That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will;

Or, if youill (to speak more properly,)
I will enforce it easily 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

That smooth-faced 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,

(Though churlish thoughts themselves should be Makes it take head from all indifferency,

your judge,)

That I can find should merit any hate.

K. 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 shall vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love,
For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. 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.
K. Phi. It likes us well;-Young princes, close
your hands.

Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd,
That I did so, when I was first assur'd.!

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 I-The same. The French king's tent.
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury.

K. Phi. 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.
Lew. She is sad and passionate? at your high-False
ness' tent.

K. Phi. 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 turned another way,
To our own vantage.3

K. John.
We will heal up all :
For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne,
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.-The Citizens
retire from the walls.

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's title 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;

(1) Affianced. (2) Mournful. (3) Advantage.
(4) Conspired.
(5) Interest.

Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!

blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!

Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro-
vinces ?

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.

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.

Const. 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.-

(6) Poised, balanced. (7) Clasp.
(8) Coin. (9) Susceptible. (10) Appearing.

Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou?|| K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
France friend with England! what becomes of To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

me?

Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const. 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,2
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 may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She 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.

Sal.

I

Pardon me, madam, may not go without you to the kings.

Const. 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 !

Aust.
Lady Constance, peace.
Const. 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 villany!
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?

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with And dost thou now fall over to my foes?

thee:

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
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 here I and sorrow sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

[She throws herself on the ground.

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch,
Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and attendants.

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this bless-
ed 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 splendor 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 holyday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday!-
[Rising
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done;
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar?
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!

(1) Unsightly. (2) Portentous. (3) Seated in state.

Thou wear a lion's hide! doff's it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words
to me!

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

limbs.

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

limbs.

K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

Enter Pandulph.

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope.
Pand. 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.

K. 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,

(4) Solemn seasons.

(5) Do off.

1

K. 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.
Pand. 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 a 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.

Const.

O, lawful let it be,

That I have room with Rome to curse a while!
Good father ca dinal, cry thou, amen,
To my keen curses; for, without my wrong,
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my

curse.

Const. 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?
Pand. 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.

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go
thy hand.

Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France
repent,

And, by disjoining hands, hell loose a soul.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant
limbs.

Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these

Because

wrongs,

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them.
K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the car-
dinal?

Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal?
Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend:
Forego the easier.

Blanch.

That's the curse of Rome.

Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts

thee here,

In likeness of a new untrimmed' bride.

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.
K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not
to this.

Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well.
Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt.
Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet
lout.

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.
Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex
thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd?
K. Phi. 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 over-
stain'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 bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

Pand. 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 may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost bold.
K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.
Pand. 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:

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from The better act of purposes mistook

her faith, But from her need.

Const.
O, if thou grant my need,
Which only lives but by the death of faith,

(1) When adorn'd, adorn'd the most.'
Thomson's Autumn. 206.

Is, to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is religion, that doth make vows kept;

(2) Exchange of salutation.

thou

And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear 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 latter 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 those giddy loose suggestions :
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them; but, if not, then know,
The peril of our curses light on thee;

Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.
K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
England; haste before:
Of hoarding abbots: angels imprisoned
Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon :
Use our commission in his utmost force.

Bast. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me
back,

When gold and silver becks me to come on.

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour with-I leave your highness:--Grandam, I will pray

For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.
(If ever I remember to be holy)
Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.
K. John.

Coz, farewell. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [Exit Bastard. [She takes Arthur aside. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle

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 åt it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say
so yet:

KING JOHN.

Of any kindred action like to this?

Act IH.

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had
this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter Constance.

But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, || Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
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,1
To give me audience :-If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard 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 passion hateful to my purposes;)

Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, 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.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me under-
take,

Though that my death were adjunct3 to my act,
By heaven, I'd do't.

K. John.

Do not I know, thou would'st? 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.
Hub.

And I will keep him so,
That he shall not offend your majesty.

K. John. Death.

Hub.

My lord?

K. John.

Hub.

K. John.

A grave.
He shall not live.
Enough.

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
-Madam, fare you well:

Remember.

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!

K. John.
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
For England, cousin:
With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho!

SCENE IV.-The same.

[Exeunt.

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph,
The French king's
tent.
and attendants.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole armado of convicted sail
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go
well.

K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run
so ill?

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,

I

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
In the vile prison of afflicted breath-
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!
K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle
Constance!

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death:-O amiable lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
And I will kiss thy détestable bones;
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,
And be a carrion monster like thyself:
And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,
O, come to me!
K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace.

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow
Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:

am not mad;-I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!-
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself;
If I were mad, I should forget my son;
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he :
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

note

In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;
Sticking together in calamity.
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Const. To England, if you will.
K. Phi.
Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
Bind up your hairs.
I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,
O that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
And will again commit them to their bonds,
But now I envy at their liberty,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven