King John

  BASTARD. 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.  BASTARD. 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 pawns 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 chastisement?    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 bloody 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 bloody 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.  BASTARD. 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.  BASTARD. 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.  BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

Exeunt

SCENE 3

England. The field of battle

Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT

  KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.  HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?  KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long    Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!

Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,    Desires your Majesty to leave the field    And send him word by me which way you go.  KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.  MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply    That was expected by the Dauphin here    Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;    This news was brought to Richard but even now.    The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.  KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up    And will not let me welcome this good news.    Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;    Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

Exeunt

SCENE 4

England. Another part of the battlefield

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT

  SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends.  PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French;    If they miscarry, we miscarry too.  SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,    In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.  PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

Enter MELUN, wounded

  MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.  SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.  PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.  SALISBURY. Wounded to death.  MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;    Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,    And welcome home again discarded faith.    Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;    For if the French be lords of this loud day,    He means to recompense the pains you take    By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,    And I with him, and many moe with me,    Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;    Even on that altar where we swore to you    Dear amity and everlasting love.  SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?  MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,    Retaining but a quantity of life,    Which bleeds away even as a form of wax    Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?    What in the world should make me now deceive,    Since I must lose the use of all deceit?    Why should I then be false, since it is true    That I must die here, and live hence by truth?    I say again, if Lewis do will the day,    He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours    Behold another day break in the east;    But even this night, whose black contagious breath    Already smokes about the burning crest    Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,    Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,    Paying the fine of rated treachery    Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.    If Lewis by your assistance win the day.    Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;    The love of him-and this respect besides,    For that my grandsire was an Englishman-    Awakes my conscience to confess all this.    In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence    From forth the noise and rumour of the field,    Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts    In peace, and part this body and my soul    With contemplation and devout desires.  SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul    But I do love the favour and the form    Of this most fair occasion, by the which    We will untread the steps of damned flight,    And like a bated and retired flood,    Leaving our rankness and irregular course,    Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,    And calmly run on in obedience    Even to our ocean, to great King John.    My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;    For I do see the cruel pangs of death    Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,    And happy newness, that intends old right.Exeunt, leading off MELUN

SCENE 5

England. The French camp

Enter LEWIS and his train

  LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,    But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,    When English measure backward their own ground    In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,    When with a volley of our needless shot,    After such bloody toil, we bid good night;    And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up,    Last in the field and almost lords of it!

Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?  LEWIS. Here; what news?  MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords    By his persuasion are again fall'n off,    And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,    Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.  LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!    I did not think to be so sad to-night    As this hath made me. Who was he that said    King John did fly an hour or two before    The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs?  MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.  LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night;    The day shall not be up so soon as I    To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

Exeunt

SCENE 6

An open place wear Swinstead Abbey

Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally

  HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.  BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?  HUBERT. Of the part of England.  BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?  HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand    Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?  BASTARD. Hubert, I think.  HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.    I will upon all hazards well believe    Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.    Who art thou?  BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,    Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think    I come one way of the Plantagenets.  HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night    Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me    That any accent breaking from thy tongue    Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.  BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?  HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night    To find you out.  BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news?  HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,    Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.  BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;    I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.  HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk;    I left him almost speechless and broke out    To acquaint you with this evil, that you might    The better arm you to the sudden time    Than if you had at leisure known of this.  BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?  HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,    Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King    Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.  BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?  HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,    And brought Prince Henry in their company;    At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,    And they are all about his Majesty.  BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,    And tempt us not to bear above our power!    I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,    Passing these flats, are taken by the tide-    These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;    Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.    Away, before! conduct me to the King;    I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

Exeunt

SCENE 7

The orchard at Swinstead Abbey

Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT

  PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood    Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain.    Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,    Doth by the idle comments that it makes    Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBROKE

  PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief    That, being brought into the open air,    It would allay the burning quality    Of that fell poison which assaileth him.  PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.    Doth he still rage? ExitBIGOT  PEMBROKE. He is more patient    Than when you left him; even now he sung.  PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes    In their continuance will not feel themselves.    Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,    Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now    Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds    With many legions of strange fantasies,    Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,    Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.    I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan    Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,    And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings    His soul and body to their lasting rest.  SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born    To set a form upon that indigest    Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in KING JOHN in a chair  KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;    It would not out at windows nor at doors.    There is so hot a summer in my bosom    That all my bowels crumble up to dust.    I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen    Upon a parchment, and against this fire    Do I shrink up.  PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty?  KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off;    And none of you will bid the winter come    To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,    Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course    Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north    To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips    And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much;    I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait    And so ingrateful you deny me that.  PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears,    That might relieve you!  KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot.    Within me is a hell; and there the poison    Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize    On unreprievable condemned blood.

Enter the BASTARD

  BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion    And spleen of speed to see your Majesty!  KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!    The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt,    And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail    Are turned to one thread, one little hair;    My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,    Which holds but till thy news be uttered;    And then all this thou seest is but a clod    And module of confounded royalty.  BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,    Where God He knows how we shall answer him;    For in a night the best part of my pow'r,    As I upon advantage did remove,    Were in the Washes all unwarily    Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KINGdies]  SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.    My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus.  PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.    What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,    When this was now a king, and now is clay?  BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind    To do the office for thee of revenge,    And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,    As it on earth hath been thy servant still.    Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,    Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths,    And instantly return with me again    To push destruction and perpetual shame    Out of the weak door of our fainting land.    Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;    The Dauphin rages at our very heels.  SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:    The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,    Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,    And brings from him such offers of our peace    As we with honour and respect may take,    With purpose presently to leave this war.  BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees    Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.  SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;    For many carriages he hath dispatch'd    To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel    To the disposing of the Cardinal;    With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,    If you think meet, this afternoon will post    To consummate this business happily.  BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince,    With other princes that may best be spar'd,    Shall wait upon your father's funeral.  PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;    For so he will'd it.  BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;    And happily may your sweet self put on    The lineal state and glory of the land!    To whom, with all submission, on my knee    I do bequeath my faithful services    And true subjection everlastingly.  SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,    To rest without a spot for evermore.  PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,    And knows not how to do it but with tears.  BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,    Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.    This England never did, nor never shall,    Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,    But when it first did help to wound itself.    Now these her princes are come home again,    Come the three corners of the world in arms,    And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,    If England to itself do rest but true.

Exeunt

THE END