The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 252

ACT V. SCENE 1.

England. KING JOHN'S palace

Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants

KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory.

PANDULPH. [Gives back the crown] Take again From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French; And from his Holiness use all your power To stop their marches fore we are inflam'd.

Our discontented counties do revolt; Our people quarrel with obedience, Swearing allegiance and the love of soul To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.

This inundation of mistemp'red humour Rests by you only to be qualified.

Then pause not; for the present time's so sick That present med'cine must be minist'red Or overthrow incurable ensues.

PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope; But since you are a gentle convert.i.te, My tongue shall hush again this storm of war And make fair weather in your bl.u.s.t'ring land.

On this Ascension-day, remember well, Upon your oath of service to the Pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. Exit KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet Say that before Ascension-day at noon My crown I should give off? Even so I have.

I did suppose it should be on constraint; But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

Enter the b.a.s.t.a.r.d

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out But Dover Castle. London hath receiv'd, Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.

Your n.o.bles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again After they heard young Arthur was alive?

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. They found him dead, and cast into the streets, An empty casket, where the jewel of life By some d.a.m.n'd hand was robbed and ta'en away.

KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.

But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?

Be great in act, as you have been in thought; Let not the world see fear and sad distrust Govern the motion of a kingly eye.

Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviours from the great, Grow great by your example and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution.

Away, and glister like the G.o.d of war When he intendeth to become the field; Show boldness and aspiring confidence.

What, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there, and make him tremble there?

O, let it not be said! Forage, and run To meet displeasure farther from the doors And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me, And I have made a happy peace with him; And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers Led by the Dauphin.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. O inglorious league!

Shall we, upon the footing of our land, Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy, A c.o.c.k'red silken wanton, brave our fields And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, Mocking the air with colours idly spread, And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.

Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace; Or, if he do, let it at least be said They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Away, then, with good courage!

Yet, I know Our party may well meet a prouder foe. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury

Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers

LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out And keep it safe for our remembrance; Return the precedent 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.

SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.

And, n.o.ble Dauphin, albeit we swear A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince, I am not glad that such a sore of time Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, And heal the inveterate canker of one wound By making many. O, it grieves my soul That I must draw this metal from my side To be a widow-maker! O, 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 physic of our right, We cannot deal but with the very hand Of stern injustice and confused wrong.

And is't not pity, O 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 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up Her enemies' ranks-I must withdraw and weep Upon the spot of this enforced cause- To grace the gentry of a land remote And follow unacquainted colours here?

What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!

That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself And grapple thee unto a pagan sh.o.r.e, Where these two Christian armies might combine The blood of malice in a vein of league, And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LEWIS. A n.o.ble temper dost thou show in this; And great affections wrestling in thy bosom Doth make an earthquake of n.o.bility.

O, what a n.o.ble 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 heaven 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 of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.

Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep Into the purse of rich prosperity As Lewis himself. So, n.o.bles, 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 heaven And on our actions set the name of right With holy breath.

PANDULPH. Hail, n.o.ble 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 threat'ning colours now wind up And tame the savage spirit of wild war, That, like a lion fostered up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace And be no further harmful than in show.

LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back: I am too high-born to be propertied, To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man and instrument To any sovereign state throughout the world.

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 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 interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprise 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 underprop 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 roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?

Have I not here the best cards for the game To will this easy match, play'd for a crown?

And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?

No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

PANDULPH. 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 will renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

[Trumpet sounds]

What l.u.s.ty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, attended

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.

My holy lord of Milan, 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.

PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 masque and unadvised revel This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, 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, even 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 lie like p.a.w.ns lock'd up in chests and trunks, To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake Even at the crying of your nation's crow, Thinking this voice an armed Englishman- Shall that victorious hand be feebled here That in your chambers gave you chastis.e.m.e.nt?

No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.

And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You b.l.o.o.d.y Neroes, 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 gauntlets change, Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and b.l.o.o.d.y inclination.

LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.

PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. No, I will speak.

LEWIS. We will attend to neither.

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war, Plead for our interest and our being here.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start And echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd That shall reverberate 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.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.