And even there, methinks, an angel spake!^{9 note}
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 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 property'd,
To be a secondary at controul;
Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any sovereign State throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war,
Between this chastis'd Kingdom and myself;
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 easy match, play'd 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 glorify'd,
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?

Previous section

Next section