Constance* ^note.
Gone to be marry'd! gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces!

It is not so: thou hast mis-spoke, mis-heard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again,
It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so.
I think, I may not trust thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man:
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a King's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick, and capable of fears;
Opprest with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
A woman, naturally born to fears,
And, tho' thou now confess thou didst but jest,
With my vext spirits I cannot make a truce,
But they will quake and tremble, all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
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 sad sighs 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 cause to prove my saying true.

Const.
Oh, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me 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 sight:
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

Sal.
What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?

Const.
Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth.
I do beseech you, mother, be content.

Const.
If thou, that bidst me be content, wert grim,
Ugly, patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content:
For then I should not love thee: no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy!
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great.
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose. But fortune, oh!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee,
Adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluckt on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his Majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to fortune, and to John;
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John!
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave these woes alone, which I alone
And bound to under-bear.

Sal.
Pardon me, Madam:
I may not go without you to the Kings.

Const.
Thou may'st, thou shalt: I will not go with thee.
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let Kings assemble: for my grief's so great,
That no supporter but the huge firm earth,
Can hold it up: here I and Sorrow sit;
Here is my throne, bid Kings come bow to it. [Sits down on the Floor. King John, King Philip, discovered on a Throne, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Faulconbridge, and Austria. A Flourish.

K. Philip.
'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun

Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist;
Turning with splendor of his precious eye
The meagre cloddy earth to glitt'ring gold.
The yearly course that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holy-day.

Const.
A wicked day, and not an holy-day— [Rising.
What has this day deserv'd? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters should be set
Among the high tides in the kalendar?
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
This day of shame, oppression, perjury;
This day, all things begun come to ill end,
Yea, faith itself to hollow falshood change!

K. Philip.
By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

Const.
You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit,
Resembling Majesty, which, touch'd and try'd,
Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn.
You came in arms to spill my enemies blood,
But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours.
The grapling vigour, and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league:
Arm, arm, ye heavens, against these perjur'd Kings;
A widow cries, be husband to me, heav'n!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but ere sun-set,
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd Kings.
Hear me, oh hear me!

Aust.
Lady Constance, peace.

Const.
War, war, no peace; peace is to me a war.
O Lymoges, O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,
Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side;
Thou fortune's champion, that durst never fight
But when her humourous ladyship is by,
To teach thee safety! thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?

Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it, for shame,
And hang a calve's-skin on those recreant limbs* ^note.

Aust.
O, that a man would speak those words to me!

Faulc.
And hang a calve's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Aust.
Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.

Faulc.
And hang a calve's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Aust.
Methinks, that Richard's pride and Richard's fall
Should be a precedent to fright you, Sir.

Faulc.
What words are these! how do my sinews shake!
My father's foe clad in my father's spoil!
How doth Alecto whisper in my ears,
“Delay not, Richard; kill the villain strait;
“Disrobe him of the matchless monument,
“Thy father's triumph o'er the savages.”—
Now by his soul I swear, my father's soul,
Twice will I not review the morning's rise,
'Till I have torn that trophy from thy back,
And split thy heart, for wearing it so long.

K. John.
We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. Enter Pandulph.

K. Philip.
Here comes the holy Legate of the Pope.

† ^notePand.
Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
To thee, King John, my holy errand is;
I Pandulph, of fair Milan Cardinal,
And from Pope Innocent the Legate here,
Do in his name religiously demand.

Why thou against the Church, our holy Mother,
So wilfully do spurn, and force perforce
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy See?
This in our 'foresaid holy Father's name,
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

K. John.
What earthly name to interrogatories
Can task the free breath of a sacred King?
Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name,
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.
Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England,
Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
But as we under Heaven are supreme head,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without th' assistance of a mortal hand.
So tell the Pope, all rev'rence set apart.
To him and his usurp'd authority.

K. Philip.
Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.

K. John.
Tho' you, and all the Kings of Christendom,
Are led so grosly by this medling priest,
Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
Who in that sale sells pardon from himself:
Tho' you, and all the rest, so grosly led,
This juggling witch-craft with revenue cherish;
Yet I alone, alone, do me oppose
Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.

Pand.
Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curst, and excommunicate;
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretick;
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
Canonized and worship'd as a Saint,
That takes away, by any secret course,
Thy hateful life.

Const.
O, lawful let it be,

That I have leave with Rome to curse a while.
Good father Cardinal, cry thou, Amen,
To my keen curses; for without my wrong
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

Pand.
Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of that arch heretick;
And raise the pow'r of France upon his head,
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

Aust.
King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.

Faulc.
And hang a calve's-skin on his recreant limbs.

Aust.
Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,
Because—

Faulc.
Your breeches best may carry them.

K. John.
Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal?

Const.
What should he say, but as the Cardinal?

K. Philip.
Good rev'rend father, make my person yours;
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit:
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seisure, and this kind regreet?
Play fast and loose with faith? So jest with heav'n?
Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
As now again to snatch our palm from palm?
Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed
Of smiling peace, to march a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity? O holy Sir,
My reverend father, let it not be so;
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order, and we shall be blest
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

Pand.
All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, to arms! be champion of our Church!
Or let the Church our mother breathe her curse,
A mother's curse on her revolting son.
France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A chafed lyon by the mortal paw,

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand, which thou dost hold.

Austr.
Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

Faulc.
Hang nothing but a calve's-skin, most sweet Lout.

K. Philip.
I may dis-join my hand, but not my faith.

Pand.
So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
O, let thy vow
First made to heav'n, first be to heav'n perform'd;
That is, to be the champion of our Church.
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.

Faulc.
Will't not be?
Will not a calve's-skin stop that mouth of thine?

Lewis.
Father, to arms.

Blanch.
Upon thy wedding day?
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me; ev'n for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against my uncle.

Const.
O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heav'n.

Blanch.
Now shall I see thy love; what motive may
Be stronger with thee, than the name of wife?

Const.
That which upholdeth him, that thee upholds,
His honour. Oh, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!—

Lewis.
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. Philip.
Thou shalt not need. England, I'll fall from thee.

Const.
O fair return of banish'd Majesty!

K. John.
France, thou shalt rue this hour, within this hour.

Faulc.
Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
Is it, as he will? well then, France shall rue.

K. John.
Cousin, go draw our puissance together. [Exit Faulconbridge.
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 valued blood of France.

K. Philip.
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.

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