The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 247

AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP. I am perplex'd and know not what to say.

PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more, If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?

KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me how you would bestow yourself.

This royal hand and mine are newly knit, And the conjunction of our inward souls Married in league, coupled and link'd together With all religious strength of sacred vows; The latest breath that gave the sound of words Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, Between our kingdoms and our royal selves; And even before this truce, but new before, No longer than we well could wash our hands, To clap this royal bargain up of peace, Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint The fearful difference of incensed kings.

And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?

Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, Make such unconstant children of ourselves, As now again to s.n.a.t.c.h our palm from palm, Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed Of smiling peace to march a b.l.o.o.d.y host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity? O, holy sir, My reverend father, let it not be so!

Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose, Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless, Save what is opposite to England's love.

Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church, Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse- A mother's curse-on her revolting son.

France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, A chafed lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

PANDULPH. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; And like. a civil war set'st oath to oath.

Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd, That is, to be the champion of our Church.

What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself And may not be performed by thyself, For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss Is not amiss when it is truly done; And being not done, where doing tends to ill, The truth is then most done not doing it; The better act of purposes mistook Is to mistake again; though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.

It is religion that doth make vows kept; But thou hast sworn against religion By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st, And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure To swear swears only not to be forsworn; Else what a mockery should it be to swear!

But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.

Therefore thy later vows against thy first Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; And better conquest never canst thou make Than arm thy constant and thy n.o.bler parts Against these giddy loose suggestions; Upon which better part our pray'rs come in, If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know The peril of our curses fight on thee So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off, But in despair die under the black weight.

AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion!

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Will't not be?

Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?

LEWIS. Father, to arms!

BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day?

Against the blood that thou hast married?

What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?

Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, Clamours of h.e.l.l, be measures to our pomp?

O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name, Which till this time my tongue did ne'er p.r.o.nounce, Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle.

CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom Forethought by heaven!

BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!

LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on.

PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.

KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.

CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish'd majesty!

ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!

KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald s.e.xton Time, Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue.

BLANCH. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu!

Which is the side that I must go withal?

I am with both: each army hath a hand; And in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl asunder and dismember me.

Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win; Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive.

Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose: a.s.sured loss before the match be play'd.

LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.

BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.

KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.

Exit b.a.s.t.a.r.d France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath, A rage whose heat hath this condition That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France.

KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.

Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie!

Exeunt severally

SCENE 2.

France. Plains near Angiers

Alarums, excursions. Enter the b.a.s.t.a.r.d with AUSTRIA'S head

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; Some airy devil hovers in the sky And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, While Philip breathes.

Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT

KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up: My mother is a.s.sailed in our tent, And ta'en, I fear.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. My lord, I rescued her; Her Highness is in safety, fear you not; But on, my liege, for very little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

France. Plains near Angiers

Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, HUBERT, and LORDS

KING JOHN. [To ELINOR] So shall it be; your Grace shall stay behind, So strongly guarded. [To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad; Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was.

ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief!

KING JOHN. [To the b.a.s.t.a.r.d] Cousin, away for England! haste before, And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of h.o.a.rding abbots; imprisoned angels Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon.

Use our commission in his utmost force.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.

I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray, If ever I remember to be holy, For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand.

ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin.

KING JOHN. Coz, farewell.

Exit b.a.s.t.a.r.d ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love; And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.

Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say- But I will fit it with some better time.

By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee.

HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty.

KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet, But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to say-but let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton and too full of gawds To give me audience. If the midnight bell Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth Sound on into the drowsy race of night; If this same were a churchyard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick, Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A pa.s.sion hateful to my purposes; Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, Hear me without thine cars, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words- Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.

But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By heaven, I would do it.

KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way; And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?

Thou art his keeper.

HUBERT. And I'll keep him so That he shall not offend your Majesty.

KING JOHN. Death.

HUBERT. My lord?