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ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Philip the Baftard, Auftria, and Conftance,

K. Philip." Ever in France thall be kept Festival:
"T1E
IS true, fair Daughter; and this bleffed Day,

To folemnize this Day the glorious Sun
Stays in his Course, and plays the Alchymist,
Turning with fplendour of his precious Eye
The meager cloddy Earth to glittering Gold:
The yearly courfe that brings this Day about,
Shall never fee it, but a Holy-day.

Conft. A wicked Day, and not a holy Day.
What hath this Day deferv'd? What hath it done,
That it in golden Letters fhould be fet
Among the high Tides in the Kalendar?
Nay, rather turn this Day out of the Week,
This Day of Shame, Oppreffion, Perjury.
Or if it must ftand ftill, let Wives with Child
Pray that their Burthens may not fall this Day,
Left that their hopes prodigiously be croft:
But, on this Day, let Seamen fear no Wrack,
No Bargains break that are not this Day made;
This Day all things begun, come to ill End,
Yea, Faith it felf, to hollow Falfhood change.

K. Philip By Heav'n, Lady, you shall have no caufe
To curfe the fair Procecdings of this Day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my Majefty?

Conft. You have beguil'd me with a Counterfeit
Refembling Majefty, which being touch'd and try'd,
Proves valuelefs: You are forfworn, forfworn,
You came in Arms to fpill my Enemies Blood,
But now in Arms, you ftrengthen it with yours.
The grapling Vigour, and rough frown of War
Is cold in Amity and painted Peace,

And our Oppreffion hath made up this League:
Arm, Arm, you Heav'ns, against these perjur'd Kings,
A Widow cries, be Husband to me, Heav'ns,
Let not the Hours of this ungodly Day

Wear

Wear out the Days in Peace; but e'er Sun-fet,
Set armed Difcord 'twixt thefe perjur'd Kings.
Hear me, oh, hear me.

Auft. Lady Conftance, Peace.

Conft. War, War, no Peace, Peace is to me a War: 0 Lymoges, O Austria, thou doft fhame

That bloody Spoil: Thou Slave, thou Wretch, thou Coward,
Thou little Valiant, great in Villany:

Thou ever ftrong upon the ftronger Side;
Thou Fortune's Champion, that doft never fight
But when her humorous Ladyship is by
To teach thee fafety; thou art perjur'd too,
And footh'ft up Greatnefs. What a Fool art thou,
A ramping Fool, to brag, to ftamp, and fwear,
Upon my Party; thou cold-blooded Slave,
Haft thou not spoke like Thunder on my fide,
Been fworn my Soldier, bidding me depend
Upon thy Stars, thy Fortune, and thy Strength?
And doft thee now fall over to my Foes?
Thou wear'ft a Lion's Hide? Doff it for fhame,
And hang a Calves-skin on thofe recreant Limbs.

Auft. O that a Man fhould fpeak those words to me.
Baft. And hang a Calves-skin on thofe recreant Limbs.
Auft. Thou dar'ft not fay fo, Villain, for thy Life.
Baft. And hang a Calves-skin on thofe recreant Limbs.
K. John. We like not this, thou doft forget thy felf.
Enter Pandulph.

K. Philip. Here comes the holy Legate of the Pope.
Pand. Hail, you anointed Deputies of Heav'n;
To thee, King John, my holy Errand is;

I Pandulph of fair Milain Cardinal,

And from Pope Innocent the Legate here,
Do in his Name religiously demand

Why you against the Church, our holy Mother,
So wilfully do ft (purn, and force perforce
Keep Stephen Langton, chofen Archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy See?
This in our forefaid holy Father's Name,
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

K. John. What earthy Name to Interrogatories
Can tafte the Free-breath of a facred King?

Thou

Thou canst not, Cardinal, devife a Name
So flight, 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 Heav'n, are fupream Head,
So under him that great Supremacy
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold
Without th' Affiftance of a mortal Hand:
So tell the Pope, all Reverence fet apart
To him and his ufurp'd Authority.

K. Philip. Brother of England, you blafpheme in this.
K. John. Though you, and all the Kings of Chriftendom
Are led fo grofly by this medling Priest,

Dreading the Curfe that Mony may buy out,
And, by the Merit of vile Gold, drofs, duft,
Purchase corrupted Pardon of a Man,

Who in that fale fells Pardon from himself:
Though you, and all the reft fo grofly led,
This jugling Witch-craft with Revenue cherish,
Yet I alone, alone, do me oppofe

Against the Pope, and count his Friends my Fees.
Pand. Then by the lawful Power that I have,
Thou shalt ftand Curft, and Excommunicate,
And blessed fhall he be that doth revolt
From his Allegiance to an Heretick,
And meritorious fhall that Hand be call'd,
anonized and worshipp'd as a Saint,
That takes away by any fecret Courfe
Thy hateful Life.

Conft. O lawful let it be

That I have room with Rome to curfe a while.

Good Father Cardinal, cry thou Amen

To my keen Curfes; for without my Wrong

There is no Tongue hath power to curfe him right.
Pand. There's Law and Warrant, Lady, for my Curse.
Conft. 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;

There

Therefore fince Law it felf is perfect wrong,
How can the Law forbid my Tongue to curfe?
Pand. Philip of France, on Peril of a Curfe,
Let go the Hand of that Arch-heretick,
And raife the Power of France upon his Head,
Unless he do fubmit himself to Rome.

Eli. Look'ft thou pale, France? Do not let go thy Hand. Conft. Look to that Devil, left that France repent, And by disjoining Hands Hell lofe a Soul. Auft. King Philip, liften to the Cardinal.

Baft. And hang a Calves-skin on his recreant Limbs. Auft. Well, Ruffian, I must pocket up thefe Becaufe

Baft. Your Breeches beft may carry them.

wrongs,

K. John. Philip, what fay'ft thou to the Cardinal.
Conft. What should he fay, but as the Cardinal?
Lewis. Bethink you Father, for the difference
Is purchase of a heavy Curfe from Rome,

Or the light lofs of England for a Friend;
Forgo the eafier.

Blanch. That is the Curfe of Rome.

Conft. O Lewis, ftand faft, the Devil tempts thee here In likeness of a new untrimmed Bride.

Blanch. The Lady Conftance speaks not from her Faith: But from her Need.

Conft. Oh, if thou grant my Need,

Which only lives but by the Death of Faith,
That Need, muft 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.
Conft. O be remov'd from him, and anfwer well.
Auft. Do fo, King Philip, hang no more in doubt.
Baft. Hang nothing but a Calves-skin, moft fweet Lout.
K. Philip. I am perplext, and know not what to fay.
Pand. What canft thou fay, but will perplex thee more,
If thou ftand Excommunicate, and Curft?

K. Philip. Good reverend Father, make my Perfon yours, And tell me how you would beftow your felf?

This Royal Hand and mine are newly knit,

And

And the Conjunction of our inward Souls
Marry'd in League, coupled and link'd together
With all religious Strength of facred Vows:
The latest Breath, that gave the found of words,
Was deep fworn Faith, Peace, Amity, true Love
Between our Kingdoms and our Royal felves,
And even before this Truce, but new before,
No longer than we well could wash our Hands,
To clap this Royal Bargain up in Peace,
Heav'n knows they were befmear'd and over ftain'd
With Slaughter's Pencil; where Revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incenfed Kings:
And fhall thefe Hands, fo lately purg'd of Blood,
So newly join'd in Love, fo ftrong in both,
Unyoke this feifure, and this kind regreet?
Play faft and loose with Faith? So jeft with Heav'n,
Make fuch unconstant Children of our felves,
As now again to fnatch our Palm from Palm?
Un-fwear Faith fworn, and on the Marriage-bed
Of fmiling Peace to march a bloody Hoaft,
And make a Riot on the gentle Brow
Of true Sincerity? O holy Sir,
My reverend Father, let it not be fo;
Out of your Grace, devife, ordain, impose
Some gentle Order, and then we shall be bleft
To do your Pleasure, and continue Friends.

Pand. All Form is formlefs, Order orderless,
Save what is oppofite to England's Love.
Therefore to Arms, be Champion of our Church,
Or let the Church our Mother breathe her Curse,
A Mother's Curfe, on her revolting Son.

France, thou may'ft hold a Serpent by the Tongue,
A cafed Lion by the mortal Paw,

A fafting Tyger fafer by the Tooth,

f

Than keep in Peace that Hand which thou doft hold.
K. Philip. I may dif-join my Hand, but not my Faith
Pand. So mak't thou Faith an Enemy to Faith,

And like a Civil War fet'ft Oath to Oath,

Thy Tongue against thy Tongue. O let thy Vow
Firft made to Heav'n, firft be to Heav'n perform'd,
That is, to be the Champion of our Church.

What

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