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. Arth. Sweete grandam, and good mother leaue these
braules. Elian. Ile finde a time to triumph in thy fall.
Conft. My time is now to triumph in thy fall,
And thou shalt know that Constance will triumph.
Arthur. Good mother, weigh it is queene Elinor.
Though she be captiue, vse her like her felfe.
Sweet grandame beare with what my mother sayes,
Your highnesse shall be vsed honourably.
Enter a messenger.
Mef. Lewis my lord, duke Arthur, and the rest,
To armes in hast, K. Iohn relyes his men,
And ginnes the fight afresh : and sweares withall
To loose his life, or set his mother free.
Lewis. Arthur away, t'is time to looke about.
Eli. Why how now dame, what is your courage coold?
Conft. No Elinor my courage gathers strength,
And hopes to leade both lohn and thee as flaues :
And in that hope, I hale thce to the field.
Excursions. Elianor is rescued by Iohn, and Arthur is taken
prisoner. Exeunt. Sound victory.
Enter lohn, Elianor, and Arthur prisoner, Bastard, Pem
brooke, Salisbury, and Hubert de Burgh. Ichn. Thus right triumphs, and Iohn triumphs in right: Arthur thou seest, Fraunce cannot bolster thee : Thy mothers pride hath brought thee to this fall. But if at last nephew thou yeeld thy felfe Into the gardance of thine vncle lohn, Thou shalt be vsed as becomes a prince. VOL. II.
Arthur. Vncle, my grandame taught her nephew this,
To beare captiuitie with patience.
Might hath preuaild, not right, for I am king
Of England, though thou weare the diademe.
2. Elin. Sonne lohn, soone shall wee teach him to forget These prowd presumptions, and to know himselfe.
Iohn. Mother, he neuer will forget his claime,
I would he liude not to remember it.
But leauing this, we will to England now,
And take some order with our popelings there,
That swell with pride and fat of lay mens lands.
Philip, I make thee chiefe in this affaire,
Ranfacke the abbeis, cloysters, priories,
Conuert their coine vnto my souldiers vse :
And whatsoere he be within my land,
That goes to Rome for iustice and for law,
While he may haue his right within the realme,
Let him be iudgde a traitor to the state,
And suffer as an enemy to England.
Mother, wee leave you here beyond the feas,
As regent of our prouinces in France,
While we to England take a speedie courfe,
And thanke our God that gauc vs victorie.
Hubert de Burgh take Arthur here to thee,
Be he thy prisoner : Hubert keepe him safe,
For on his life doth hang thy foueraignes crowne.
But in his death consists thy foueraignes bliffe :
Then Hubert, as thou shortly hearft from me,
So vse the prisoner I haue giuen in charge.
Hubert. Frolicke yong prince, thogh I your keeper be,
Yet shall your keeper live at your command.
Arthur. As please my God, fo Ahall become of me.
Q. Elian. My sonne, to England, I will see thee shipt,
And pray to God to send thee safe afhore.
Bastard. Now warres are done, I long to be at home,
To diue into the monks and abbots bagges,
To make some sport among the smooth skind nudnes,
And keepe some reuell with the fanzen friers,
lohn. To England lords, each looke vnto your charge, And arme your selues against the Roman pride, Exeunt.
Enter the King of France, Lewes his fonne, Cardinall Pan
dolph Legate, and Constance.
Philip. What, euery man attacht with this mishap ?
Why frowne you so, why droope ye lords of France ?
Me thinkes it differs from a warrelike minde,
To lowre it for a checké or two of chaunce.
Had Lymoges escapt the bastards spight,
A little sorrow might haue ferude our lore.
Brauc Austria, heauen ioyes to haue thee there.
Card. His foule is fafe and free from purgatorie,
Our holy father hath dispenst his finnes,
The blessed saints haue heard our orisons,
And all are mediators for his soule,
And in the right of these most holy warres,
His holinesse free pardon doth pronounce
To all that follow you gainst English heretikes,
Who stand accursed in our mother church.
Enter Constabce alone.
Philip. To aggrauate the measure of our greefe,
All male-content comes Constance for her sonne.
Be breefe good madame, for your face imports
A tragicke tale behind thats yet vntold.
Her passions stop the organ of her voyce,
Deepe sorrow throbbeth mil-befaine eueuts,
Out with it ladie, that act
end A full catastrophe of lad laments.
Constance. My tongue is tun'd to storie forth milhap:
When did I breath to tell a pleasing tale?
Must Constance speake? let teares preuent her talke:
Must I discourse ? let Dido sigh and say,
She weepes againe to heare the wracke of Troy :
Two words will ferue, and then my tale is done :
Elnors proud brat hath rob’d me of my soone.
Lewis. Haue patience madame, this is chance of warre : He may be ransom'd, we reuenge his wrong.
Const. Be it ne'r so soone, I shall not liue fo long.
Phil. Despaire not yet, come Constance, go with me, These clouds will fleet, the day will cleare againe. Exeunt.
Card. Now Lewis, thy fortune buds with happy spring,
Our holy fathers prayers effecteth this.
Arthur is safe, let lohn alone with him,
Thy title next is fairst to Englands crowne :
Now stirre thy father to begin with lohn,
The Pope says I, and so is Albion thine.
Lewis. Thanks my lord legat for your good conceit,
T'is best we follow now the game is faire,
My father wants to worke him your good words.
Card. A few will serue to forward him in this,
Those shall not want : but let's about it then. Exeunt.
Enter Philip leading a friar, charging him fbew where the
Abbots gold lay. Phil. Come on you fat Franciscan, dallie no longer, but thew me where the abbots treasure lies, or die.
Friar. Benedicamus Domini, was euer such an injurie? Sweet S. Withold of thy lenitie, defend vs from extremitie,
And heare vs for S. Charitie, oppressed with austeritie,
In nomini domini, make I my homily,
Gentle gentilitie grieue not the cleargie.
Phil. Gray-gown'd good face, coniure ye,
Nere trust me for a groat
If this wast girdle hang thee not
That girdeth in thy coat.
Now bald and barefoot Bungie birds,
When vp the gallowes climing, ,
Say Philip he had words enough,
To put you downe with riming.
Fr. O pardon, O parce, S. Francis for mercie, Shall shield thee from night-spels, and dreaming of diuels, If thou wilt forgiue me, and neuer more grieue me, With fasting and praying, and Haile Marie saying, From blacke purgatorie, a penance right fory: Frier Thomas will warme you, It shall never harme you.
Phil. Come leaue off your rabble, Sir, hang vp this lozell.
2 Fr. For charitie I beg his life,
Saint Francis chiefest frier,
The best in all our couent sir,
To keepe a vintners fire.
O strangle not the good old man,
My hostesse oldest guest,
And I will bring you by and by
Vnto the priors chelt.
Phil. I, faist thou so, and if thou wilt the frier is at liberty, If not, as I am honest man, I hang you both for company.
Fr. Come hither, this is the chest, thogh simple to behold, That wanteth not a thousand pound in filuer and in gold.