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 ev'n 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 tryal, 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 by 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, mouthing the flesh of men
In undetermin'd diff'rences 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?

Cit.
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.

Cit.
A greater pow'r than we denies all this;
And 'till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates.* ^note

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 batt'ring 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?

K. John.
Now by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs,
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 sawcy 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.* ^note

Cit.
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.

Cit.
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 should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where should 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 lies 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 ^{a note}speed 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 so confident, mountains and rocks
So 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 carcass 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.

Cit.
Why answer not the double Majesties,
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd 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 a Queen.
For Angiers, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
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 wond'rous miracle,* ^note





I do protest I never lov'd my self
'Till now infixed I beheld my self,
Drawn in the flatt'ring table of her eye. [Whispering with Blanch.

Bast.
Drawn in the flatt'ring 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 neice?

Blanch.
That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom will 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, Touraine, Maine,
Poictiers, 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.* ^note




Now citizens of Angiers ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made:
For at Saint Mary'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's sad and passionate at your 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.

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