Philip.
Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
* ^noteArthur! that great fore-runner of thy blood
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart,
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave Duke came early to his grave:

And for amends to his posterity,
At our importance hither is he come,
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

Arth.
God shall forgive you Cœur-de-lion's death,
The rather that you give his off-spring life;
Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
I give you welcome with a pow'rless hand,
But with a heart full of unstained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.

Lewis.
A noble boy! who would not do thee right?

Aust.
Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return,
'Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
Ev'n 'till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
Salute thee for her King. 'Till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Const.
* ^noteO, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
'Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength,
To make a more requital to your love.

Aust.
The peace of heav'n is theirs, who lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.

K. Philip.
Well then, to work; our engines shall be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town;
Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

Const.
Stay for an answer to your embassy,
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood.

My lord Chatilion may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter Chatilion.

K. Philip.
A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish
Our messenger Chatilion is arriv'd!
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord,
We coldly pause for thee. Chatilion, speak.

Chat.
Then turn your forces from this paultry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have staid, have giv'n him time
To land his legions all as soon as I.
With him along is come the mother Queen;
An Até, stirring him to blood and strife.
With her, her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a Bastard of the King deceas'd,
And all th' unsettled humours of the land;
Rash, inconsid'rate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits,
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scathe* ^note in christendom. [Drum beats.
The interruption of their churlish drums,
Cuts off more circumstance; they are at hand.
To parly, or to fight, therefore prepare.

K. Philip.
How much unlook'd for is this expedition! A March. Enter King of England, Faulconbridge, Elinor, Blanch, Pembroke, and others.

K. John.
Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
Our just and lineal entrance to our own:
If not, bleed France, and Peace ascend to heav'n.

Whilst we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beats his Peace to heaven.

K. Philip.
Peace be to England, if that war return
From France to England, there to live in peace!
England we love; and for that England's sake,
With burthen of our armour here we sweat;
This toil of ours should be a work of thine.
But thou from loving England art so far,
That thou hast under-wrought its lawful King:
Cut off the sequence of posterity;
Out-faced infant state; and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of a crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face.
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;
This little abstract doth contain that large,
Which dy'd in Geffrey; and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as large a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,
And this is Geffrey's; in the name of Heav'n,
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a King,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which own the crown that thou o'er-masterest?

K. John.
From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
To draw my answer to thy articles?

K. Philip.
From that supernal Judge, that stirs good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority,
To look into the blots and stains of right.
That Judge hath made me guardian to this boy;
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,
And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

K. John.
Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

K. Philip.
Excuse it, 'tis to beat usurping down* ^note.

Eli.
Who is't, that thou dost call usurper, France?

Const.
Let me make answer: thy usurping son.—

Aust.
Peace.—

Faulc.
Hear the crier.

Aust.
What the devil art thou?

Faulc.
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 smoak your skin-coat, an I catch you right;
Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith.

K. Philip.
King John, this is the very sum of all,
England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur, I do claim of thee
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms?

K. John.
My life as soon—I do defie thee, France.
Arthur of Britain, 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.

K. Philip.
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. [Trumpet sounds. A Call. Enter a Citizen upon the Walls.

Cit.
Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls?

K. Philip.
'Tis France, and England.

K. John.
England for itself;
You men of Angiers and my loving subjects—

K. Philip.
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
All preparations for a bloody siege,
And merciless proceeding, by these Franch,
Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates;
But on the sight of us your lawful King,

Behold the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle;
And now, instead of bullets wrap'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoak,
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens;
And let in us, your King, whose labour'd spirits
Crave harbourage within your city walls.

K. Philip.
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,
Then the constraint of hospitable zeal,
In the relief of this oppressed child,
Religiously provokes.
Then pay that duty, which you truly owe,
To him that owns it: namely, this young prince;
And then our arms hath all offence seal'd up:
Now 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 subjects:
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

K. John.
Acknowledge then the King, and let him 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—

Faulc.
(Bastards, and else.)

K. John.
To verify our title with their lives.

K. Philip.
As many, and as well-born bloods as those—

Faulc.
(Some Bastards too.)

K. Philip.
Stand in his face to contradict his claim.

Cit.
Till you compound, whose right is worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the right for both.

K. John.
Then Heav'n forgive the sin of all those souls,
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
In dreadful tryal of our kingdom's King!

K. Philip.
Amen, Amen.—Mount, chevaliers, to arms! Faulc.
Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since,
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
Teach us some fence. Sirrah, were I at home
At your den, sirrah, with your Lioness,
I'd set an ox-head to your Lion's hide,
And make a monster of you— [To Austria.

Aust.
Peace, no more.

Faulc.
O, tremble; for you hear the Lion roar. [Exeunt. * ^noteA long Charge sounded: then, after excursions, a Call. Enter the Herald of France. 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;
And many a widow's husband groveling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
While 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. [A Call. Enter English Herald. 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 in 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;
Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes.
Open your gates, and give the victors way. Cit.
Heralds, from off our tow'rs 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. [A March on both sides. Enter the two Kings with their Powers, at several Doors. K. John.
France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
Say, shall the current of our right run on?
Whose passage, vext with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell,
With course disturb'd, ev'n thy confining shores;
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean. K. Philip.
England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood,
In this hot tryal, 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 by our just-born arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear:
Or add a royal number to the dead;
Gracing the scroul, that tells of this war's loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of Kings.

Faulc.
Ha! Majesty,—how high thy glory towers,
When the rich blood of Kings is set on fire!
Why stand those 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. Philip.
Speak, citizens, for England who's your King?

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

K. Philip.
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 Pow'r, than ye, denies all this;
And till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates.
Kings of our fears—until our fears resolv'd,
Be by some certain King purg'd and depos'd.

Faulc.
By heav'n, the scroyles of Angiers flout you, Kings* ^note.
You royal presences, be rul'd by me;
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
By east and west let France and England mount
Their batt'ring cannon charged to the mouths;
Till their soul-fearing clamours have braul'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.
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;
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 pow'rs,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground,
Then, after, fight who shall be King of it?

K. Philip.
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. Philip.
Our thunder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

Faulc.
O prudent discipline! from North to South;
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.
I'll stir them to it; come, away, away!

Cit.
Hear us, great Kings; vouchsafe a while to stay,
And I shall shew you peace, and fair-fac'd league:
Win you this city without stroke or wound;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
That here come sacrifices for the field;
Persevere not, but hear me, mighty Kings.

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.
Oh! 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 open,
And give you entrance; but without this match,

The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions so confident, mountains and rocks
So free from motion: no, not death himself,
In mortal fury half so peremptory,
As we to keep this city.

Faulc.
Here's a stay,
That shakes the rotten carcass of old death,
Out of his rags. Here's a large mouth, indeed,
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks and seas;
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 smoak and bounce,
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France;
Zounds! I was never so bethumpt with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

Cit.
Why answer not the double Majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

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

Lewis.
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;
Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye. [Whispering with Blanch.

Faulc.
Drawn in the flatt'ring 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 should be
In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

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.
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

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 chapel, presently,
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.
Is not the lady Constance in this troop?
Where is she and her son, tell me, who knows?

Lewis.
She's sad and passionate, at your Highness' Tent.

K. Philip.
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady? in her right we came.

K. John.
We will heal up all,
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britain,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. Call the lady Constance;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd-for, unprepared, pomp. [A March. [Exeunt into the gates, all but Faulconbridge.

* ^noteFaulc.
Mad world, mad Kings, mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part:
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field,
As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
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, having no external thing to lose,
But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity—
Commodity, the bias of the world,
The world, which of itself is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground:

'Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent.
And this same biass, 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 resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile concluded peace.—
And why rail I on this commodity?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angel, would salute 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 say, there is no sin but to be rich:
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say there is no vice, but beggary.
Since Kings break faith, upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord; for I will worship thee! [Exit in at the gates* ^note.

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