Baft. The prelates ftorme and thirst for sharp reuenge:
But please your maieftie, were that the worst,
Is little skild: a greater danger growes,
Which must be weeded out by carefull speed,
Or all is loft, for all is leueld at.
Ioh. More frights and feares! what ere thy tidings be,
I am prepar'd then Philip, quickly say,
Meane they to murder, or imprison me,
To giue my crowne away to Rome or France;
Or will they each of them become a king?
Worse than I thinke it is, it cannot be.
Baft. Not worse my lord, but euery whit as bad.
The nobles haue elected Lewis king,
In right of lady Blanch, your neece, his wife:
His landing is expected euery houre,
The nobles, commons, clergie, all eftates,
Incited chiefly by the cardinall,
Pandulph that lies here legate for the Pope,
Thinke long to see their new elected king.
And for vndoubted proofe, fee here my liege,
Letters to me from your nobilitie,
To be a partie in this action:
Who vnder fhew of fained holineffe,
Appoint their meeting at S. Edmunds Burie.
There to confult, confpire, and conclude
The ouerthrowe and downefall of your state.
Ioh. Why fo it must be one houre of content,
Match'd with a month of paffionate effects.
Why fhines the funne to fauour this confort?
Why doe the winds not break their brazen gates,
And scatter all thefe periur'd complices,
With all their counfels, and their damned drifts?
But fee the welkin rolleth gently on,
There's not a lowring cloud to frowne on them;
The heauen, the earth, the funne, the moone and all,
Confpire with those confederates my decay.
Then hell for me, if any power be there,
Forfake that place, and guide me step by step,
To poyfon, strangle, murder in their steps
These traytors: oh that name is too good for them,
And death is easie: is there nothing worse,
To wreake me on this proud peace-breaking crew?
What faift thou Philip? why affifts thou not?
Baft. Thefe curfes (good my lord) fit not the season :
Help muft defcend from heauen against this treason?
Ioh. Nay thou wilt proue a traytor with the rest,
Goe get thee to them, shame come to you all."
Bast. I would be loath to leaue your highnesse thus,
Yet you command, and I, though grieu'd, will goe.
Ioh. Ah Philip, whither go'ft thou? come againe.
Baft. My lord, thefe motions are as paffions of a mad man.
Ioh. A mad man Philip, I am mad indeed,
My heart is maz'd, my fences all foredone.
And John of England now is quite vndone.
Was euer king as I oppreft with cares?
Dame Elianor my noble mother queene,
My onely hope and comfort in diftreffe,
Is dead, and England excommunicate,
And I am interdicted by the pope,
All churches curft, their doores are fealed
VP,
And for the pleasure of the Romish priest,
The feruice of the highest is neglected,
The multitude (a beaft of many heads)
Doe wish confufion to their foueraigne :
The nobles blinded with ambitions fumes,
Affemble powers to beate mine empire downe,
And more than this, elect a forrein king,
O England, wert thou euer miserable,
King Iohn of England fees thee miferable :
Iohn, tis thy finnes that makes it miferable,
Quicquid delirunt Reges, plectuntur Achiui.
Philip, as thou haft euer lou'd thy king,
So fhow it now: post to S. Edmunds Burie,
Diffemble with the nobles, know their drifts,
Confound their diuellifh plots, and damn'd deuises.
Though Iohn be faultie, yet let fubiects beare,
He will amend, and right the peoples wrongs.
A mother though fhee were vnnaturall,
Is better than the kindeft ftep-dame is :
Let neuer Englifbman truft forraine rule.
Then Philip fhew thy fealty to thy king,
And mongst the nobles plead thou for the king.
Baft. I goe my lord: fee how he is diftraught,
This is the curfed priest of Italy
Hath heap'd these mischiefes on this hapleffe land.
Now Philip, hadft thou Tullies eloquence,
Then might'ft thou hope to plead with good fucceffe.
Ich. And art thou gone? fucceffe may follow thee:
Thus haft thou fhew'd thy kindneffe to thy king.
Sirra, in hafte goe greet the cardinall,
Pandulph I meane, the legat from the Pope.
Say that the king defires to speake with him.
Now John bethinke thee how thou maist refolue:
And if thou wilt continue Englands king,
Then caft about to keepe thy diadem;
For life and land, and all is leueld at.
The pope of Rome, tis he that is the caufe,
He curfeth thee, he fets thy fubiects free
From due obedience to their foueraigne :
He animates the nobles in their warres,
He giues away the crowne to Philips fonne,
And pardons all that feeke to murther thee:
And thus blind zeale is ftill predominant.
Then John there is no way to keepe thy crowne,
But finely to diffemble with the pope :
That hand that gaue the wound muft giue the falue
To cure the hurt, elfe quite incurable.
Thy finnes are farre too great to be the man
T'abolish pope, and poperie from thy realme:
But in thy feate, if I may gueffe at all,
A king shall raigne that shall suppresse them all,
Peace Iohn, here comes the legate of the pope,
Diffemble thou, and whatfocre thou fai'ft,
Yet with thy heart wish their confufion.
Pand. Now Iohn, vnworthy man to breath on earth, That do'ft oppugne against thy mother church:
Why am I fent for to thy curfed felfe?
John. Thou man of God, vicegerent for the pope,
The holy vicar of S. Peters church,
Vpon my knees, I pardon craue of thee,
And doe fubmit me to the fea of Rome,
And vow for penance of my high offence,
To take on me the holy croffe of Christ,
And carry armes in holy christian warres.
Pand. No Ichn, thy crowching and diffembling thus Cannot deceive the legate of the pope,
Say what thou wilt, I will not credite thee:
Thy crowne and kingdome both are tane away,
And thou art curft without redemption.
John. Accurft indeede to kneele to fuch a drudge, And get no help with thy fubmiffion,
Vnfheathe thy fword, and fley the mifprowd prieft
That thus triumphs ore thee a mightie king:
No John, fubmit againe, diffemble yet,
For priests and women must be flattered.
Yet holy father thou thy felfe doft know,
No time too late for finners to repent,
Abfolue me then, and fohn doth fweare to do
The vttermoft what euer thou demaundst.
Pandulph. Iohn, now I fee thy hearty penitence,
I rew and pitty thy diftreft eftate,'
One way is left to reconcile thy felfe,
And onely one which I fhall fhew to thee.
Thou must furrender to the fea of Rome
Thy crowne and diadem, then fhall the pope
Defend thee from th'inuafion of thy foes.
And where his holineffe hath kindled Fraunce,
And set thy fubiects hearts at warre with thee,
Then fhall he curfe thy foes, and beate them downe,
That feeke the difcontentment of the king.
Ichn. From bad to worfe, or I muft loofe my realme,
Or giue my crowne for penance vnto Rome :
A miferie more piercing than the darts
That breake from burning exhalations power.
What, fhall I giue my crowne with this right hand?
No: with this hand defend thy crowne and thee.
What newes with thee?
Please it your maieftie, there is defcried on the coaft of Kent an hundred fayle of fhips, which of all men is thought to be the French fleet, vnder the conduct of the Dolphin, so that it
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