puts the countrey in a mutiny, fo they fend to your grace for fuccour.

K. Ioh. How how lord Cardinal, what's your best aduise? These mutinies must be allaid in time,

By policy or headftrong rage at least.

O John, thefe troubles tyre thy wearied foule,

And like to Luna in a sad eclipse,

So are thy thoughts and paffions for this newes.
Well may it be, when kings are grieued fo,..

The vulgar fort worke princes ouerthrowe.

Card. K. Iohn, for not effecting of thy plighted vow,
This ftrange annoyance happens to thy land:
But yet be reconcil'd vnto the church,
And nothing fhall be grieuous to thy state.

Ioh. On Pandulph, be it as thou haft decreed,
John will not fpurne against thy found aduise,
Come lets away, and with thy helpe I trow,
My realme fhall flourish, and my crowne in peace.

Enter the nobles, Pembrooke, Effex, Chefter, Bewchampe,
Clare, with others.

Pemb. Now fweet S. Edmund holy faint in heauen, Whofe fhrine is facred, high efteem'd on earth,

Infuze a conftant zeale in all our hearts,

To profecute this act of mickle weight,

Lord Bewchampe fay, what friends haue you procur'd.
Bewch. The L. Fitz Water, L. Percie, and L. Roffe,
Vow'd meeting here this day the leuenth houre.
Effex. Vnder the cloke of holy pilgrimage,
By that fame houre on warrant of their faith,
·Philip Plantaginet, a bird of swiftest wing,
Lord Euftauce, Vefcy, lord Crefly, and lord Mowbrey,
Appointed meeting at S. Edmunds shrine.

Pemb.

Pemb. Vntill their prefence, Ile conceale my tale, Sweet complices in holy chriftian acts,

That venture for the purchaffe of renowne,

Thrice welcome to the league of high refolue,

That pawne their bodies for their foules regard.
Effex. Now wanteth but the reft to end this worke,
In pilgrimes habite comes our holy troupe

A furlong hence, with fwift vnwoonted pace,

May be they are the perfons you expect.

Pemb. With fwift vnwoonted gate, fee what a thing is zeale,

That spurs them on with feruence to this fhrine,

Now ioy come to them for their true intent:
And in good time, here come the war-men all,
That fweat in body by the minds difeafe:
Hap and harts-eafe braue lordings be your lot.

Enter the Bastard Philip, &c.

Amen my lords, the like betide your lucke,
And all that trauell in a christian caufe.

Effex. Cheerely repli'd braue branch of kingly stocke,

A right Plantagenet fhould reafon fo.

But filence lords, attend our commings caufe:

The feruile yoke that pained vs with toyle,
On strong instinct hath fram'd this conuenticle,
To ease our neckes of feruitudes contempt.
Should I not name the foeman of our rest,
Which of you all fo barren in conceipt,
As cannot leuell at the man I meane ?
But left enigma's fhadow fhining truth,
Plainely to paint, as truth requires no art.
Th'effect of this refort importeth this,
To root and cleane extirpate tyrant lohn,

S3

Tyrant

Tyrant I fay, appealing to the man,

If any here that loues him, and I aske,
What kindship, lenitie, or chriftian raigne,
Rules in the man, to barre this foule impeach?
First I inferre the Chefters banishment:

For reprehending him in moft vnchriftian crimes,
Was fpeciall notice of a tyrants will.

But were this all, the diuell fhould be fau'd,
But this the least of many thousand faults,
That circumftance with leifure might difplay.
Our priuate wrongs, no parcell of my tale
Which now in prefence, but for fome great caufe
Might wish to him as to a mortall foc.

But fhall I close the period with an act
Abhorring in the eares of chriftian men,
His coufins death, that fweet vnguiltie child,
Vntimely butcherd by the tyrants meanes,
Here are my proofes, as cleere as grauel brooke,
And on the fame I further muft inferre,
That who vpholds a tyrant in his course,

Is culpable of all his damned guilt.

To fhew the which, is yet, to be describ'd.

My lord of Pembrooke, fhewe what is behinde,
Onely I fay, that were there nothing else

To mooue vs, but the popes most dreadfull curfe,
Whereof we are affured, if we faile,

It were enough to inftigate vs all,

With earnestneffe of fprite, to feeke a meane
To difpoffeffe Iohn of his regiment.

Pemb. Well hath my lord of Effex told his tale,
Which I auerre for moft fubftantiall truth,
And more to make the matter to our minde,
I fay that Lewis in challenge of his wife,

Hath

Hath title of an vncontrouled plea,
To all that longeth to our English crowne.
Short tale to make, the fea apoftolike,
Hath offerd difpenfation for the fault.
If any be, as truft me none I know,
By planting Lewis in the vfurpers roome :
This is the cause of all our prefence here,
That on the holy altar we protest,

To aid the right of Lewis with goods and life,
Who on our knowledge is in armes for England.
What fay you lords?

Salif. As Pembrooke faith, affirmeth Salisburie:
Faire Lewis of France that spoused lady Blanch,
Hath title of an vncontrouled ftrength
To England, and what longeth to the crowne:
In right whereof, as we are true inform'd,
The prince is marching hitherward in armes.
Our purpose, to conclude that with a word,
Is to inueft him as we may deuife,
King of our countrey, in the tyrants flead:
And fo the warrant on the altar fworne,
And fo the intent for which we hither came.

Baft. My lord of Salisburie, I cannot couch
My fpeeches with the needfull words of arte,
As doth befeeme in fuch a waightie worke,
But what my confcience and my duty will,
I purpose to impart.

For Chefters exile, blame his bufie wit,
That medled where his duty quite forbade :
For any priuate caufes that you haue,

Me thinke they should not mount to such a height,
As to depose a king in their reuenge.

For Arthurs death, K. John was innocent,

He defperate was the deathfman to himselfe,

Which you, to make a colour to your crime, injuftly do impute to his defalt,

But wher fel traitorisme hath refidēce,

There wants no words to fet defpight on worke.
I fay tis fhame, and worthy all reproofe,
To wreft fuch petty wrongs in tearms of right,
Against a king annointed by the lord.

Why Salsburie, admit the wrongs are true,
Yet fubiects may not take in hand reuenge,
And rob the heauens of their proper power,
Where fitteth he to whom reuenge belongs.
And doth a pope, a prieft, a man of pride,
Giue charters for the liues of lawfull kings?
What can he bleffe, or who regards his curfe,
But fuch as giue to man, and take from God?
I fpeake it in the fight of God aboue,
There's not a man that dies in your beleefe,
But fels his foule perpetually to paine.
Aid Lewis, leaue God, kill Iohn, please hell,
Make hauocke of the welfare of your foules,
For here I leaue you in the fight of heauen,
A troope of traytors, food for hellifh fiends;
If you defift, then follow me as friends,

If not, then doe your worft, as hatefull traytors.
For Lewis his right, alaffe tis too too lame,
A fenfleffe claime, if truth be titles friend.
In briefe, if this be caufe of our refort,

Our pilgrimage is to the diuels fhrine.

I came not lords, to troupe as traytors doe,

Nor will I counsell in so bad a cause :

Please you returne, we goe againe as friends,

If not, I to my king, and you where traytors please

Exit. Percie.