King JOHN.
Now say, Chattilion, what would France with us?

Chat.
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
In my Behaviour to the Majesty,
The borrow'd Majesty of England here.

Eli.
A strange Beginning; borrow'd Majesty!

K. John.
Silence, good Mother, hear the Embassie.

Chat.
Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased Brother Geffrey's Son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful Claim
To this fair Island, and the Territories:
To Ireland, Poyctiers, Anjou, Touaine, Maine,

Desiring thee to lay aside the Sword
Which sways usurpingly these several Titles,
And put the same into young Arthur's Hand,
Thy Nephew, and right Royal Soveraign.

K. John.
What follows, if we disallow of this?

Chat.
The proud Control of fierce and bloody War,
To inforce these Rights so forcibly with-held.

K. John.
Here have we War for War, and Blood for Blood,
Controlment for Controlment; so answer France.

Chat.
Then take my King's Defiance from my Mouth,
The farthest limit of my Embassie.

K. John.
Bear mine to him, and so depart in Peace.
Be thou as Lightning in the Eyes of France;
For e'er thou canst report, I will be there,
The Thunder of my Cannon shall be heard.
So hence; be thou the Trumpet of our Wrath,
And sullen Presage of your own decay:
An honourable Conduct let him have,
Pembroke look to't; farewel Chattilion. [Exit Chat. and Pem.

Eli.
What now, my Son, have I not ever said
How that ambitious Constance would not cease
'Till she had kindled France and all the World,
Upon the Right and Party of her Son?
This might have been prevented, and made whole
With very easie Arguments of Love,
Which now the Manage of two Kingdoms must
With fearful bloody Issue arbitrate.

K. John.
Our strong Possession and our Right for us.

Eli.
Your strong Possession much more than your Right,
Or else it must go wrong with you and me,
So much my Conscience whispers in your Ear,
Which none but Heav'n, and you and I shall hear.

Essex.
My Liege, here is the strangest Controversie
Come from the Country to be judg'd by you
That e'er I heard, shall I produce the Men?

K. John.
Let them approach:
Our Abbies and our Priories shall pay
This Expedition's Charge. What Men are you? Enter Robert Faulconbridge and the Bastard.

Bast.
Your faithful Subject, I, a Gentleman,
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest Son,

As I suppose, to Faulconbridge,
A Soldier, by the Honour-giving-hand
Of Cordelion, Knighted in the Field.

K. John.
What art thou?

Robert.
The Son and Heir to that same Faulconbridge.

K. John.
Is that the Elder, and art thou the Heir?
You came not of one Mother then it seems?

Bast.
Most certain of one Mother, mighty King,
That is well known, and, as I think, one Father:
But for the certain Knowledge of that Truth,
I put you o'er to Heav'n, and to my Mother;
Of that I doubt, as all Mens Children may.

Eli.
Out on thee, rude Man, thou dost shame thy Mother,
And wound her Honour with this diffidence.

Bast.
I, Madam? No: I have no Reason for it;
That is my Brother's Plea, and none of mine,
The which if he can prove, a pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a Year:
Heav'n guard my Mother's Honour, and my Land.

K. John.
A good blunt Fellow; why being younger Born,
Doth he lay claim to thine Inheritance?

Bast.
I know not why, except to get the Land;
But once he slander'd me with Bastardy:
But whether I be as true begot or no,
That still I lay upon my Mother's Head,
But that I am as well begot, my Liege,
Fair fall the Bones that took the Pains for me,
Compare our Faces, and be judge your self.
If old Sir Robert did beget us both,
And were our Father, and this Son like him:
O old Sir Robert Father, on my Knee
I give Heav'n thanks I was not like to thee.

K. John.
Why what a mad-cap hath Heav'n lent us here?

Eli.
He hath a trick of Cordelion's Face,
The accent of his Tongue affecteth him:
Do you not read some Tokens of my Son
In the large Composition of this Man?

K. John.
Mine Eye hath well examined his Parts,
And finds them perfect Richard: Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your Brother's Land?

Bast.
Because he hath a half-face, like my Father,
With half that Face would he have all my Land,
A half-fac'd Groat, five hundred Pound a Year?

Rob.
My gracious Liege, when that my Father liv'd,
Your Brother did imploy my Father much—

Bast.
Well, Sir, by this you cannot get my Land,
Your Tale must be how he imploy'd my Mother.

Rob.
And once dispatch'd him in an Embassie
To Germany, there with the Emperor
To treat of high Affairs touching that time:
Th' Advantage of his Absence took the King,
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my Father's;
Where, how he did prevail, I shame to speak:
But truth is truth, large lengths of Seas and Shores
Between my Father and my Mother lay,
As I have heard my Father speak himself,
When this same lusty Gentleman was got.
Upon his Death-bed he by Will bequeath'd
His Lands to me, and took it on his Death
That this my Mother's Son was none of his;
And if he were, he came into the World
Full fourteen Weeks before the Course of time:
Then good my Liege, let me have what is mine,
My Father's Land, as was my Father's Will.

K. John.
Sirrah, your Brother is Legitimate,
Your Father's Wife did after Wedlock bear him:
And if she did play false, the Fault was hers,
Which Fault lyes on the hazards of all Husbands
That marry Wives. Tell me, how if my Brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this Son,
Had of your Father claim'd this Son for his,
In sooth, good Friend, your Father might have kept
This Calf, bred from his Cow, from all the World:
In sooth he might; then if he were my Brother's,
My Brother might not claim him; nor your Father,
Being none of his, refuse him; this concludes,
My Mother's Son did get your Father's Heir,
Your Father's Heir must have your Father's Land.

Rob.
Shall then my Father's Will be of no force
To dispossess that Child which is not his?

Bast.
Of no more force to dispossess me, Sir,
Than was his Will to get me, as I think.

Eli.
Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,
And, like thy Brother, to enjoy thy Land:
Or the reputed Son of Cordelion,
Lord of thy Presence, and no Land beside?

Bast.
Madam, and if my Brother had my Shape,
And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him,
And if my Legs were two such riding Rods,
My Arms such Eel-skins stuft, my Face so thin,
That in mine Ear I durst not stick a Rose,
Lest Men should say, look where three Farthings goes,
And to his Shape were Heir to all this Land,
Would I might never stir from off this Place,
I would give it every Foot to have this Face:
I would not be Sir Nobbe in any case.

Eli.
I like thee well; wilt thou forsake thy Fortune,
Bequeath thy Land to him, and follow me?
am a Soldier, and now bound to France.

Bast.
Brother, take you my Land, I'll take my Chance;
Your Face hath got five hundred Pound a Year,
Yet sell your Face for five Pence, and 'tis dear.
Madam, I'll follow you unto the Death.

Eli.
Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

Bast.
Our Country manners give our Betters way.

K. John.
What is thy Name?

Bast.
Philip, my Liege, so is my Name begun,
Philip, good old Sir Robert's Wife's eldest Son.

K. John.
From henceforth bear his Name
Whose Form thou bearest:
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.

Bast.
Brother by th'Mother's side, give me your Hand,
My Father gave me Honour, yours gave Land.
Now blessed be the Hour, by Night or Day,
When I was got, Sir Robert was away.

Eli.
The very Spirit of Plantagenet:
I am thy Grandam, Richard, call me so.

Bast.
Madam, by chance, but not by truth, what tho';
Something about, a little from the right,
In at the Window, or else o'er the Hatch:

Who dares not stir by Day, must walk by Night,
And have is have, however Men do catch:
Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

K. John.
Go, Faulconbridge, now hast thou thy desire,
A Landless Knight, makes thee a Landed Squire:
Come Madam, and come Richard, we must speed
For France, for France, for it is more than need.

Bast.
Brother, adieu, good Fortune come to thee,
For thou wast got i'th' way of honesty. [Ex. all but Bastard.
A Foot of Honour better than I was,
But many a many Foot of Land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a Lady;
Good-denn, Sir Richard, Godamercy Fellow,
And if his Name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new made Honour doth forget Mens Names:
'Tis too respective, and too sociable
For your Conversion, now your Traveller,
He and his Tooth-pick, at my Worship's Mess,
And when my Knightly Stomach is suffic'd,
Why then I suck my Teeth, and Catechise
My picked Man of Countrys: My Dear Sir,
Thus leaning on mine Elbow I begin,
I shall beseech you; that is Question now,
And then comes Answer like an Absey-Book:
O Sir, says Answer, at your best Command,
At your Employment, at your Service, Sir:
No, Sir, says Question, I sweet, Sir, at yours,
And so e'er Answer knows what Question would,
Saving in Dialogue of Compliment,
And talking of the Alpes and Appenines,
The Pyrennean and the River Po,
It draws towards Supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful Society,
And fits the mounting Spirit like my self;
For he is but a Bastard to the time
That doth not smoak of Observation,
And so am I whether I smack or no;
And not alone in Habit and Device,
Exterior Form, outward Accoutrement;
But from the inward Motion to deliver

Sweet, sweet, sweet Poison for the Ages Tooth,
Which though I will not practice to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the Footsteps of my Rising:
But who comes in such haste in riding Robes?
What Woman-post is this? Hath she no Husband
That will take Pains to blow a Horn before her,
O me, 'tis my Mother; how now, good Lady?
What brings you here to Court so hastily? Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney.

Lady.
Where is that Slave, thy Brother? Where is he?
That holds in chase mine Honour up and down.

Bast.
My Brother Robert, old Sir Robert's Son,
Colbrand the Giant, that same mighty Man,
Is it Sir Robert's Son that you seek so?

Lady.
Sir Robert's Son! ay, thou unreverend Boy,
Sir Robert's Son, why scornest thou at Sir Robert?
He is Sir Robert's Son, and so art thou.

Bast.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while?

Gur.
Good leave, good Philip.

Bast.
Philip, Sparrow, James,
There's Toys abroad, anon I'll tell thee more. [Exit James.
Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's Son,
Sir Robert might have eat his Part in me
Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his Fast:
Sir Robert could do well, marry, to confess!
Could get me! Sir Robert could not do it;
We know his Handy-work, therefore good Mother
To whom am I beholding for these Limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this Leg.

Lady.
Hast thou conspir'd with thy Brother too,
That for thine own gain should'st defend mine Honour?
What means this Scorn, thou most untoward Knave?

Bast.
Knight, Knight, good Mother, Basilisco-like.
What, I am dub'd, I have it on my Shoulder:
But Mother, I am not Sir Robert's Son,
I have disclam'd Sir Robert and my Land,
Legitimation, Name, and all is gone;
Then, good my Mother, let me know my Father,
Some proper Man, I hope; who was it, Mother?

Lady.
Hast thou deny'd thy self a Faulconbridge?

Bast.
As faithfully as I deny the Devil.

Lady.
King Richard Cordelion was thy Father;
By long and vehement Suit I was seduc'd
To make room for him in my Husband's Bed.
Heav'n lay not my Transgression to my charge;
Thou art the Issue of my dear Offence,
Which was so strongly urg'd past my Defence.

Bast.
Now, by this Light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better Father.
Some Sins do bear their Privilege on Earth,
And so doth yours; your Fault was not your Folly;
Needs must you lay your Heart at his Dispose,
Subjected Tribute to commanding Love,
Against whose Fury and unmatched Force,
The awless Lyon could not wage the Fight,
Nor keep his princely Heart from Richard's Hands.
He that per Force robs Lyons of their Hearts,
May easily win a Woman's; ay, my Mother,
With all my Heart I thank thee for my Father.
Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll send his Soul to Hell.
Come, Lady, I will shew thee to my Kin,
And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been Sin;
Who says it was, he lyes; I say 'twas not. [Exeunt. SCENE II. SCENE, before the Walls of Angiers. Enter Philip King of France, Lewis the Dauphin, Austria, Constance, and Arthur.

Lewis.
Before Angiers, well met brave Austria,
Arthur, that great Fore-runner of thy Blood,
Richard that robb'd the Lion of his Heart,
And fought the holy Wars in Palestine,
By this brave Duke came early to his Grave;
And for amends to his Posterity,
At our Importance hither is he come,
To spread his Colours, Boy, in thy behalf;

And to rebuke the Usurpation
Of thy unnatural Uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

Arth.
God shall forgive you Cordelion's Death,
The rather that you give his Offspring Life,
Shadowing their Right under your Wings of War;
I give you welcome with a powerless Hand,
But with a Heart full of unstained Love,
Welcome before the Gates of Angiers, Duke.

Lewis.
A noble Boy, who would not do thee right?

Aust.
Upon thy Cheek lay I this zealous Kiss,
As Seal to this Indenture of my Love;
That to my home I will no more return,
'Till Angiers, and the Right thou hast in France;
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd Shore,
Whose Foot spurns back the Ocean's roaring Tides,
And coops from other Lands her Islanders,
Even 'till that England, hedg'd in with the Main,
That water-walled Bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign Purposes,
Even 'till that outmost Corner of the West
Salute thee for her King; 'till then, fair Boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow Arms.

Const.
O take his Mother's Thanks, a Widow's Thanks,
'Till your strong Hand shall help to give him Strength,
To make a more Requital to your Love.

Aust.
The Peace of Heav'n is theirs, who lift their Swords
In such a just and charitable War.

K. Philip.
Well, then, to work, our Cannon shall be bent
Against the Brows of this resisting Town;
Call for our chiefest Men of Discipline,
To cull the Plots of best Advantages.
We'll lay before this Town our Royal Bones,
Wade to the Market-Place in Frenchmens Blood,
But we will make it subject to this Boy.

Const.
Stay for an Answer to your Embassie,
Lest unadvis'd you stain your Swords with Blood.
My Lord Chattilion may from England bring
That Right in Peace which here we urge in War,
And then we shall repent each Drop of Blood,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter Chattilion.

K. Philip.
A Wonder, Lady! lo! upon thy Wish
Our Messenger Chattilion, is arriv'd;
What England, says, say briefly, gentle Lord,
We coldly pause for thee. Chattilion speak.

Chat.
Then turn your Forces from this paultry Siege,
And stir them up against a mightier Task.
England, impatient of your just Demands,
Hath put himself in Arms, the adverse Winds,
Whose Leisure I have staid, have given him time
To land his Legions all as soon as I.
His Marches are expedient to this Town,
His Forces strong, his Soldiers confident.
With him along is come the Mother-Queen;
An Ate stirring him to Blood and Strife.
With her her Neice, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a Bastard of the King deceas'd,
And all th' unsettled Humours of the Land;
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery Volunteers,
With Ladies Faces, and fierce Dragons Spleens,
Have sold their Fortunes at their native Homes,
Bearing their Birthright proudly on their Backs,
To make a Hazard of new Fortunes here;
In brief, a braver Choice of dauntless Spirits
Than now the English Bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the swelling Tide,
To do offence and scathe in Christendom.
The Interruption of their churlish Drums
Cuts off more Circumstance; they are at Hand, [Drums beat.
To parly or to fight, therefore prepare.

K. Philip.
How much unlook'd for is this Expedition

Aust.
By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake, endeavour for Defence,
For Courage mounteth with Occasion:
Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter King of England, Bastard, Elinor, Blanch, Pembroke, and others.

K. John.
Peace be to France, if France in Peace permit
Our just and lineal Entrance to our own;
If not, bleed France, and Peace ascend to Heav'n.

Whilst we, God's wrathful Agent, do correct
Their proud Contempt that beats his Peace to Heav'n.

K. Philip.
Peace be to England, if that War return
From France to England, there to live in Peace.
England we love, and for that England's sake
With burthen of our Armour here we sweat;
This Toil of ours should be a Work of thine;
But thou from loving England art so far,
That thou hast under-wrought its lawful King,
Cut off the Sequence of Posterity,
Out-faced Infant State, and done a Rape
Upon the Maiden-Virtue of the Crown.
Look here upon thy Brother Geffrey's Face,
These Eyes, these Brows, were moulded out of his;
This little Abstract doth contain that large
Which dy'd in Geffrey; and the Hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as large a Volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder Brother born,
And this his Son, England was Geffrey's Right,
And this is Geffrey's; in the Name of God,
How comes it then that thou art call'd a King,
When living Blood doth in these Temples beat,
Which owe the Crown that thou o'er-masterest?

K. John.
From whom hast thou this great Commission
To draw my Answer from thy Articles?

K. Phil.
From that supernal Judge that stirs good Thoughts
In any Breast of strong Authority,
To look into the Blots and Stains of Right,
That Judge hath made me Guardian to this Boy,
Under whose Warrant I impeach thy Wrong,
And by whose Help I mean to chastise it.

K. John.
Alack, thou dost usurp Authority.

K. Philip.
Excuse it is to beat usurping down.

Eli.
Who is it that thou dost call Usurper, France?

Const.
Let me make Answer: Thy usurping Son.

Eli.
Out Insolent, thy Bastard shall be King,
That thou may'st be a Queen, and check the World!

Const.
My Bed was ever to thy Son as true,
As thine was to thy Husband, and this Boy,
Liker in Feature to his Father Geffrey,
Than thou and John, in Manners being as like

As Rain to Water, or Devil to his Dam.
My Boy a Bastard! By my Soul I think
His Father never was so true begot;
It cannot be, and if thou wert his Mother.

Eli.
There's a good Mother, Boy, that blots thy Father.

Const.
There's a good Grandam, Boy,
That would blot thee.

Aust.
Peace.

Bast.
Hear the Crier.

Aust.
What the Devil art thou?

Bast.
One that will play the Devil, Sir, with you,
And a may catch your Hide and you alone.
You are the Hare, of whom the Proverb goes,
Whose Valour plucks dead Lions by the Beard,
I'll smoak your Skin-Coat, and I catch you right;
Sirrah, look to't, i'faith I will, i'faith.

Blanch.
O well did he become that Lion's Robe,
That did disrobe the Lion of that Robe.

Bast.
It lyes as sightly on the Back of him,
As great Alcide's Shoes upon an Ass;
But, Ass, I'll take that Burthen from your Back,
Or lay on that shall make your Shoulders crack.

Aust.
What Cracker is this same that deafs our Ears
With this abundance of superfluous Breath?
King Lewis, determine what we shall do streight.

Lewis.
Women and Fools break off your Conference.
King John, this is the very Sum of all;
England, and Ireland, Angiers, Tourain, Main,
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee:
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy Arms?

K. John.
My Life as soon. I do defie thee, France.
Arthur of Britain, yield thee to my Hand,
And out of my dear Love I'll give thee more,
Than e'er the Coward-Hand of France can win;
Submit thee, Boy.

Eli.
Come to thy Grandam, Child.

Const.
Do, Child, go to it Grandam, Child,
Give Grandam Kingdom, and it Grandam will
Give it a Plum, a Cherry and a Fig,
There's a good Grandam.

Arth.
Good my Mother, Peace,

I would that I were low laid in my Grave,
I am not worth this Coil that's made for me.

Eli.
His Mother shames him so, poor Boy he weeps.

Const.
Now shame upon you where she does or no.
His Grandam's Wrong, and not his Mother's Shames,
Draws those Heav'n-moving Pearls from his poor Eyes,
Which Heav'n shall take in nature of a Fee;
Ay, with these sad Chrystal Beads Heav'n shall be brib'd
To do him Justice, and Revenge on you.

Eli.
Thou monstrous Slanderer of Heav'n and Earth.

Const.
Thou monstrous Injurer of Heav'n and Earth,
Call me not Slanderer; thou and thine usurp
The Domination, Royalties and Rights
Of this oppressed Boy; this is thy eldest Son's Son,
Infortunate in nothing but in thee;
Thy Sins are visited in this poor Child,
The Canon of the Law is laid on him,
Being but the second Generation
Removed from thy sin-conceiving Womb.

K. John.
Bedlam have done.

Const.
I have but this to say,
That he is not only plagued for her Sin,
But God hath made her Sin and her, the Plague
On this removed Issue, plagu'd for her,
And with her Plague her Sin; his Injury
Her Injury, the Beadle to her Sin,
All punish'd in the Person of this Child,
And all for her; a Plague upon her.

Eli.
Thou unadvised Scold, I can produce
A Will that bars the Title of thy Son.

Const.
Ay, who doubts that? a Will; a wicked Will;
A Woman's Will; a canker'd Grandam's Will.

K. Philip.
Peace Lady, pause, or be more temperate;
It ill beseems this Presence to cry ay me
To these ill turned Repetitions.
Some Trumpet summon hither to the Walls
These Men of Angiers; let us hear them speak,
Whose Title they admit, Arthur's or John's [Trumpet sounds. Enter a Citizen upon the Walls.

Citi.
Who is it that hath warn'd us to the Walls?

K. Philip.
'Tis France for England.

K. John.
England for it self;
You Men of Angiers, and my loving Subjects.—

K. Philip.
You loving Men of Angiers, Arthur's Subjects)
Our Trumpet call'd you to this gentle Parle—

K. John.
For our Advantage; therefore hear us first;
These Flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the Eye and Prospect of your Town,
Have hither march'd to your Endamagement.
The Cannons have their Bowels full of Wrath;
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their Iron Indignation 'gainst your Walls:
All Preparation for a bloody Siege,
And merciless Proceeding, by these French,
Confront your Cities Eyes, your winking Gates;
And but for our Approach, those sleeping Stones,
That as a Waste do girdle you about,
By the Compulsion of their Ordinance
By this time from their fixed Beds of Lime
Had been dishabited, and wide Havock made
For bloody Power to rush upon your Peace.
But on the Sight of us your lawful King,
Who painfully with much expedient March,
Have brought a counter-check before your Gates,
To save unscratch'd your Cities threatned Cheeks:
Behold the French amaz'd vouchsafe a Parle;
And now instead of Bullets wrap'd in Fire,
To make a shaking Feaver in your Walls,
They shoot but calm Words, folded up in Smoak,
To make a faithless Error in your Ears;
Which trust accordingly, kind Citizens,
And let us in. Your King, whose labour'd Spirits
Fore-weary'd in this Action of swift Speed,
Craves Harbourage within your City Walls.

K. Philip.
When I have said, make Answer to us both.
Loe in this right Hand, whose Protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son to the elder Brother of this Man,
And King o'er him, and all that he enjoys:
For this down-trodden Equity, we tread

In warlick March, these Greens before your Town,
Being no further Enemy to you
Than the constraint of Hospitable Zeal,
In the relief of this oppressed Child,
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that Duty which you truly owe,
To him that owes it, namely, this young Prince;
And then our Arms, like to a muzzled Bear,
Save in Aspect, hath all Offence seal'd up:
Our Cannons Malice vainly shall be spent
Against th' invulnerable Clouds of Heav'n;
And with a blessed, and un-vext retire,
With unhack'd Swords, and Helmets all unbruis'd,
We will bear home that lusty Blood again,
Which here we came to spout against your Town,
And leave your Children, Wives, and you in Peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd Offer,
'Tis not the Rounder of your old-fac'd Walls
Can hide you from our Messengers of War;
Though all these English, and their Discipline,
Were harbour'd in their rude Circumference:
Then tell us, shall your City call us Lord,
In that behalf which we have clalleng'd it?
Or shall we give the Signal to our Rage,
And stalk in Blood to our Possession?

Citi.
In brief, we are the King of England's Subjects,
For him, and in his Right, we hold this Town.

K. John.
Acknowledge then the King, and let me in,

Citi.
That can we not; but he that proves the King,
To him will we prove Loyal; 'till that time
Have we ramm'd up our Gates against the World.

K. John.
Doth not the Crown of England prove the King?
And if not that, I bring you Witnesses,
Twice fifteen thousand Hearts of England's Breed—

Bast.
Bastards, and else.

K. John.
To verifie our Title with their Lives.

K. Philip.
As many, and as well born Bloods as those—

Bast.
Some Bastards too.

K. Philip.
Stand in his Face to contradict his Claim.

Citi.
'Till you compound whose Right is worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the Right from both.

K. John.
Then God forgive the Sin of all those Souls,
That to their everlasting Residence,
Before the Dew of Evening fall, shall fleet
In dreadful Trial of our Kingdom's King.

K. Philip.
Amen, Amen. Mount Chevaliers to Arms.

Bast.
Saint George that swing'd the Dragon,
And e'er since sits on's Horseback at mine Hostess Door,
Teach us some Fence. Sirrah, were I at home
At your Den, Sirrah, with your Lioness,
I would set an Ox-Head to your Lion's Hide,
And make a Monster of you.

Aust.
Peace, no more.

Bast.
O tremble; for you hear the Lion roar.

K. John.
Up higher to the Plain, where we'll set forth,
In best Appointment, all our Regiments.

Bast.
Speed then to take Advantage of the Field.

K. Philip.
It shall be so; and at the other Hill
Command the rest to stand. God and our right. [Exeunt. Here, after Excursions, enter the Herald of France with Trumpets to the Gates.

F. Her.
You Men of Angiers, open wide your Gates,
And let young Arthur, Duke of Britain, in;
Who by the Hand of France, this Day hath made
Much Work for Tears in many an English Mother,
Whose Sons lye scatter'd on the bleeding Ground:
Many a Widow's Husband groveling lyes,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd Earth,
And Victory with little Loss doth play
Upon the dancing Banners of the French,
Who are at hand triumphantly display'd
To enter Conquerors; and to proclaim
Arthur of Britain, England's King, and yours. Enter English Herald with Trumpet.

E. Her.
Rejoyce, you Men of Angiers; ring your Bells;
King John, your King, and England's, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious Day.
Their Armours, that march'd hence so Silver bright,
Hither return all gilt in Frenchmens Blood.
There stuck no Plume in any English Crest,
That is removed by a Staff of France.
Our Colours do return in those same Hands

That did display them when we first march'd orth;
And like a jolly Troop of Huntsmen come
Our lusty English, all with purpled Hands,
Dy'd in the dying Slaughter of their Foes.
Open your Gates, and give the Victors Way.

Citi.
Heralds, from off our Towers we might behold
From first to last, the Onset and Retire
Of both your Armies, whose Equality
By our best Eyes cannot be censured;
Blood hath bought Blood, and Blows have answer'd Blows;
Strength match'd with Strength, and Power confronted Power.
Both are alike, and both alike we like;
One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,
We hold our Town for neither; yet for both. Enter the two Kings with their Powers at several Doors.

K. John.
France, hast thou yet more Blood to cast away?
Say, shall the Current of our Right run on;
Whose Passage, vext with thy Impediment,
Shall leave his native Channel, and o'er-swell,
With Course disturb'd, even thy confining Shores;
Unless thou let his Silver Water keep
A peaceful Progress to the Ocean.

K. Philip.
England, thou hast not sav'd one Drop of Blood
In this hot Trial, more than we of France;
Rather lost more. And by this Hand I swear,
That sways the Earth this Climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-born Arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these Arms we bear,
Or add a Royal Number to the dead;
Gracing the Scroul that tells of this War's loss,
With Slaughter coupled to the Name of Kings.

Bast.
Ha! Majesty; how high thy Glory towers,
When the rich Blood of Kings is set on Fire.
Oh now doth Death line his dead Chaps with Steel;
The Swords of Soldiers are his Teeth, his Phangs,
And now he feasts, mousing the Flesh of Men
In undetermin'd Differences of Kings.
Why stand these Royal Fronts amazed thus?
Cry Havock, Kings, back to the stained Field
You equal Potents, fiery kindled Spirits:

Then let Confusion of one Part confirm
The other's Peace; 'till then, Blows, Blood, and Death.

K. John.
Whose Party do the Townsmen yet admit?

K. Philip.
Speak Citizens, for England, who's your King?

Citi.
The King of England, when we know the King.

K. Philip.
Know him in us, that here hold up his Right.

K. John.
In us, that are our own great Deputy,
And bear Possession of our Person here,
Lord of our Presence, Angiers, and of you.

Citi.
A greater Power than we denies all this;
And 'till it be undoubted, we do look
Our former Scruple in our strong barr'd Gates:
Kings of our Fear, until our Fears resolv'd
Be by some certain King purg'd and depos'd.

Bast.
By Heav'n, these Scroyles of Angiers flout you Kings,
And stand securely on their Battlements,
As in a Theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious Scenes, and Acts of Death.
You Royal Presences be rul'd by me;
Do like the Mutines of Jerusalem,
Be Friends a while, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest Deeds of Malice on this Town.
By East and West let France and England mount
Their battering Cannon charged to the Mouths,
'Till their Soul-fearing Clamours have braul'd down
The flinty Ribs of this contemptuous City.
I'd play incessantly upon these Jades;
Even 'till unfenced Desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar Air:
That done, dissever your united Strengths,
And part your mingled Colours once again.
Turn Face to Face, and bloody Point to Point;
Then in a Moment Fortune shall cull forth,
Out of one Side, her happy Minion.
To whom in favour she shall give the Day,
And kiss him with a glorious Victory.
How like you this wild Counsel, mighty States;
Smacks it not something of the Policy?

K. John.
Now by the Sky that hangs above our Heads,
I like it well. France, shall we knit our Powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the Ground,

Then after fight who shall be King of it?

Bast.
And if thou hast the Mettle of a King,
Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish Town,
Turn thou the Mouth of thy Artillery,
As we will ours, against these saucy Walls;
And when that we have dash'd them to the Ground,
Why then defie each other, and pell-mell
Make work upon our selves for Heav'n or Hell.

K. Philip.
Let it be so; say, where will you assault?

K. John.
We from the West will send Destruction
Into this City's Bosom.

Aust.
I from the North.

K. Philip.
Our Thunder from the South,
Shall rain their Drift of Bullets on this Town.

Bast.
O prudent Discipline! From North to South;
Austria and France shoot in each others Mouth,
I'll stir them to it; come away, away.

Citi.
Hear us great Kings, vouchsafe a while to stay,
And I shall shew you Peace, and fair-fac'd League.
Win you this City without Stroak or Wound;
Rescue those breathing Lives to die in Beds,
That here come Sacrifices for the Field;
Persevere not, but hear me, mighty Kings.

K. John.
Speak on; with Favour we are bent to hear.

Citi.
That Daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
Is near to England, look upon the Years
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely Maid.
If lusty Love should go in quest of Beauty,
Where could he find it fairer, than in Blanch?
If zealous Love should go in search of Virtue,
Where could he find it purer than in Blanch?
If Love ambitious, sought a Match of Birth,
Whose Veins bound richer Blood than Lady Blanch?
Such as she is, in Beauty, Virtue, Birth,
Is the young Dauphin every way compleat;
If not compleat of, say he is not she;
And she again wants nothing, to name want,
If Want it be not, that she is not he.
He is the half Part of a blessed Man,
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided Excellence,

Whose fulness of Perfection lyes in him.
O two such Silver Currents, when they join,
Do glorifie the Banks that bound them in:
And two such Shores, to two such Streams made one,
Two such controlling Bounds shall you be, Kings,
To these two Princes, if you marry them:
This Union shall do more than Battery can,
To our fast closed Gates: For at this Match,
With swifter Spleen than Powder can enforce,
The Mouth of Passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance; but without this Match,
The Sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions more confident, Mountains and Rocks
More free from Motion, no not Death himself
In mortal Fury half so peremptory,
As we to keep this City.

Bast.
Here's a Stay,
That shakes the rotten Carkass of old Death
Out of his Rags. Here's a large Mouth indeed,
That spits forth Death, and Mountains, Rocks, and Seas,
Talks as familiarly of roaring Lions,
As Maids of thirteen do of Puppy-dogs.
What Cannoneer begot this lusty Blood,
He speaks plain Cannon fire, and smoak, and bounce,
He gives the Bastinado with his Tongue:
Our Ears are cudgel'd, not a Word of his
But buffets better than a Fist of France;
Zounds I was never so bethumpt with Words,
Since I first call'd my Brother's Father Dad.

Eli.
Son, list to this Conjunction, make this Match,
Give with our Neice a Dowry large enough;
For by this Knot, thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd Assurance to the Crown,
That yon green Boy shall have no Sun to ripe
The Bloom that promiseth a mighty Fruit:
I see a yielding in the Looks of France;
Mark how they whisper, urge them while their Souls
Are capable of this Ambition,
Lest Zeal now melted by the windy breath
Of soft Petitions, Pity and Remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.

Citi.
Why answer not the double Majesties,
This friendly Treaty of our threatned Town?

K. Philip.
Speak England first, that hath been forward first
To speak unto this City: What say you?

K. John.
If that the Dauphin there, thy Princely Son,
Can in this Book of Beauty read I love:
Her Dowry shall weigh equal with the Queen,
For Angiers, and fair Tourain, Main, Poyctiers,
And all that we upon this side the Sea,
Except this City now by us besieg'd,
Find liable to our Crown and Dignity,
Shall gild her Bridal Bed, and make her rich
In Titles, Honours, and Promotions;
And she in Beauty, Education, Blood,
Holds Hands with any Princess of the World.

K. Philip.
What say'st thou, Boy? Look in the Lady's Face.

Lewis.
I do, my Lord, and in her Eye I find
A Wonder, or a wondrous Miracle,
The Shadow of my self form'd in her Eye,
Which being but the Shadow of your Son,
Becomes a Son, and makes your Son a Shadow:
I do protest I never lov'd my self
'Till now, infixed I beheld my self,
Drawn in the flattering Table of her Eye. [Whispers with Blanch.

Bast.
Drawn in the flattering Table of her Eye,
Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her Brow,
And quarter'd in her Heart, he doth espie
Himself Love's Traitor; this is pity now,
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd there should be,
In such a Love, so vile a Lout as he.

Blanch.
My Uncle's Will in this respect is mine.
If he see ought in you that makes him like,
That any thing he sees which moves his liking
I can with ease translate it to my Will:
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my Love.
Further I will not flatter you my Lord,
That all I see in you is worthy Love,
Than this, that nothing do I see in you,
Though churlish Thoughts themselves should be your Judge,

That I can find, should merit any Hate.

K. John.
What say these young ones? What say you, my Niece?

Blanch.
That she is bound in Honour still to do
What you in Wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

K. John.
Speak then, Prince Dauphin, can you love this Lady?

Lewis.
Nay, ask me if I can refrain from Love,
For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John.
Then do I give Volquessen, Tourain, Main,
Poyctiers, and Anjou, these five Provinces
With her to thee, and this addition more,
Full thirty thousand Marks of English Coin.
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
Command thy Son and Daughter to join Hands.

K. Philip.
It likes us well; young Princes, close your Hands.

Aust.
And your Lips too, for I am well assur'd,
That I did so, when I was first assur'd,

K. Philip.
Now Citizens of Angiers ope your Gates,
Let in that amity which you have made,
For at Saint Marie's Chappel presently,
The Rites of Marriage shall be solemniz'd.
Is not the Lady Constance in this Troop?
I know she is not, for this Match made up,
Her presence would have interrupted much,
Where is she and her Son, tell me, who knows?

Lewis.
She is sad and passionate at you Highness Tent.

K. Philip.
And by my Faith, this League that we have made
Will give her Sadness very little cure:
Brother of England, how may we content
This Widow Lady? In her Right we came,
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.

K. John.
We will heal up all,
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britain
And Earl of Richmond, and this rich fair Town
We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Constance,
Some speedy Messenger bid her repair
To our Solemnity: I trust we shall,
If not fill up the Measure of her Will,
Yet in some measure satisfie her so,
That we shall stop her Exclamation.

Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd for, unprepared Pomp. [Ex. all but Bast.

Bast.
Mad World, mad Kings, mad Composition;
John, to stop Arthur's Title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;
And France, whose Armour Conscience buckled on,
Whom Zeal and Charity brought to the Field,
As God's own Soldier, rounded in the Ear
With that same Purpose-changer, that sly Devil,
That Broker, that still breaks the pate of Faith,
That daily Break-Vow, he that wins of all,
Of Kings, of Beggars, old Men, young Men, Maids,
Who having no external thing to lose,
But the word Maid, cheats the poor Maid of that,
That smooth-fac'd Gentleman, tickling Commodity,
Commodity, the Biass of the World,
The World, who of it self is poised well,
Made to run even, upon even Ground;
'Till this Advantage, this vile drawing Biass,
This sway of Motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent;
And this same Biass, this Commodity,
This Bawd, this Broker, that all changing-world,
Clapt on the outward Eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable War,
To a most base and vile concluded Peace.
And why rail I on this Commodity?
But for because he hath not wooed me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my Hand,
When his fair Angels would salute my Palm,
But for my Hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor Beggar, raileth on the Rich.
Well, whiles I am a Beggar, I will rail,
And say there is no Sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my Virtue then shall be,
To say there is no Vice, but Beggary,
Since Kings break Faith upon Commodity,
Gain be my Lord, for I will worship thee. [Exit.

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