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.

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