	O foul revolt of French inconstancy!
K John	France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.
France	Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
K John	No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!
	[Exeunt severally, Alarums, excursions.]
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 mayst win;
	Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst 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.
Lewis	Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
Blanch	There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. [Exuent]
	[Cross the BASTRD with AUSTRIA'S lion head]
	INTERMISSION
	SCENE 3.
	France. Plains near Angiers
	[Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter K JOHN,
	ARTHUR, BASTRD, and HUBERT]
K John	[To ARTHUR]  Cousin, look not sad; and thy uncle will
	As dear be to thee as thy father was.
Arthur	O, this will make my mother die with grief!
	[Exit ARTHUR and BASTRD]
K John	O my gentle Hubert, we owe thee much!
	Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say-
	But I will fit it with some better time.
	By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
	To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hubert	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 slow,
	Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
	I had a thing to say-but let it go:
	O! If that thou couldst see me without eyes,
	Hear me without thine cars, 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.
Hubert	So well that what you bid me undertake,
	Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
	By heaven, I would do it.
K John	Do not I know thou wouldst?
	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.
Hubert	And I'll keep him so
	That he shall not offend your Majesty.
K John	Death.
Hubert	My lord?
K John	A grave.
Hubert	He shall not live.
K John	Enough!
	I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.
	Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee. [Exit HUBERT, K JOHN]
	SCENE 4.
	France. The FRENCH KING's camp
	[Enter FRANCE, LEWIS, and PAND]
Pand	Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.
France	What can go well, when we have run so ill.
	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?
Lewis	What he hath won, that hath he fortified;
	Well could I bear that England had this praise,
	So we could find some pattern of our shame.
	[Enter CONST]
France	Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Const	Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!
France	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!
	Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,
	And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
	O, come to me!
Pand	Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.
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.
	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;
	But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
	And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
	And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
	And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
	When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
	I shall not know him. Therefore never, never
	Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand	You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const	He talks to me that never had a son.
France	You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Const	Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
	Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
	Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
	Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
	Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
	Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
	Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,
	I could give better comfort than you do.
	O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
	My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
	My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!  [Exit CONST]
France	I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit FRANCE]
Lewis	There's nothing in this world can make me joy.
	Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
	Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
	And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,
	That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand	What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lewis	All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand	If you had won it, certainly you had.
	Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
	In this which he accounts so clearly won.
	Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lewis	As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand	Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
	Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
	John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be
	That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
	The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
	One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
	A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
	Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd,
	That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall;
	So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Lewis	But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
Pand	You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
	May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
	John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
	This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts
	Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
	That none so small advantage shall step forth
	To check his reign but they will cherish it;
	Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lewis	May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
	But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand	O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
	If that young Arthur be not gone already,
	Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
	Of all his people shall revolt from him,
	if but a dozen French were ther in arms,
	they would be as a call to train ten thousand
	English to their side; O noble Dauphin,
	Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful
	What may be wrought out of their discontent,
	Now that their souls are topful of offence.
	For England go; I will whet on the King.
Lewis	Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go;
	If you say ay, the King will not say no.   [Exit LEWIS, PAND]
	ACT IV. SCENE 1.
	England. A castle
	[Enter HUBERT and EXEC]
Hubert	Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
	Within the arras. When I strike my foot
	Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
	And bind the boy which you shall find with me
	Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch.
Exec	I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
	[Exeunt EXEC]
	[Enter ARTHUR]
Hubert	Good morrow, little Prince.
Arthur	You are sad.
Hubert	Indeed I have been merrier.
Arthur	Mercy on me!
	Methinks no body should be sad but I;
	So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
	I should be as merry as the day is long;
	And so I would be here but that I doubt
	My uncle practises more harm to me;
	He is afraid of me, and I of him.
	Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
	No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven
	I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
	Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;
	In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
	That I might sit all night and watch with you.
	I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hubert	Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper]
Arthur	Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hubert	Young boy, I must.
Arthur	And will you?
Hubert	And I will.
Arthur	Have you the heart? Will you put out mine eyes,
	These eyes that never did nor never shall
	So much as frown on you?
Hubert	I have sworn to do it;
	And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arthur	Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
	The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
	Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,
	And quench his fiery indignation
	Even in the matter of mine innocence;
	Nay, after that, consume away in rust
	But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
	Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
	An if an angel should have come to me
	And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
	I would not have believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's.
Hubert	[Stamps]  Come forth.
	[Re-enter EXEC, With cord, irons, etc.]
	Do as I bid you do.
Arthur	O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out
	Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hubert	Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arthur	Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?
	I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
	For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
	Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,
	And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
	I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
	Nor look upon the iron angrily;
	Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
	Whatever torment you do put me to.
Hubert	Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
Exec	I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.
	[Exeunt EXEC]
Arthur	Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
	He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.
	Let him come back, that his compassion may
	Give life to yours.
Hubert	Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arthur	Is there no remedy?
Hubert	Go to, hold your tongue.
Arthur	Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;
	Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
	So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,
	Though to no use but still to look on you!
	Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold
	And would not harm me.
Hubert	I can heat it, boy.
Arthur	No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
	There is no malice in this burning coal;
	The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
	And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
Hubert	But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arthur	An if you do, you will but make it blush
	And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
	All things that you should use to do me wrong
	Deny their office; only you do lack
	That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
Hubert	Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
	For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
	Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
	With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arthur	O, now you look like Hubert! All this while
	You were disguis'd.
Hubert	Peace; no more. Adieu.
	Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
	And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
	That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
	Will not offend thee.
Arthur	O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
Hubert	Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.
	Much danger do I undergo for thee. [HUBERT, ARTHUR]
	SCENE 2.
	England. KING JOHN'S palace
	[Enter K JOHN, PEMB, and SALS]
K John	Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
	And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
Pemb	This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd,
	Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
	And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,
Sals	Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
	To guard a title that was rich before,
	Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
Pemb	When workmen strive to do better than well,
	They do confound their skill in covetousness;
	And oftentimes excusing of a fault
	Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse,
	As patches set upon a little breach
	Discredit more in hiding of the fault
	Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
Sals	To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,
	We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness
	To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd,
	Since all and every part of what we would
	Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.
K John	Some reasons of this double coronation
	I have possess'd you with, meantime but ask
	What you would have reform'd that is not well,
	And well shall you perceive how willingly
	I will both hear and grant you your requests.
Pemb	Then I, both for myself and your safety,
	Heartily request th' enfranchisement of Arthur,
	If what in rest you have in right you hold,
	Why then your fears should move you to mew up
	Your tender kinsman? Let it be our suit
	Upon our weal, counts it your weal he have his liberty.
K John	Let it be so. I do commit his youth
	To your direction.
	[Enter HUBERT]
	[Aside]  Hubert, what news with you?
Pemb	This is the man should do the bloody deed:
	He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine;
	The image of a wicked heinous fault
	Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
	Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,
	And I do fearfully believe 'tis done
	What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sals	The colour of the King doth come and go
	Between his purpose and his conscience,
	His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
Pemb	And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
	The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K John	We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
	Good lords, although my will to give is living,
	The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
	He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.
Sals	Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure.
Pemb	Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,
	Before the child himself felt he was sick.
	This must be answer'd either here or hence.
K John	Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
	Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
	Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
Sals	It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame
	That greatness should so grossly offer it.
	So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.
Pemb	Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee
	This must not be thus borne: this will break out
	To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. [Exeunt LORDS]
K John	They burn in indignation. I repent.
	There is no sure foundation set on blood,
	No certain life achiev'd by others' death.
	[Enter a MESSENGER]
	A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood
	That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
Hubert	[Reading] From France to England. Never such a pow'r
	For any foreign preparation
	Was levied in the body of a land.
	The copy of your speed is learn'd by them,
	The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.
K John	O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
	Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
	That such an army could be drawn in France,
	And she not hear of it?
Hubert	The first of April died your noble mother;
K John	What! mother dead!
	How wildly then walks my estate in France!
	Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France
Hubert	Under the Dauphin.
	[Enter the BASTRD and PETER OF POMFRET]
Bastrd	How I have sped among the clergymen
	The sums I have collected shall express.
	And here's a prophet that I brought with me
	From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
	With many hundreds treading on his heels;
	To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
	That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
	Your Highness should deliver up your crown.
K John	Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?
Peter	Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
K John	Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
	And on that day at noon whereon he says
	I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd.
	[Exit HUBERT with PETER]
K John	O my gentle cousin,
	Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?
Bastrd	The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it;
	Besides, I met Lord Pembroke and Lord Salisbury,
	And others more, going to seek the grave
	Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night
	On your suggestion.
K John	Gentle kinsman, go
	And thrust thyself into their companies.
	I have a way to will their loves again;
	Bring them before me.
Bastrd	I will seek them out. [Exit BASTRD]
K John	O, let me have no subject enemies
	When adverse foreigners affright my towns
	With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
	[Re-enter HUBERT]
Hubert	My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
	Old men and beldams in the streets
	Do prophesy upon it dangerously;
	Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;
K John	Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
	Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
	Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause
	To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
Hubert	No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?
K John	It is the curse of kings to be attended
	By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
	To break within the bloody house of life,
	And on the winking of authority
	To understand a law; to know the meaning
	Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
	More upon humour than advis'd respect.
Hubert	Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
K John	How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
	Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
	Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
	This murder had not come into my mind;
	But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
	I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
	And thou, to be endeared to a king,
	Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hubert	My lord-
K John	Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,
	Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
	Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
	But thou didst understand me by my signs,
	And didst in signs again parley with sin;
	Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
	And consequently thy rude hand to act
	The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.
	Out of my sight, and never see me more!
	My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
	Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs;
	Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,
	This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
	Hostility and civil tumult reigns
	Between my conscience and my cousin's death.
Hubert	Arm you against your other enemies,
	I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
	Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine
	Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
	Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
	And you have slander'd nature in my form,
	Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
	Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
	Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
K John	Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
	Throw this report on their incensed rage
	And make them tame to their obedience!
	Forgive the comment that my passion made
	Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
	O, answer not; but to my closet bring
	The angry lords with all expedient haste.
	I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.  [Exit HUBERT]
	My mother dead! [Exit K JOHN]
	SCENE 3.
	England. Before the castle
	[Enter ARTHUR, on the walls]
Arthur	[Leaps down] O!
	[Dies]
	[Enter PEMB and SALS]
Pemb	Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?
Sals	Chantillion, a noble lord of France,
Pemb	To-morrow morning let us meet him then.
Sals	It is our safety, and we must embrace
	This gentle offer of the perilous time.
	[Enter the BASTRD]
Bastrd	Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
	The King by me requests your presence straight.
Pemb	The King hath dispossess'd himself of us.
	We will not line his thin bestained cloak
	With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
	That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
	Return and tell him so. We know the worst.
	Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
Bastrd	But there is little reason in your grief;
	Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.
Sals	This is the prison. What is he lies here?
Pemb	O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
Sals	Sir Richard, what think you?
Bastrd	It is a damned and a bloody work;
	The graceless action of a heavy hand,
	If that it be the work of any hand.
Sals	If that it be the work of any hand!
	We had a kind of light what would ensue.
	It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
	The practice and the purpose of the King;
	[Enter HUBERT]
Hubert	Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.
	Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.
Sals	Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hubert	I am no villain.
Pemb	Thou art a murderer.
Hubert	Lord Pembroke, I am none.
Sals	Who kill'd this prince?
Hubert	Tis not an hour since I left him well.
Sals	Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
	Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
	For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
Pemb	Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
	There tell the King he may inquire us out.
	[Exeunt SALS and PEMB]
Bastrd	Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
	I do suspect thee very grievously.
Hubert	I left him well.
Bastrd	Go, bear him in thine arms.
	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 1.
	England. KING JOHN'S palace
	[Enter K JOHN and PAND]
K John	Thus have I yielded up into your hand
	The circle of my glory.
Pand	[Gives back the crown]  Take again
	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.
Pand	It was my breath that blew this tempest 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 blust'ring land.
	Go I to make the French lay down their arms.  [Exit PAND]
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.
	[Enter the BASTRD]
Bastrd	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?
Bastrd	They found him dead, and cast into the streets,
K John	That villain Hubert told me he did live.
Bastrd	So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
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 dismiss the powers
	Led by the Dauphin.
Bastrd	Inglorious league! 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 thou the ordering of this present time.
Bastrd	Away, then, with good courage! Yet, I know
	Our party may well meet a prouder foe.  [Exeunt]
	SCENE 2.
	England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury
	[Enter LEWIS, SALS, CHATLN, and PEMB]
Lewis	Lord Chatillon, let this be copied out
	And keep it safe for our remembrance;
	Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
	May know wherefore we took the sacrament,
	And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
Sals	Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
	And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
	A voluntary zeal and an 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 we, the sons and children of this isle,
	Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
	Wherein we fill up her enemies' ranks
	And follow unacquainted colours here.
Lewis	O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
	Between compulsion and a brave respect!
	Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
	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 PAND]
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,
	Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up
	And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
Lewis	Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
	Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
	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 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 here the best cards for the game?
Pand	You look but on the outside of this work.
Lewis	Outside or inside, I will not return
	Till my attempt so much be glorified
	As to my ample hope was promised.
	[Enter the BASTRD]
Bastrd	My holy lord of Milan, from the King
	I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
Pand	The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
	He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.
Bastrd	The youth says well. Now hear our English King;
	He is prepar'd, and reason too he should.
	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.
	And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
	You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
	Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
Lewis	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.
Bastrd	No, I will speak.
Lewis	We will attend to neither.
	Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
	Plead for our interest and our being here.
Bastrd	Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
	And so shall you, being beaten. For at hand-
	Not trusting to this halting legate here,
	Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need-
	Is warlike John; whose office is this day
	To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lewis	Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
Bastrd	And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
	[Exeunt]
	SCENE 3.
	England. The field of battle
	[Alarums. Enter K JOHN]
K John	Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up [Exit K JOHN]
	SCENE 4.
	England. Another part of the battlefield
	[Enter SALS and PEMB]
Pemb	Up once again; put spirit in the French;
	If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Sals	They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
	[Enter CHATLN, wounded]
Pemb	It is Chantillion.
Sals	Wounded to death.
Chatln	Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
	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,
Sals	May this be possible? May this be true?
Chatln	What in the world should make me now deceive,
	Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
	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;
	Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
	Paying the fine of rated treachery
	Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
	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.
Pemb	Away, my friends! New flight,
	And happy newness, that intends old right.
	[Exit SALS and PEMB, leading off CHATLN]
	SCENE 4.5
	[Enter BASTRD and HUBERT]
Bastrd	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. [Exuent]
	SCENE 5.
	England. The French camp
	[Enter LEWIS and PANDULPH]
Lewis	Here; what news?
Pand	Lord Chatillon is slain; the English lords
	By his persuasion are again fall'n off,
	And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
	Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Lewis	Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!
	I did not think to be so sad to-night. [Exit LEWIS and PAND]
	SCENE 6.
	An open place wear Swinstead Abbey
	[Enter the BASTRD and HUBERT]
Bastrd	Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hubert	The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk;
Bastrd	How did he take it; who did taste to him?
Hubert	A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
	Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King
	Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Bastrd	Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?
Hubert	Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
	At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,
	And they are all about his Majesty.
Bastrd	Away, before! conduct me to the King;
	I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.
	SCENE 7.
	The orchard at Swinstead Abbey
	[Enter SALS, PEMB and K JOHN in a chair
K John	Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
	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.
	I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen
	Upon a parchment, and against this fire
	Do I shrink up.
Sals	How fares your Majesty?
K John	Within me is a hell; and there the poison
	Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize
	On unreprievable condemned blood.
Bastrd	O, I am scalded with my violent motion
	And spleen of speed to see your Majesty!
K John	O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!
	The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt,
	And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
	Are turned to one thread, one little hair;
	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 module of confounded royalty.
Hubert	I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan
	And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
	His soul and body to their lasting rest.
K John	Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, 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.
	[The KING dies]
Bastrd	Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
	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.
	To push destruction and perpetual shame
	Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
	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 us rue,
	If England to itself do rest but true.  [Exit]