That fhakes the rotten carcass of old death
Out of his rags. Here's a large mouth indeed,
That fpits forth death, and mountains, rocks and feas,
Talks as familiarly of roaring Lions,

As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs.

What cannoneer begot this lufty blood?

He fpeaks plain cannon-fire, and smoak and bounce,
He gives the baftinado with his tongue :
Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his
But buffets better than a fift of France;
Zounds, I was never fo bethumpt with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

Eli. Son, lift to this conjunction, make this match, Give with our neice a dowry large enough;

For by this knot thou fhalt fo furely tie
Thy now unfur'd affurance to the crown,

That yon green boy fhall have no fun to ripe,
The bloom that promifeth a mighty fruit.

I fee a yielding in the looks of France:

Mark how they whifper, urge them while their fouls
Are capable of this ambition,

Left zeal, now melted, by the windy breath
Of foft petitions pity and remorfe

Cool and congeal again to what it was.

Cit. Why answer not the double Majesties

This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

[first

K. Philip. Speak England first, that hath been forward

To fpeak unto this city: what say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy Princely fon, Can in this book of beauty read I love;

Her dowry fhall weigh equal with a Queen.

For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poitiers,
And all that we upon this fide the fea,
(Except this city now by us befieg'd)
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich

In titles, honours, and promotions;

As the in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hands with any Princess of the world.

K.Philip. What fay'ft thou, boy? look in the Lady's face,

Lewis. I do, my Lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wond'rous miracle, *
I do proteft I never lov'd my self
'Till now infixed I behold my felf,
Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye.

[Whispering with Blanch, Baft. 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 espie

Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,

That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there fhould be
In fuch a love, fo vile a lout as he.

Blanch. My uncle's will in this refpect is mine.
If he see ought in you that makes him like,
That any thing, he fees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will:
Or if you will, to fpeak more properly,
I will enforce it eafily to my love,
Further I will not flatter you, my Lord,
That all I fee in you is worthy love,
Than this; that nothing do I fee in you,

(Though churlish thoughts themselves fhould be your judge) That I can find fhould merit any hate.

[neice? K. John. What say these young ones? what fay you, my Blanch. That fhe is bound in honour ftill to do

What you in wifdom will vouchfafe to fay.

[Lady? K. John. Speak then, Prince Dauphin, can you love this Lervis. Nay, afk me if I can refrain from love,

For I do love her moft unfeignedly.,

K. John. Then do I give Volqueffen, Touraine, Maine, Poitiers, 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 fon and daughter to join hands.

..... miracle.

The fhadow of my felf form'd in her eye,
Which being but the fhadow of your fon,
Becomes a fun, and makes your fon a fhadow;
I do protett...

K. Philip.

K. Philip. 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 chappel prefently
The rites of marriage fhall be folemniz'd.
Is not the Lady Conftance in this troop?
I know she is not; for this match made up
Her prefence would have interrupted much.
Where is the and her fon, tell me, who knows?

Lewis. She's fad and paffionate at your Highness' tent. K. Philip. And by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her fadnefs 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 Bretagne,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Conftance,
Some speedy meffenger bid her repair

To our folemnity: I truft we shali,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in fome measure satisfie her fo,
That we will stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as hafte will fuffer us,

To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. [Exeunt all but Bait,

SCENE

VI

Baft. Mad world, mad Kings, mad compofition!

John to stop Arthur's title in the whole,

Hath willingly departed with a part:

And France, whofe armour confcience buckled on,

Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own foldier, rounded in the ear
With that fame purpofe-changer, that fly devil,

- clofe your hands.

Auft. And your lips too, for I am well aflu.'á
That I did fo, when I was frft affur'd.

K. Philip. Now, citizens, &c.

That

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, as they have no external thing to lose
But the word maids, cheats the poor maids of that,
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling Commodity;
Commodity, the biafs of the world :

The world, which of itself is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
'Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bials,
This fway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this fame biafs, this Commodity,

This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapt on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a refolv'd and honourable war,
To a moft bafe and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this Commodity ?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet,
Nor that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would falute my palm;
But that my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well! while I am a beggar, I will rail,
And fay there is no fin but to be rich:
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To fay there is no vice, but beggary.
Since Kings break faith upon Commodity,
Gain, be my Lord! for I will worship thee.
ACT III. SCENE I.

The French King's Pavilion.

Enter Conftance, Arthur and Salisbury.

Conf G

[Exit.

One to be marry'd gone to fwear a peace!
Falfe blood to falfe blood join'd! Gone to be
friends!

Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch thofe provinces ?
It is not fo; thou haft mif-fpoke, mif-heard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again,

It

It cannot be; thou doft but fay 'tis fo.
I think I may not truft thee, for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man :
I have a King's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am fick, and capable of fears,

Oppreft with wrongs, and therefore full of fears3
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
A woman, naturally born to fears.

And though thou now confess thou didst but jeft,
With my vext fpirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What doft thou mean by fhaking of thy head ?
Why doft thou look fo fadly on my fon?
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 fad figns 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 caufe to prove my faying true.
Conft. Oh, if thou teach me to believe this forrow,
Teach thou this forrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter fo,

As doth the fury of two defp'rate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.

Lewis wed Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
France friend with England! what becomes of me?
Fellow, be gone, I cannot brook thy fight.

*

Artb. I do befeech you, mother, be content.
Conft. If thou that bidft me be content wert grim,
Ugly, and fland'rous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleafing blots, and fightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, fwart, prodigious,

...... I cannot brook thy fight,

This news hath made thee a moft ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have 1, good Lady, done,

But fpoke the harm that is by others done?
Conft. Which harm within it felf fo heinous is,

As it makes harmful all that speak of it
Arth. I do beseech you,

Pack'd