K. John.
Thus I have yielded up into your hand
The circle of my Glory. [Giving the Crown.

Pand.
Take again,
From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. John.
Now keep your holy word; go meet the French,
And from his Holiness use all your power,
To stop their marches.

Pand.
It was my breath that blew the tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope:
But, since you are a gentle convertite,
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war;
And make fair weather in your blust'ring land. [Exit. * ^noteEnter Faulconbridge.

Faulc.
All Kent hath yielded, nothing there holds out,
But Dover-Castle: London hath receiv'd,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.
Your Nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.

K. John.
Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?

Faulc.
They found him dead, and cast into the streets,

An empty casket, where the jewel, life,
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

K. John.
That villain Hubert told me he did live.

Faulc.
So on my soul he did, for aught he knew:
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought:
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatner, and out-face the brow
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviours from the Great,
Grow great by your example;
Away, and glister like the God of war,
When he intendeth to become the field:
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,* ^note
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
Oh, let it not be said! Forage, and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors;
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

K. John.
The Legate of the Pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the Powers
Led by the Dauphin.

Faulc.
Oh inglorious league!
Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play-orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my Liege, to arms:
Perchance the Cardinal can't make your peace;
Or if he do, let it at least be said,
They saw we had a purpose of defence.

K. John.
Have thou the ord'ring of this present time.

Faulc.
Away then, with good courage; yet, I know,
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to the Dauphin's Camp, at St. Edmondsbury. Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Chatillion, Pembroke, Essex, and Soldiers.

Lewis.
My lord Chatillion, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance:
Return the precedent to these lords again,
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the Sacrament;
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

Sal.
Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
Yet believe me, Prince, Oh, it grieves my soul,
That I must draw this metal from my side,
To be a widow-maker:* ^note

But such is the infection of the time,
That, for the health and physick of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice—I must withdraw, and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause.

Lewis.
A noble temper dost thou shew in this;
And great affection, wrestling in thy bosom,
Doth make an earthquake of Nobility.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity,
As Lewis himself; so, Nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. Enter Pandulph.
Look, where the holy Legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of Heav'n,
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pand.
Hail, noble Prince of France!
The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy Church,
The great Metropolis and See of Rome.
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in shew.

Lewis.
Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back
I am too high-born to be propertied,
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire.
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out,
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with int'rest to this land:
Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart:
And come ye now, to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? what is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine:
And now it is half conquer'd, must I back,
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Pand.
You look but on the outside of this work.

Lewis.
I care not, I will not return. [Trumpet sounds. A Call.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc.
According to the fair play of the world,
Let me have audience: I am sent to speak,
My holy lord of Milan, from the King:
I come to learn how you have dealt for him:
And as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand.
The Dauphin is too wilful opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties:
He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms.

Faulc.
By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
The youth says well. Now hear our English King;
For thus his Royalty doth speak in me* ^note:
He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should.
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd mask, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sawciness and boyish troops,
The King doth smile at; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand which had the strength, ev'n at your door,
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No; know the gallant Monarch is in arms;
And like an Eagle o'er his aiery tow'rs,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
And you degen'rate, you ingrate revolts,

You bloody Nero's, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame.

Lewis.
We grant, thou canst out-scold us; fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a babler.

Pand.
Give me leave to speak.

Faulc.
No, I will speak.

Lewis.
We will attend to neither:
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our int'rest, and our being here.

Faulc.
Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten; do but start
And echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And ev'n at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverb'rate all as loud as thine.
Sound but another, and another shall
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder. For at hand
(Not trusting to this halting Legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need)
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd Death; whose office is, this day,
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

Lewis.
Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

Faulc.
And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to a Field of Battle. Alarms. Enter King John and Hubert.

K. John.
How goes the day with us? oh, tell me, Hubert.

Hub.
Badly, I fear: how fares your Majesty?

K. John.
This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
Lyes heavy on me; oh, my heart is sick! Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
My lord, your valiant kinsman Faulconbridge
Desires your Majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me which way you go.

K. John.
Tell him, tow'rd Swinstead, to the Abbey there.

Mes.
Be of good comfort: for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd, three nights ago, on Goodwin sands.
This news was brought to Richard but ev'n now;
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John.
Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on tow'rd Swinstead; to my litter strait;
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to the French Camp. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot.

Sal.
I did not think the King so stor'd with friends.

Pemb.
Up once again; put spirit in the French:
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal.
That mis-begotten devil Faulconbridge,
In spight of spight, alone upholds the day.

Pemb.
They say, King John, sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Chatillion wounded, and led by two Soldiers.

Chat.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.

Pemb.
It is the Count Chatillion.

Chat.
Fly, noble English, ye are bought and sold;
Untread the rude way of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John, and fall before his feet:
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompence the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at St. Edmondsbury;
Ev'n on that altar, where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal.
May this be possible! may this be true!

Chat.
Have I not hideous death within my view?
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away, ev'n as a form of wax
Resolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
I say again, if Lewis win the day,

He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day-break in the east.
But ev'n this night,
Ev'n this ill night, your breathing shall expire.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King:
The love of him, and this respect besides,
(For that my grandsire was an Englishman)
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence,
From forth the noise and rumour of the field:
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts,
In peace; and part this body and my soul,
With contemplation, and devout desires.

Sal.
We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul,
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Calmly run on in due obedience,
Ev'n to our ocean, to our great King John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence:
For I do see the cruel pangs of death,
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends. [Exeunt, leading off Chatilion. Scene SCENE, an open Place, in the Neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey. Enter Faulconbridge, and Hubert, severally.* ^note

Hub.
Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly.

Faulc.
A friend. What art thou?

Hub.
Of the part of England.

Faulc.
Hubert, I think.

Hub.
Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Faulc.
Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

Hub.
O my sweet Sir, news fitting to the night;
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Faulc.
Shew me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub.
The King, I fear, is poison'd by a Monk:
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
T' acquaint you with this evil.

Faulc.
How did he take it? who did taste to him?

Hub.
A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out; the King
Yet speaks; and peradventure may recover.

Faulc.
Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?

Hub.
Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majesty.

Faulc.
With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n!
And tempt us not to bear above our power.
Away, before: conduct me to the King;
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to the Orchard in Swinstead Abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Essex.

Henry.
It is too late; the life of all his blood,
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain,
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretel the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke.

Pemb.
His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief,
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

Henry.
Let him be brought into the orchard here.
Doth he still rage?

Pemb.
He is more patient,
Than when you left him; even now he sung.

King John brought in.

K. John.
Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room* ^note;
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

Henry.
How fares your Majesty?

K. John.
Poison'd, ill fare! dead, forsook, cast off;
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom: nor intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I ask not much:
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ungrateful, you deny me that.

Henry.
Oh, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!

K. John.
The salt of them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood. Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc.
Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your Majesty.

K. John.
Oh! cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd;
And then all this thou seest, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Faulc.
The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where, heav'n he knows, how we shall answer him.

For, in a night, the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes, all unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies.

Sal.
You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear;
My Liege! my Lord!—but now a King—now thus!

Faulc.
Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge:
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.

Henry.
At Worcester must his body be interr'd,
For so he will'd it.

Faulc.
Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services,
And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal.
And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

Henry.
I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Faulc.
Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe.
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror.
Now these her Princes are come home again,* ^note
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them!—Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt omnes.† ^note The End of King John.

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