My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, SCENE II.-A Plain, near St. Edmund's-
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms.
[Exit.
K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not
the prophet

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not
I am too high-born to be propertied,* [back;
To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars,
Between this chástis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this
fire;

Rome?

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith, To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince, I am not glad that such a sore of time Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, And heal the inveterate canker of one wound, By making many: O, it grieves my soul, That I must draw this metal from my side To be a widow-maker; O, and there, And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out Where honourable rescue, and defence, With that same weak wind which enkindled it. Cries out upon the name of Salisbury: You taught me how to know the face of right, But such is the infection of the time, Acquainted me with interest to this land, That, for the health and physic of our right, Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; We cannot deal but with the very hand And come you now to tell me, John hath made Of stern injustice and confused wrong.His peace with Rome? What is that peace to And is't not a pity, O my grieved friends! I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, [me? That we, the sons and children of this isle, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; Were born to see so sad an hour as this; And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back, Wherein we step after a stranger, march Because that John hath made his peace with Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up [borne, Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) [weep What men provided, what munition sent, To grace the gentry of a land remote, To underprop this action? is't not I, And follow unacquainted colours here? That undergo this charge? who else but I, What, here?-O nation, that thou couldst re- And such as to my claim are liable, move! [about, Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee Have I not heard these islanders shout out, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thy-Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns ? And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; [self, Have I not here the best cards for the game, Where these two Christian armies might com- To win this easy match play'd for a crown? The blood of malice in a vein of league, [bine And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? And not to spend it so unneighbourly! No, on my soul, it never shall be said. Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility. O, what a noble combat hast thou fought, Between compulsion and a brave respect !+ Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks; My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation;

But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than I had seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renown'd Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as
Into the purse of rich prosperity, [deep

As Lewis himself:-so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.

Enter PANDULPH, attended.

And even there, methinks, an angel spake :
Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven;
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France!
The next is this,-king John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church,
The great metropolis and see of Rome:
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in show.

Pand. You look but on the outside of this

work.

Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so 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 outlookt conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.-
Trumpet sounds.

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the BASTARD, altended.

Bast. 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.

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 every fury breath'd,
The youth says well:-Now hear our English
For thus his royalty doth speak in me. [king;
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 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 airy towers, t
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.-
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Nero's, 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 druins;
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;
[well;
We grant, thou canst outscold us; fare thee
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

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

(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.
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this dan-
ger out.

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do
not doubt.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-The same.-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 long,

Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

Enter a MESSENGER.

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faul-
conbridge,

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,

sands.

That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin
[now:
This news was brought to Richard but even
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns

me up,

And will not let me welcome this good news:-
Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others.

Sal. I did not think the king so stor❜d with
friends.
[French;
Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,

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

names.

Pem. It is the count Melun.
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,
Het means to recompense the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads: Thus hath be 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.

[view,

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my
Retaining but a quantity of life;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of was
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire?‡
What in the world should make me now de-
ceive,

breath

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 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
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sub,-
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
Paying the fine of rated treachery,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him, and this respect besides,
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,-
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
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'er-
And calmly run on in obedience, flook'd,
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
Even to our ocean, to our great king John,-

*A proverb intimating treachery. + Lewis.
In allusion to the images made by witches.
Place.
I betide