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My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think,
His father never was so true begot:
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy
father.

Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

Aust. Peace!

Bast.

Aust.

Hear the crier.

What the devil art thou? Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard. I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right: Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith.

Blanch. O! well did he become that lion's robe, That did disrobe the lion of that robe.

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass.— But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our

ears

With this abundance of superfluous breath?

K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.

Lew. Women and fools, break off your conference.

King John, this is the very sum of all:
England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee.
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms?
K. John. My life as soon: I do defy thee,
France.-

Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand,
And out of my dear love I'll give thee more,
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
Submit thee, boy.

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Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee:
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd
To do him justice, and revenge on you.

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!

Call not me slanderer: thou, and thine, usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights,

Of this oppressed boy. This is thy eldest son's son,
Infortunate in nothing but in thee:
Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
The canon of the law is laid on him,
Being but the second generation

Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.
K. John. Bedlam, have done.
Const.

I have but this to say,

That he is not only plagued for her sin,
But God hath made her sin and her, the plague
On this removed issue, plagu'd for her,
And with her plague her sin: his injury
Her injury the beadle to her sin,

All punish'd in the person of this child,
And all for her, a plague upon her!

Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce

A will, that bars the title of thy son.

Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked

will;

A woman's will: a canker'd grandam's will!
K. Phi. Peace, lady! pause, or be more tem-

perate.

It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim

To these ill-tuned repetitions.—.

Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak,
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls.
Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls!
K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England.
K. John.

England, for itself.
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,-
K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's
subjects,

Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.

K. John. For our advantage; therefore, hear us first.

These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of your town,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
And ready mounted are they, to spit forth
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
All preparation for a bloody siege,

And merciless proceeding by these French,
Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones,
That as a waist o girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordnance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,
Who painfully, with much expedient march,
Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,
Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle ;
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke,
To make a faithless error in your ears:
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits,
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Crave harbourage within your city walls.

K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us
both.

Lo! in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son to the elder brother of this man,
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys.
For this down-trodden equity, we tread
In warlike march these greens before your town,
Being no further enemy to you,
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressed child,
Religiously provokes. Be pleased, then,

To pay that duty, which you truly owe,
To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up:
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven;
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd,
We will bear home that lusty blood again,
Which here we came to spout against your town,
And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
'Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war,
Though all these English, and their discipline,
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
Then, tell us; shall your city call us lord,
In that behalf which we have challeng'd it,
Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
And stalk in blood to our possession?

Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's sub-
jects:

For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

Cit. That can we not; but he that proves the
king,

To him will we prove loyal: till that time,
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove
the king?

And, if not that, I bring you witnesses,
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-

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Bast. Bastards, and else.

K. John. To verify our title with their lives. K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as those,

Bast. Some bastards, too.

K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls,

That to their everlasting residence

Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet,

In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

K. Phi. Amen, Amen.-Mount, chevaliers! to arms!

Bast. St. George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since,

Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence!-[To AUSTRIA.]-Sirrah, were I at home,

At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,

I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
And make a monster of you.

Aust.
Peace! no more.
Bast. O! tremble, for you hear the lion roar.
K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we'll
set forth

In best appointment all our regiments.

Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the field. K. Phi. It shall be so;-[To LEWIS.]—and at the other hill

Command the rest to stand.-God, and our right!

[Exeunt.

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SCENE II.-The Same.

Alarums and excursions; then a retreat.

Angiers.

Enter a

French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates.

F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,

And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in,
Who by the hand of France this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground:
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth,
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French,
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours.

Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:

King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day.

Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood.
There stuck no plume in any English crest,
That is removed by a staff of France:
Our colours do return in those same hands,
That did display them when we first march'd forth;
And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.
Open your gates, and give the victors way.

Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured:

Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows;

Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:

Both are alike; and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
Enter, at one side, King JOHN, with his power,
ELINOR, BLANCH, and the Bastard; at the other,
King PHILIP, LEWIS, AUSTRIA, and forces.

K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?

Say, shall the current of our right roam on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep

A peaceful progress to the ocean.

K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood,

In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: and by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we
bear,

Or add a royal number to the dead,

Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss,
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

Bast. Ha! majesty, how high thy glory towers,
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire.
O! now doth death line his dead chaps with steel;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
In undetermin'd differences of kings.-
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ?
Cry, havock, kings! back to the stained field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death!

K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England, who's your king?

Cit. The king of England, when we know the king.

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

Cit. A greater power than we denies all this;
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates,
Kings of our fear; until our fears, resolv'd,
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout
you, kings,

And stand securely on their battlements,
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul'd by me:
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation

Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours once again;
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion,

To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks it not something of the policy?

K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our
heads,

I like it well.-France, shall we knit our powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground,
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town,
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
Why, then defy each other, and, pell-mell,
Make work upon ourselves for heaven, or hell.

K. Phi. Let it be so.-Say, where will you assault?

K. John. We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom.

Aust. I from the north. K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bast. O, prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:

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K. John. Speak on, with favour: we are bent to hear.

Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady
Blanch,

Is near to England: look upon the years
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid.
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch?
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,

Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
If not complete of, say, he is not she;
And she again wants nothing, to name want,
If want it be not, that she is not he:
He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
O! two such silver currents, when they join,
Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance; but, without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion; no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory,

As we to keep this city.

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Talks as familiarly of roaring lions,

As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs.
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?

He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke, and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgell'd: not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

Eli. Son, list to this conjunction; make this match;

Give with our niece a dowry large enough,
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yond' green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promises a mighty fruit.

I see a yielding in the looks of France;

Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their

souls

Are capable of this ambition,

Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.

Cit. Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?
K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for-
ward first

To speak unto this city: what say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely

son,

Can in this book of beauty read, I love,
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen :
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea
(Except this city now by us besieg'd)
Find liable to our crown and dignity,

Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,

As she in beauty, education, blood,

Holds hand with any princess of the world.

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

Lew. I do, my lord; and in her eye I find

A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,

The shadow of myself form'd in her eye,
Which, being but the shadow of your son,

Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.
I do protest, I never lov'd myself,

Till now infixed I beheld myself

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Whispers with BLANCH. Bast. 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 espy

Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,

That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be,

In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you, that makes him like, That anything he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will;

Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love,
Than this,—that nothing do I see in you,
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be
your judge,

That I can find should merit any hate.

K. John. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin: can you love this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love, For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine

Poictiers, 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 son and daughter to join hands.
K. Phi. It likes us well.-Young princes, close
your hands.

Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd, That I did so, when I was first assur'd.

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your

gates,

Let in that amity which you have made;
For at saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.—
Is not the lady Constance in this troop?

I know, she is not; for this match, made up,
Her presence would have interrupted much.
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

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