And tame the favage fpirit of wild war;
That like a Lion fofter'd up at hand,
It may lye gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in fhew.

Lewis. Your Grace fhall pardon me, I will not back • I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a fecondary at controul,

Or useful ferving-man, and inftrument

To any fovereign ftate throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war,
Between this chaftis'd kingdom and my felf,
And brought in matter that fhould feed this fire.
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that fame weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with my int'rest in this land,
Yea, thruft this enterprize into my heart:
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? what is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine:
And now it is half conquer'd, muft I back,
Because that Jobn hath made his peace with Rome ?
Am I Rome's flave? what penny hath Rome born,
What men provided? what munition fent,
To under-prop this action? is't not I
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And fuch as to my claim are liable,

Sweat in this bufinefs, and maintain this war?
Have I not heard thefe iflanders fhout out
Vive le Roy, as I have bank'd their towns ?
Have I not here the beft cards for the game
To win this eafie match, plaid for a crown?
And fhall I now give o'er the yielded fet?
No, on my foul, it never fhall be faid.

Pand. You look but on the outfide of this work.
Lewis, Outfide or infide, I will not return,

"Till my attempt fo much be glorified,

As to my ample hope was promised

Before I drew this gallant head of war,

And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world
To outlook conqueft, and to win renown

Ev'n in the jaws of danger, and of death. [Trumpet sounds.
What lufty trumpet thus doth fummon us?
SCENE IV. Enter Baftard.

Baft. According to the fair play of the world,
Let me have audience: I am fent to speak :
My holy Lord of Milain, 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 fays, he'll not lay down his arms.

Baft. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
The youth fays well. Now hear our English King;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me:
He is prepar'd, and reafon too he should.
This apifh and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd mask, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd fawcinefs and boyish troops,
The King doth fmile 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 ftrength ev'n 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 ftable-planks,

To lye like pawns, lock'd up in chefts and trunks,
To herd with fwine, to feek sweet safety out
In vaults and prifons, and to thrill and shake
Ev'n at the crying of our nation's Crow,
Thinking his voice an armed English man;
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, tow'rs,
To foufe annoyance that comes near his neft.
And you degen'rate, you ingrate revolters,
You bloody Nero's, ripping up the womb

OF

Of your dear mother England, blush for shame.
For your own Ladies, and pale-vifag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gantlets change,
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 canft out-fcold us; fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent

With fuch a babler.

Pand. Give me leave to speak.

Baft. No, I will speak.

Lewis. We will attend to neither:

Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our int'reft, and our being here.

Baft. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And fo fhall you, being beaten; do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And-ev'n at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That fhall reverb'rate 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.
(Not trufting to this halting Legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for fport than need)
Is warlike John: and in his forehead fits
A bare-ribb'd death, whofe office is this day
To feaft upon whole thoufands of the French.

For at hand

Lewis. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Baft. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. The Field of Battle.
Alarms. Enter King John and Hubert.

K. John. How goes the day with us? oh, tell me, Hubert.
Hub. Badly, I fear; how fares your Majefty?

K. Jobn. This feaver that hath troubled me fo long, Lyes heavy on me: oh, my heart is fick !

Enter a Melenger.

Meff. My Lord, your valiant kinfman Faulconbridge Defires your Majefty to leave the field, Y

VOL. IV.

And

And fend him word by me which way you go.

K. Jobn. Tell him, tow'rd Swinftead; to the Abby there,
Mel. Be of good comfort: for the great fupply
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin-fands.
This news was brought to Richard but ev'n now,
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John. Ah me! this tyrant feaver burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on tow'rd Swinftead; to my litter ftrait,
Weakness poffeffeth me, and I am faint.

SCENE VI.

Enter Salisbury, Pembroke and Bigot.

[Excust

Sal. I did not think the King fo ftor'd with friends. Pemb. Up once again; put spirit in the French: If they mifcarry, we mifcarry too.

Sal. That mil-begotten devil Faulconbridge, In fpight of fpight, alone upholds the day.

Pemb. They fay, King John fore fick hath left the field.
Enter Melun wounded.

Melun. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy, we had other names,
Pemb. It is the Count Melun.

Sal. Wounded to death.

Melun. Fly, noble Englife, you are bought and fold; Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,

And welcome home again difcarded faith.

Seek out King John, and fall before his feet
For if the French be Lords of this loud day,
He means to recompence the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads; thus hath he fworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at St. Edmondsbury,

Even on that altar where we fwore to you

Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be poffible? may this be true?

Melun. Have I not hideous death within my view

Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which bleeds away, ev'n as a form of wax
Refolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire ?

What

What in the world fhould make me now deceive,
Since I muft lofe the ufe of all deceit ?
Why fhould I then be falfe, fince it is true
That I muft die here, and live hence by truth?
I fay again, if Lewis win the day,

He is forfworn if e'er thofe eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the Eaft:

But ev'n this night, whose black contagious breath
Already fmoaks about the burning creft
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied fun,
Ev'n this ill night, your breathing shall expire ;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,

Ev'n with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your affiftance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;
The love of him, and this refpect befides
For that my grandfire was an Englishman,
Awakes my confcience to confefs all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noife and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my foul,
With contemplation and devout defires.

Sal. We do believe thee, and befhrew my foul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this moft fair occafion, by the which
We will untread the fteps of damned flight;
And like a 'bated and retiring flood,

Leaving our ranknefs and irregular course,

Stoop low within those bounds we have o'er-look'd,
And calmly run on in obedience

Ev'n to our Ocean, to our great King John.
My arm fhall give thee help to bear thee hence,
For I do fee the cruel pangs of death

Pight in thine eyes. Away, my friends, and fly!

[Exeunt, leading Melanie SCENE VII. The French Camp.

Enter Lewis and bis Train.

Lewis. The fun of heav'n methought was loth to fet, But ftaid, and made the western welkin bluth,

Y 2

When