JOHN.

In us, that are our own great deputy,

And bear possession of our person here,

Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

[HUB.]

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,

Kings of our fear, until our fears, resolv'd,

Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.

BAST.

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:

Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,

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 clamors have brawl'd down

The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.

I'd play incessantly upon these jades,

Even till unfenced desolation

Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.

That done, dissever your united strengths,

And part your mingled colors 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 favor 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.

Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,

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?

BAST.

And 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.

K. PHI.

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.

K. PHI.

Our thunder from the south

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

BAST [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!

HUB.

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,

Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,

That here come sacrifices for the field.

Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

K. JOHN.

Speak on with favor, we are bent to hear.

HUB.

That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,

Is near to England. Look upon the years

Of Lewis the Dolphin 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 Dolphin every way complete:

If not complete of, say he is not she,

And she again wants nothing, to name want,

If want it be not that she is not he.

He is the half part of a blessed man,

Left to be finished by such as she,

And she a fair divided excellence,

Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

O, two such silver currents when they join

Do glorify the banks that bound them in;

And two such shores to two such streams made one,

Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,

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.

BAST.

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!

What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?

He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke, and bounce,

He gives the bastinado with his tongue;

Our ears are cudgell'd – not a word of his

But buffets better than a fist of France.

'Zounds, I was never so bethump'd with words

Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

EL.

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,

Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath

Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,

Cool and congeal again to what it was.

HUB.

Why answer not the double majesties

This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?

K. PHI.

Speak England first, that hath been forward first

To speak unto this city: what say you?

K. JOHN.

If that the Dolphin 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, honors, and promotions,

As she in beauty, education, blood,

Holds hand with any princess of the world.

K. PHI.

What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face.

LEW.

I do, my lord, and in her eye I find

A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,

The shadow of myself form'd in her eye,

Which being but the shadow of your son,

Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow.

I do protest I never lov'd myself

Till now infixed I beheld myself

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

 

Whispers with Blanch.

 

BAST [Aside.]

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!

Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!

And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy

Himself love's traitor. This is pity now,

That, hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be

In such a love so vile a lout as he.

BLANCH.

My uncle's will in this respect is mine.

If he see aught in you that makes him like,

That any thing 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.

Further I will not flatter you, my lord,

That all I see in you is worthy love,

Than this: that nothing do I see in you,

Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,

That I can find should merit any hate.

K. JOHN.

What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?

BLANCH.

That she is bound in honor still to do

What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

K. JOHN.

Speak then, Prince Dolphin, can you love this lady?

LEW.

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.

K. PHI.

It likes us well, young princes; close your hands.

AUST.

And your lips too, for I am well assur'd

That I did so when I was first assur'd.

K. PHI.

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.

LEW.

She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.

K. PHI.

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 Britain

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 Bastard].

 

BAST.

Mad world, mad kings, mad composition!

John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,

Hath willingly departed with a part,

And France, whose armor 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 broker that still breaks the pate of faith,

That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,

Who having no external thing to lose

But the word ›maid,‹ cheats the poor maid of that,

That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,

Commodity, the bias of the world –

The world, who of itself is peized 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 honorable 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.

 

 

Act [III,

Scene I]

Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury.

 

CONST.

Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?

False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends?

Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?

It is not so, thou hast misspoke, misheard;

Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.

It cannot be, thou dost but say 'tis so.

I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word

Is but the vain breath of a common man.

Believe me, I do not believe thee, man,

I have a king's oath to the contrary.

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,

For I am sick and capable of fears,

Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears,

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,

A woman, naturally born to fears;

And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,

With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,

But they will quake and tremble all this day.

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

What means that hand upon that breast of thine?

Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,

Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?

Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?

Then speak again, not all thy former tale,

But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

SAL.

As true as I believe you think them false

That give you cause to prove my saying true.

CONST.

O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,

Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die,

And let belief and life encounter so

As doth the fury of two desperate men,

Which in the very meeting fall, and die.

Lewis marry Blanch? O boy, then where art 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.

SAL.

What other harm have I, good lady, done,

But spoke the harm that is by others done?

CONST.

Which harm within itself so heinous is

As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

ARTH.

I do beseech you, madam, be content.

CONST.

If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,

Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,

Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,

Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,

Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,

I would not care, I then would be content,

For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou

Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown.

But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,

Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great.

Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,

And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,

She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;

Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,

And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France

To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,

And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.

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 underbear.

SAL.

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.

 

[Throws herself on the ground.]

 

Here I and sorrows sit;

Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

 

Enter King John, [King Philip of] France, [Lewis the] Dolphin, Blanch, Elinor, Philip [the Bastard], Austria, [and Attendants].

 

K.