But thou hast sworn against religion, By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st;
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath the truth thou art unsure To swear, swears only not to be forsworn; Else, what a mockery should it be to swear! But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost
Therefore, thy later vows, against thy first, Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
And better conquest never canst thou make, Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against these giddy loose suggestions: Upon which better part our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them; but, if not, then know, The peril of our curses light on thee, So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, But in despair die under their black weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! Bast. Will't not be? Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? Lew. Father, to arms! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day Against the blood that thou hast married? What! shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd [drums,
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish Clamours of hell,-be measures to our pomp? O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth !---even for that name, Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle.
Const. O, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, do pray to thee, Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom Fore-thought by heaven. [motive may Blanch. Now shall I see thy love: what Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, [honour! His honour :-O, thine honour, Lewis, thine Lew. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need.-England, I'll fall from thee.
Const. O, fair return of banish'd majesty ! Eli. O, foul revolt of French inconstancy! K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. [sexton Time, Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; Assured loss before the match be play'd. Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. [my life dies. Blanch. There were my fortune lives, there K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. [Exit Bastard. France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; A rage whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire: Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
K. John. No more than he that threats.To arms let's hie! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-France. Plains near Angiers. Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's head.
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won drous hot;
And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie Some airy devil hovers in the sky, While Philip breathes.
[there, Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy.-Philip, My mother is assailed in our tent, [make up:
And ta'en, I fear. Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her; Her highness is in safety, fear you not : But on, my liege; for very little pains Will bring this labour to a happy end.
Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. [grief. Arth. O, this will make my mother die with K. John. [To the Bastard.] Cousin, away for England; haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots; imprison'd angels Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in his utmost force. Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness.-Grandam, I will pray (If ever I remember to be holy) For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin.
[Exit Bastard. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [She takes Arthur aside. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,- But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: [slow, But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so Yet it shali come for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say,-but let it go : The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, To give me audience :-if the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one into the drowsy ear of night; If this same were a churchyard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs: Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; (Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes ;)
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: But ah, I will not :-yet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me under- take,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By heaven, I would do it.
K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me :-dost thou understand Thou art his keeper. [me?
And I'll keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty.
K. John. Death. K. John. A grave. K. John.
Hub. My lord? Hub. He shall not live. Enough. I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee: Remember, Madam, fare you well: Ill send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee! K. John.
For England, cousin, go: Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-France. The French King's Tent. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants.
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. [run so ill?
K. Phi. What can go well, when we have Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he forti
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, Doth want example; who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred action like to this?
K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame. Look, who comes here! [Enter Constance.] a grave unto a soul;
Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will, In the vile prison of afflicted breath. pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. [peace! Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance !
Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel; true redress, Death, death:-O, amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy detestable bones; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me!
K. Phi. O, fair affliction, peace! Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:-
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation. [sorrow. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; I am not mad this hair I tear is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost :
I am not mad ;-I would to heaven I were ! For then 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son, Or madly think a babe of clouts were he : I am not mad: too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses.
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me joy :
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; [taste, And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's That it yields naught but shame and bitterness. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave, O, what On their departure most of all show evil. What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had. No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange to think how much king John hath In this which he accounts so clearly won. [lost Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; !|For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little Out of the path which shall directly lead [rub, Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark,
And will again commit them to their bonds, Because my poor child is a prisoner.— And, father cardinal, I have heard you say That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven I shall not know him: therefore never, never Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. | Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.— I will not keep this form upon my head, [Tearing off her head-dress. When there is such disorder in my wit. O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be, That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand, Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd; And he that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: That John may stand, then Arthur needs must So be it, for it cannot be but so. [fall;
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your May then make all the claim that Arthur did. Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this
old world! [you; John lays you plots; the times conspire with For he that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, That none so small advantage shall step forth To check his reign, but they will cherish it; No natural exhalation in the sky, No scope of nature, no distemper'd day, No common wind, no customèd event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, présages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts Of all his people shall revolt from him, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks I see this hurly all on foot : And, O, what better matter breeds for you Than I have nam'd!—The bastard Faulcon- bridge
Is now in England ransacking the church, Offending charity: if but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side; Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful What may be wrought out of their discontent, Now that their souls are topfull of offence: For England go :-I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strange actions: let us go:
If you say ay, the king will not say no.
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven Hub. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his in-
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale
In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my bosom.- How now, foolish rheum! [Aside.] Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.— Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Hub. Young boy, I must. And will you? Must you with hot irons burn out both mine
And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again :
And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
SCENE I.-Northampton. A Room in the Saying, 'What lack you?' and, Where lies
Enter Hubert and two Attendants. Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look [Exeunt Attendants. to 't.- Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Good morrow, little prince. Hub. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Mercy on me! Arth. Methinks nobody should be sad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, By my christendom, Only for wantonness. So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me, and I of him :
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
Or, 'What good love may I perform for you?' Many a poor man's son would have lain still, But you at your sick service had a prince. And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, you will: And call it cunning :-do, an If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, eyes? Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine
These eyes that never did, nor never shall, I have sworn to do it; Hub. So much as frown on you? Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would And with hot irons must I burn them out. The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, [do it! [tears, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my And quench this fiery indignation, Nay, after that, consume away in rust, Even in the matter of mine innocence; But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ?
An if an angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him,-no tongue but Hub. [Stamps.] Come forth. Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. [eyes are out Do as I bid you do. Arth. O save me, Hubert, save me! my Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous- I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him With this same very iron to burn them out. here. [rough? Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this You were disguised. Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu. Your uncle must not know but you are dead; I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports: And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, That Hubert for the wealth of all the world Will not offend thee.
Nay, hear me, Hubert !-drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly: Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive Whatever torment you do put me to. [you, Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
I Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :- Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! [there, Then, feeling what small things are boisterous Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. [tongues Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert !
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes, Though to no use but still to look on you! Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me.
Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd extremes: see else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, [Hubert: And glow with shame of your proceedings, Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
Arth. O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence! no more: go closely in with
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Northampton. A Room of
Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lords. The King takes his
K. John, Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pem. This once again, but that your high-
ness pleas'd, [fore, Was once superfluous: you were crown'd be- And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; Fresh expectation troubled not the land, With any long'd-for change, or better state.
Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double To guard a title that was rich before, [pomp, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be This act is as an ancient tale new told; įdone, And in the last repeating troublesome, Being urged at a time unseasonable.
Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigurèd; And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about; Startles and frights consideration; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
Pem. When workmen strive to do better
They do confound their skill in covetousness; And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new- crown'd, [highness We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your To overbear it; and we are all well pleased, Since all and every part of what we would, Doth make a stand at what your highness will. K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation
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