King John

Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE, with trumpets, to the gates  FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates    And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,    Who by the hand of France this day hath made    Much work for tears in many an English mother,    Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;    Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,    Coldly embracing the discoloured earth;    And victory with little loss doth play    Upon the dancing banners of the French,    Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,    To enter conquerors, and to proclaim    Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours.

Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet

  ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, 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 with Frenchmen's 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 forth;    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.  CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow'rs 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

  KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?    Say, shall the current of our right run on?    Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,    Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell    With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,    Unless thou let his silver water keep    A peaceful progress to the ocean.  KING 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-borne arms,    We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,    Or add a royal number to the dead,    Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss    With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.  BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs    When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!    O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;    The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;    And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,    In undetermin'd differences of kings.    Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?    Cry 'havoc!' 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!  KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?  KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?  CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King.  KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right.  KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy    And bear possession of our person here,    Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.  CITIZEN. 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;    King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,    Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.  BASTARD. By heaven, 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.    Your royal presences be rul'd by me:    Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,    Be friends awhile, 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 brawl'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?  KING 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?  BASTARD. An 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 defy each other, and pell-mell    Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.  KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?  KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction    Into this city's bosom.  AUSTRIA. I from the north.  KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south    Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.  BASTARD. [Aside] O prudent discipline! From north to south,    Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.    I'll stir them to it. – Come, away, away!  CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,    And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league;    Win you this city without stroke or wound;    Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds    That here come sacrifices for the field.    Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.  KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.  CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,    Is niece 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 complete-    If not complete 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 glorify 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.  BASTARD. 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 smoke and bounce;    He gives the bastinado with his tongue;    Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his    But buffets better than a fist of France.    Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words    Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.  ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;    Give with our niece 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.  CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties    This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?  KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first    To speak unto this city: what say you?  KING 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 Anjou, 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,    As she in beauty, education, blood,    Holds hand with any princess of the world.  KING 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 myself form'd in her eye;    Which, being but the shadow of your son,    Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.    I do protest I never lov'd myself    Till now infixed I beheld myself    Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.                                               [Whispers withBLANCH]  BASTARD. [Aside] 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 espy    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 aught in you that makes him like,    That anything 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 eas'ly 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.  KING 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.  KING 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.  KING 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.  KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.  AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd    That I did so when I was first assur'd.  KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,    Let in that amity which you have made;    For at Saint Mary's chapel 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 your Highness' tent.  KING 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.  KING JOHN. We will heal up all,    For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,    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 satisfy her so    That we shall stop her exclamation.    Go we as well as haste will suffer us    To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.Exeunt all but the BASTARD  BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!    John, to stop Arthur's tide 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 bias of the world-    The world, who of itself is peised well,    Made to run even upon even ground,    Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,    This sway of motion, this commodity,    Makes it take head from all indifferency,    From all direction, purpose, course, intent-    And this same bias, this commodity,    This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,    Clapp'd 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 woo'd 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

ACT III. SCENE 1

France. The FRENCH KING'S camp

Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY

  CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!    False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!    Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?    It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;    Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.    It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;    I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word    Is but the vain breath of a common man:    Believe me I do not believe thee, man;    I have a king's oath to the contrary.    Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,    For I am sick and capable of fears,    Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;    A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;    A woman, naturally born to fears;    And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,    With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,    But they will quake and tremble all this day.    What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?    Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?    What means that hand upon that breast of thine?    Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,    Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?    Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?    Then speak again-not all thy former tale,    But this one word, whether thy tale be true.  SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false    That give you cause to prove my saying true.  CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,    Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;    And let belief and life encounter so    As doth the fury of two desperate men    Which in the very meeting fall and die!    Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?    France friend with England; what becomes of me?    Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;    This news hath made thee a most ugly man.  SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done    But spoke the harm that is by others done?  CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is    As it makes harmful all that speak of it.  ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content.  CONSTANCE. If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim,    Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb,    Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,    Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,    Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,    I would not care, I then would be content;    For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou    Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.    But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,    Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great:    Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,    And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!    She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;    Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,    And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France    To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,    And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.    France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-    That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!    Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?    Envenom him with words, or get thee gone    And leave those woes alone which I alone    Am bound to under-bear.  SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam,    I may not go without you to the kings.  CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;    I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,    For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.    To me, and to the state of my great grief,    Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great    That no supporter but the huge firm earth    Can hold it up. [Seats herself on theground]    Here I and sorrows sit;    Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,

ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants

  KING PHILIP. 'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day    Ever in France shall be kept festival.    To solemnize this day the glorious sun    Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,    Turning with splendour of his precious eye    The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.    The yearly course that brings this day about    Shall never see it but a holiday.  CONSTANCE. [Rising] A wicked day, and not a holy day!    What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done    That it in golden letters should be set    Among the high tides in the calendar?    Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,    This day of shame, oppression, perjury;    Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child    Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,    Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd;    But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;    No bargains break that are not this day made;    This day, all things begun come to ill end,    Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!  KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause    To curse the fair proceedings of this day.    Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?  CONSTANCE. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit    Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,    Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;    You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,    But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.    The grappling vigour and rough frown of war    Is cold in amity and painted peace,    And our oppression hath made up this league.    Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings!    A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens!    Let not the hours of this ungodly day    Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,    Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!    Hear me, O, hear me!  AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace!  CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war.    O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame    That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!    Thou little valiant, great in villainy!    Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!    Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight    But when her humorous ladyship is by    To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur'd too,    And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,    A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear    Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,    Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,    Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend    Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength,    And dost thou now fall over to my foes?    Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame,    And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.  AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me!  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.  AUSTRIA. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.  KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.

Enter PANDULPH

  KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.  PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!    To thee, King John, my holy errand is.    I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,    And from Pope Innocent the legate here,    Do in his name religiously demand    Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,    So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce    Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop    Of Canterbury, from that holy see?    This, in our foresaid holy father's name,    Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.  KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories    Can task the free breath of a sacred king?    Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name    So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,    To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.    Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England    Add thus much more, that no Italian priest    Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;    But as we under heaven are supreme head,    So, under Him that great supremacy,    Where we do reign we will alone uphold,    Without th' assistance of a mortal hand.    So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart    To him and his usurp'd authority.  KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.  KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom    Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,    Dreading the curse that money may buy out,    And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,    Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,    Who in that sale sells pardon from himself-    Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,    This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;    Yet I alone, alone do me oppose    Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.  PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have    Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate;    And blessed shall he be that doth revolt    From his allegiance to an heretic;    And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,    Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,    That takes away by any secret course    Thy hateful life.  CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be    That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!    Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen'    To my keen curses; for without my wrong    There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.  PANDULPH. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.  CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right,    Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong;    Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,    For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;    Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,    How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?  PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,    Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,    And raise the power of France upon his head,    Unless he do submit himself to Rome.  ELINOR. Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.  CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent    And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.  AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.  BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.  AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,    Because-  BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them.  KING JOHN. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal?  CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal?  LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference    Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome    Or the light loss of England for a friend.    Forgo the easier.  BLANCH. That's the curse of Rome.  CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here    In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.  BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,    But from her need.  CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need,    Which only lives but by the death of faith,    That need must needs infer this principle-    That faith would live again by death of need.    O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up:    Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!  KING JOHN. The King is mov'd, and answers not to this.  CONSTANCE. O be remov'd from him, and answer well!  AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.  BASTARD. 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 snatch our palm from palm,    Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed    Of smiling peace to march a bloody 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 nobler 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!  BASTARD. 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 hell, 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 pronounce,    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 fromthee.  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.  BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton 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:    Assured 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 BASTARD    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