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.

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

Bast. 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;1
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 his 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 aiery towers,
To souse 2 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 neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew.There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;

Wegrant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.5

Pand.

Give me leave to speak.
Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew.
We will attend to neither:-
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.
Bast. Indeed, your drums being beaten, will
cry out;

And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start
An 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
(Nor 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.

L. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. Bast. And thou shall find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A FIELD OF BATTLE. Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

Hub, Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so Lies heavy on me; 0, my heart is sick! [long, Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsınan, Faulconbridge,

Desires your majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me, which way you go.
K. John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to the

abbey there.

Mess. 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.

K.John. Ahme! 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 IV.-ANOTHER PART OF THE SAME. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others. Sal. I did not think the king so stor❜d with friends.

Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pem. They say, King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other Pem. It is the Count Melun. [names. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, [sold; 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, He1 means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at St Edmund's Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love,

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life;

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolved 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
1 Lewis. 2 Alluding to the images made by witches.

That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Lewis do win 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
Already smokes about the burning crest [breath
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.
Sal. We do believe thee.-And beshrew my
But I do love the favour and the form [soul
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will unthread the steps of this our flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have
look'd,

And calmly run on in obedience,

Even to our ocean, to our great king John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee thence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death [flight:
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New
And happy newness,1 that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

SCENE V.-THE FRENCH CAMP. Enter Lewis and his Train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to set;

But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd 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 tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lew.
Here:-What news?
Mess. The Count Melun is slain; the English
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: [lords,
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin Sands.
L. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very
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 powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
L. Well; keep good quarter, and good care
The day shall not be up so soon as I, [to-night;
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

1 Innovation.

[heart!

Hub. Why, here walk I in the black brow of To find you out.

[night, Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, 11 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. 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.

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him?, Hub. A monk, I tell you, a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.

B. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. 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.

B. 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 escaped. Away, before, conduct me to the king; I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt

(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwellingDoth by the idle comments that it makes, [house), Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke.

P. His highness yet doth speak; and holds
That, being brought into the open air, [belief,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. [here.—
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard
Doth he still rage?
[Exit Bigot.
Pem.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now
Against the mind, thewhich 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.
Sal. 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.

K.J. 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 pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen.

How fares your majesty? K. 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 strait1
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my That might relieve you!

[tears,

K. 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.

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. J. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of mine heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should Are turned to one thread, one little hair: [sail, My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; 1 Niggardly.

And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod,
And module1 of confounded royalty.

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where heaven he knows how we shall answer
For, in a night, the best part of my power, [him:
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes, all unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[The King dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.(thus. My liege my lord!-But now a king,-now P. H. 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!

Bast. 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, [faiths Where be your powers? Show now your mended 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 i The Dauphin rages at our very heels. [sought;

S. 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.

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'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 cónsummate this business happily.

B. 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.

P. H. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; For so he will'd it.

Bast.

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.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Bast. 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, [rue, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 1 Model.

Act First.

and other Nobles, with him.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,1 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
G. As near as I could sift him on that argu-
On some apparent danger seen in him, [ment,-
Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:
[Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke
and Norfolk.

Boling. May many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness: Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, 1 Bond

B. First, (heaven be the record to my speech!) In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live: Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat! And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.

N. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: "Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can Inot of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: [me First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs From giving reins and spurs to my free speech: Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat, Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,

Or any other ground inhabitable,1
Where ever Englishman dost set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Bol. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; [gage,
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except:
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoul-
I'll answer thee in any fair degree, [der,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And, when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! [charge?
K. R. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's
It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
Bol. Look, what I speak my life shall prove
it true;
[nobles,
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain❜d forvile employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides, I say, and will in battle prove,-
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,-
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land, [spring.
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and
Further I say, and further will maintain
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,-
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries [blood:
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

K. R. How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes,
and ears:

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Throughthe falsepassage of thythroat, thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserv'd I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,

1 Uninhabitable.

Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's

death,

I slew him not; but to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.-
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay in ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul,
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament,
I did confess it; and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and I hope, I had it.
This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor:
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom:
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray.
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K.R.Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision:
Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed;
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.-
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son.

Gau. To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt.
When, Harry, when
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there
is no boot.1

N. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood; Give me his gage:Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take

but my shame,

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is-spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest
Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast.

A

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die. [begin,

K. Ri. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you Bol. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honourwith such feeblewrong, 1 Advantage in delay.