Lewis.
My lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance:
Return the president 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.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and un-urg'd faith
To your proceedings; yet believe me, Prince,
I am not glad that such a Sore of time
Should seek a plaister by contemn'd revolt;
And heal th' invet'rate canker of one wound,
By making many. Oh, it grieves my soul,
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker: oh, and there,
Where honourable rescue, and defence,
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury.
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, and confused wrong.
And is't not pity, oh my grieved friends!
That we, the sons and children of this Isle,
Were born to see so sad an hour as this,
Wherein we step after a stranger March(26) ^note

Lewis.
A noble temper dost thou shew in this,
And great affection, wrestling in thy bosom,
Doth make an earthquake of Nobility.
Oh, what a noble combat hast thou fought,

Between compulsion, and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation:
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This show'r, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd,
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heav'n
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm.
Commend these waters to those baby-eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune, other than at feasts,
Full-warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping.
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.
And even there, methinks, an angel spake!
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 threatning Colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a Lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lye 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,
To be a secondary at controul;

Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any soveraign State throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war,
Between this chastis'd Kingdom and my self;
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? what penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To under-prop this action? is't not I,
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my Claim are liable,
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le Roy! as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easie match, plaid for a Crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded Set?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

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

Lewis.
Outside or inside, I will not return,
Till my attempt so much be glorified,
As to my ample hope was promised,
Before I drew this gallant Head of war;
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook Conquest, and to win Renown
Ev'n in the jaws of danger, and of death. [Trumpet sounds.
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 Milain, 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 willfull-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:
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,(28) ^note

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;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;
To crouch in litter of your stable-planks,
To lye, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To herd with swine; to seek sweet safety out,
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake,
Ev'n at the crying of our nation's Crow,
Thinking his voice an armed English man;
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 annoiance 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.
For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their Thimbles into armed Gantlets change,
Their Needles to Lances, and their gentle Hearts
To fierce and bloody Inclination.

Lewis.
There end thy Brave, and turn thy face in peace;
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
An 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.

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