Lobby before the Council Chamber

Enter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY

CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman

That was sent to me from the Council pray'd me

To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!

Who waits there? Sure you know me?

Enter KEEPER

KEEPER. Yes, my lord;

But yet I cannot help you.

CRANMER. Why?

KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for.

Enter DOCTOR BUTTS

CRANMER. So.

BUTTS. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad

I came this way so happily; the King

Shall understand it presently. Exit

CRANMER. [Aside] 'Tis Butts,

The King's physician; as he pass'd along,

How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!

Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain,

This is of purpose laid by some that hate me-

God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice-

To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me

Wait else at door, a fellow councillor,

'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures

Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above

BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight-

KING. What's that, Butts?

BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.

KING. Body a me, where is it?

BUTTS. There my lord:

The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury;

Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,

Pages, and footboys.

KING. Ha, 'tis he indeed.

Is this the honour they do one another?

'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought

They had parted so much honesty among 'em-

At least good manners-as not thus to suffer

A man of his place, and so near our favour,

To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,

And at the door too, like a post with packets.

By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery!

Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close;

We shall hear more anon. Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 3.

The Council Chamber

A Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed under the state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end of the table on the left band, a seat being left void above him, as for Canterbury's seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side; CROMWELL at lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door

CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary;

Why are we met in council?

CROMWELL. Please your honours,

The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?

CROMWELL. Yes.

NORFOLK. Who waits there?

KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?

GARDINER. Yes.

KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop;

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.

CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.

KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.

CRANMER approaches the Council table

CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry

To sit here at this present, and behold

That chair stand empty; but we all are men,

In our own natures frail and capable

Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty

And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,

Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,

Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling

The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains-

For so we are inform'd-with new opinions,

Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,

And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too,

My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses

Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,

But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em

Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,

Out of our easiness and childish pity

To one man's honour, this contagious sickness,

Farewell all physic; and what follows then?

Commotions, uproars, with a general taint

Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours,

The upper Germany, can dearly witness,

Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress

Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,

And with no little study, that my teaching

And the strong course of my authority

Might go one way, and safely; and the end

Was ever to do well. Nor is there living-

I speak it with a single heart, my lords-

A man that more detests, more stirs against,

Both in his private conscience and his place,

Defacers of a public peace than I do.

Pray heaven the King may never find a heart

With less allegiance in it! Men that make

Envy and crooked malice nourishment

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships

That, in this case of justice, my accusers,

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face

And freely urge against me.

SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord,

That cannot be; you are a councillor,

And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.

GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment,

We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure

And our consent, for better trial of you,

From hence you be committed to the Tower;

Where, being but a private man again,

You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,

More than, I fear, you are provided for.

CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;

You are always my good friend; if your will pass,

I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,

You are so merciful. I see your end-

'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord,

Become a churchman better than ambition;

Win straying souls with modesty again,

Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,

Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,

I make as little doubt as you do conscience

In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,

But reverence to your calling makes me modest.

GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;

That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers,

To men that understand you, words and weakness.

CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little,

By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,

However faulty, yet should find respect

For what they have been; 'tis a cruelty

To load a falling man.

GARDINER. Good Master Secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst

Of all this table, say so.

CROMWELL. Why, my lord?

GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer

Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.

CROMWELL. Not sound?

GARDINER. Not sound, I say.

CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest!

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.

CROMWELL. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

CHANCELLOR. This is too much;

Forbear, for shame, my lords.

GARDINER. I have done.

CROMWELL. And I.

CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner;

There to remain till the King's further pleasure

Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?

ALL. We are.

CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to th' Tower, my lords?

GARDINER. What other

Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.

Let some o' th' guard be ready there.

Enter the guard

CRANMER. For me?

Must I go like a traitor thither?

GARDINER. Receive him,

And see him safe i' th' Tower.

CRANMER. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;

By virtue of that ring I take my cause

Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it

To a most noble judge, the King my master.

CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring.

SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit.

SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heav'n. I told ye all,

When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,

'Twould fall upon ourselves.

NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords,

The King will suffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain;

How much more is his life in value with him!

Would I were fairly out on't!

CROMWELL. My mind gave me,

In seeking tales and informations

Against this man-whose honesty the devil

And his disciples only envy at-

Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!

Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat

GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;

Not only good and wise but most religious;

One that in all obedience makes the church

The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen

That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear

The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,

Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not

To hear such flattery now, and in my presence

They are too thin and bare to hide offences.

To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel,

And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;

But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure

Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.

[To CRANMER] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest

He that dares most but wag his finger at thee.

By all that's holy, he had better starve

Than but once think this place becomes thee not.

SURREY. May it please your Grace-

KING. No, sir, it does not please me.

I had thought I had had men of some understanding

And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.

Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man-few of you deserve that title-

This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy

At chamber door? and one as great as you are?

Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission

Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye

Power as he was a councillor to try him,

Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see,

More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;

Which ye shall never have while I live.

CHANCELLOR. Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace

To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd

concerning his imprisonment was rather-

If there be faith in men-meant for his trial

And fair purgation to the world, than malice,

I'm sure, in me.

KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him;

Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.

I will say thus much for him: if a prince

May be beholding to a subject,

Am for his love and service so to him.

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;

Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me:

That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism;

You must be godfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory

In such an honour; how may I deserve it,

That am a poor and humble subject to you?

KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You

shall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk

And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?

Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,

Embrace and love this man.

GARDINER. With a true heart

And brother-love I do it.

CRANMER. And let heaven

Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified

Of thee, which says thus: 'Do my Lord of Canterbury

A shrewd turn and he's your friend for ever.'

Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long

To have this young one made a Christian.

As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;

So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 4.

The palace yard

Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN

PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you

take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your

gaping.

[Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.]

PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is

this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves,

and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch

your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look

for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible,

Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons,

To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep

On May-day morning; which will never be.

We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.

PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd?

MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in?

As much as one sound cudgel of four foot-

You see the poor remainder-could distribute,

I made no spare, sir.

PORTER. You did nothing, sir.

MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,

To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any

That had a head to hit, either young or old,

He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,

Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again;

And that I would not for a cow, God save her!

[ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]

PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.

Keep the door close, sirrah.

MAN. What would you have me do?

PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th'

dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some

strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the

women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication

is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening

will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather,

and all together.

MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow

somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his

face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now

reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line,

they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three

times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged

against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us.

There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that

rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head,

for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the

meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!'

when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw

to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where

she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.

At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em

still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot,

deliver'd such a show'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw

mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was

amongst 'em, I think surely.

PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse

and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation

of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear

brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo

Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days;

besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!

They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,

As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,

These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows.

There's a trim rabble let in: are all these

Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have

Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,

When they pass back from the christening.

PORTER. An't please your honour,

We are but men; and what so many may do,

Not being torn a pieces, we have done.

An army cannot rule 'em.

CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,

If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye an

By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads

Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves;

And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when

Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;

Th' are come already from the christening.

Go break among the press and find a way out

To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find

A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.

MAN. You great fellow,

Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail;

I'll peck you o'er the pales else. Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 5.

The palace

Enter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, CRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc., train borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, the other godmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage, and GARTER speaks

GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long and ever-happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth!

Flourish. Enter KING and guard

CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the

good Queen!

My noble partners and myself thus pray:

All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,

Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,

May hourly fall upon ye!

KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop.

What is her name?

CRANMER. Elizabeth.

KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child]

With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!

Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER. Amen.

KING. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal;

I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady,

When she has so much English.

CRANMER. Let me speak, sir,

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter

Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.

This royal infant-heaven still move about her!-

Though in her cradle, yet now promises

Upon this land a thousand blessings,

Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be-

But few now living can behold that goodness-

A pattern to all princes living with her,

And all that shall succeed. Saba was never

More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue

Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces

That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,

With all the virtues that attend the good,

Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her,

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;

She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her:

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,

And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her;

In her days every man shall eat in safety

Under his own vine what he plants, and sing

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.

God shall be truly known; and those about her

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,

And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.

Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when

The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix

Her ashes new create another heir

As great in admiration as herself,

So shall she leave her blessedness to one-

When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness-

Who from the sacred ashes of her honour

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,

And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,

That were the servants to this chosen infant,

Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,

His honour and the greatness of his name

Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish,

And like a mountain cedar reach his branches

To all the plains about him; our children's children

Shall see this and bless heaven.

KING. Thou speakest wonders.

CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England,

An aged princess; many days shall see her,

And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

Would I had known no more! But she must die-

She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin;

A most unspotted lily shall she pass

To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

KING. O Lord Archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man; never before

This happy child did I get anything.

This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me

That when I am in heaven I shall desire

To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.

I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,

And you, good brethren, I am much beholding;

I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,

And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;

Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,

She will be sick else. This day, no man think

Has business at his house; for all shall stay.

This little one shall make it holiday. Exeunt

KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE EPILOGUE.

'Tis ten to one this play can never please

All that are here. Some come to take their ease

And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,

W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,

They'll say 'tis nought; others to hear the city

Abus'd extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'

Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,

All the expected good w'are like to hear

For this play at this time is only in

The merciful construction of good women;

For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile

And say 'twill do, I know within a while

All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap

If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.

THE END

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1597

KING JOHN

by William Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING JOHN

PRINCE HENRY, his son

ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of

Britaine, the elder brother of King John

EARL OF PEMBROKE

EARL OF ESSEX

EARL OF SALISBURY

LORD BIGOT

HUBERT DE BURGH

ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge

PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother

JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge

PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet

KING PHILIP OF FRANCE

LEWIS, the Dauphin

LYMOGES, Duke of Austria

CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's legate

MELUN, a French lord

CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John

QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to

King John

CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur

BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile

and niece to King John

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge

Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers,

Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

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SCENE: England and France

ACT I. SCENE 1

KING JOHN's palace

Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON

KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France

In my behaviour to the majesty,

The borrowed majesty, of England here.

ELINOR. A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'!

KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf

Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,

Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim

To this fair island and the territories,

To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,

Desiring thee to lay aside the sword

Which sways usurpingly these several titles,

And put the same into young Arthur's hand,

Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war,

To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,

Controlment for controlment- so answer France.

CHATILLON. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth-

The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;

Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;

For ere thou canst report I will be there,

The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.

So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath

And sullen presage of your own decay.

An honourable conduct let him have-

Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE

ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said

How that ambitious Constance would not cease

Till she had kindled France and all the world

Upon the right and party of her son?

This might have been prevented and made whole

With very easy arguments of love,

Which now the manage of two kingdoms must

With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us!

ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right,

Or else it must go wrong with you and me;

So much my conscience whispers in your ear,

Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

Enter a SHERIFF

ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy

Come from the country to be judg'd by you

That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN. Let them approach. Exit SHERIFF

Our abbeys and our priories shall pay

This expedition's charge.

Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard

brother

What men are you?

BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman

Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,

As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-

A soldier by the honour-giving hand

Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN. What art thou?

ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?

You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king-

That is well known- and, as I think, one father;

But for the certain knowledge of that truth

I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother.

Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,

And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-

That is my brother's plea, and none of mine;

The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out

At least from fair five hundred pound a year.

Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,

Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land.

But once he slander'd me with bastardy;

But whe'er I be as true begot or no,

That still I lay upon my mother's head;

But that I am as well begot, my liege-

Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-

Compare our faces and be judge yourself.

If old Sir Robert did beget us both

And were our father, and this son like him-

O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee

I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;

The accent of his tongue affecteth him.

Do you not read some tokens of my son

In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts

And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,

What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father.

With half that face would he have all my land:

A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year!

ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd,

Your brother did employ my father much-

BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:

Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy

To Germany, there with the Emperor

To treat of high affairs touching that time.

Th' advantage of his absence took the King,

And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;

Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-

But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores

Between my father and my mother lay,

As I have heard my father speak himself,

When this same lusty gentleman was got.

Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd

His lands to me, and took it on his death

That this my mother's son was none of his;

And if he were, he came into the world

Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.

Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,

My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:

Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,

And if she did play false, the fault was hers;

Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands

That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,

Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,

Had of your father claim'd this son for his?

In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept

This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;

In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's,

My brother might not claim him; nor your father,

Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:

My mother's son did get your father's heir;

Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT. Shall then my father's will be of no force

To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,

Than was his will to get me, as I think.

ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,

And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,

Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,

Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape

And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him;

And if my legs were two such riding-rods,

My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin

That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose

Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!'

And, to his shape, were heir to all this land-

Would I might never stir from off this place,

I would give it every foot to have this face!

I would not be Sir Nob in any case.

ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,

Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?

I am a soldier and now bound to France.

BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.

Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,

Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.

Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN. What is thy name?

BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:

Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:

Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-

Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand;

My father gave me honour, yours gave land.

Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,

When I was got, Sir Robert was away!

ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!

I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.

BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?

Something about, a little from the right,

In at the window, or else o'er the hatch;

Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;

And have is have, however men do catch.

Near or far off, well won is still well shot;

And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:

A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.

Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed

For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!

For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.

Exeunt all but the BASTARD

A foot of honour better than I was;

But many a many foot of land the worse.

Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.

'Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!'

And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;

For new-made honour doth forget men's names:

'Tis too respective and too sociable

For your conversion. Now your traveller,

He and his toothpick at my worship's mess-

And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,

Why then I suck my teeth and catechize

My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'

Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin

'I shall beseech you'-That is question now;

And then comes answer like an Absey book:

'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command,

At your employment, at your service, sir!'

'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.'

And so, ere answer knows what question would,

Saving in dialogue of compliment,

And talking of the Alps and Apennines,

The Pyrenean and the river Po-

It draws toward supper in conclusion so.

But this is worshipful society,

And fits the mounting spirit like myself;

For he is but a bastard to the time

That doth not smack of observation-

And so am I, whether I smack or no;

And not alone in habit and device,

Exterior form, outward accoutrement,

But from the inward motion to deliver

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth;

Which, though I will not practise to deceive,

Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;

For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.

But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?

What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband

That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY

O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady!

What brings you here to court so hastily?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother?

Where is he

That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son?

Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?

Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,

Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?

He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou.

BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.

BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James,

There's toys abroad-anon I'll tell thee more.

Exit GURNEY

Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son;

Sir Robert might have eat his part in me

Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.

Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess-

Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:

We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,

To whom am I beholding for these limbs?

Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,

That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?

What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.

What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.

But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son:

I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land;

Legitimation, name, and all is gone.

Then, good my mother, let me know my father-

Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.

By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd

To make room for him in my husband's bed.

Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!

Thou art the issue of my dear offence,

Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence.

BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again,

Madam, I would not wish a better father.

Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,

And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly;

Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,

Subjected tribute to commanding love,

Against whose fury and unmatched force

The aweless lion could not wage the fight

Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.

He that perforce robs lions of their hearts

May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,

With all my heart I thank thee for my father!

Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well

When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.

Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;

And they shall say when Richard me begot,

If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.

Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE 1

France. Before Angiers

Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF FRANCE,

LEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces

KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.

Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,

Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart

And fought the holy wars in Palestine,

By this brave duke came early to his grave;

And for amends to his posterity,

At our importance hither is he come

To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;

And to rebuke the usurpation

Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.

Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death

The rather that you give his offspring life,

Shadowing their right under your wings of war.

I give you welcome with a powerless hand,

But with a heart full of unstained love;

Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.

KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss

As seal to this indenture of my love:

That to my home I will no more return

Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,

Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,

Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides

And coops from other lands her islanders-

Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,

That water-walled bulwark, still secure

And confident from foreign purposes-

Even till that utmost corner of the west

Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,

Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

CONSTANCE. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,

Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength

To make a more requital to your love!

AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords

In such a just and charitable war.

KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent

Against the brows of this resisting town;

Call for our chiefest men of discipline,

To cull the plots of best advantages.

We'll lay before this town our royal bones,

Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,

But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy,

Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood;

My Lord Chatillon may from England bring

That right in peace which here we urge in war,

And then we shall repent each drop of blood

That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter CHATILLON

KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,

Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.

What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;

We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege

And stir them up against a mightier task.

England, impatient of your just demands,

Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,

Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time

To land his legions all as soon as I;

His marches are expedient to this town,

His forces strong, his soldiers confident.

With him along is come the mother-queen,

An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;

With her the Lady Blanch of Spain;

With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd;

And all th' unsettled humours of the land-

Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,

With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens-

Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,

Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,

To make a hazard of new fortunes here.

In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits

Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er

Did never float upon the swelling tide

To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats]

The interruption of their churlish drums

Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;

To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.

KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd for is this expedition!

AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much

We must awake endeavour for defence,

For courage mounteth with occasion.

Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd.

Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,

PEMBROKE, and others

KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit

Our just and lineal entrance to our own!

If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,

Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct

Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!

KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return

From France to England, there to live in peace!

England we love, and for that England's sake

With burden of our armour here we sweat.

This toil of ours should be a work of thine;

But thou from loving England art so far

That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,

Cut off the sequence of posterity,

Outfaced infant state, and done a rape

Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.

Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face:

These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;

This little abstract doth contain that large

Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time

Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.

That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,

And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,

And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God,

How comes it then that thou art call'd a king,

When living blood doth in these temples beat

Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?

KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France,

To draw my answer from thy articles?

KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts

In any breast of strong authority

To look into the blots and stains of right.

That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,

Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,

And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down.

ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?

CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son.

ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,

That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!

CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true

As thine was to thy husband; and this boy

Liker in feature to his father Geffrey

Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke

As rain to water, or devil to his dam.

My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think

His father never was so true begot;

It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.

ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.

CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

AUSTRIA. Peace!

BASTARD. Hear the crier.

AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?

BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,

An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.

You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,

Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;

I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;

Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.

BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion's robe

That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him

As great Alcides' shows upon an ass;

But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back,

Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears

With this abundance of superfluous breath?

King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.

KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference.

King John, this is the very sum of all:

England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,

In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;

Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?

KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.

Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,

And out of my dear love I'll give thee more

Than e'er the coward hand of France can win.

Submit thee, boy.

ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child.

CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child;

Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will

Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.

There's a good grandam!

ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace!

I would that I were low laid in my grave:

I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe'er she does or no!

His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,

Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,

Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;

Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd

To do him justice and revenge on you.

ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth,

Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp

The dominations, royalties, and rights,

Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son,

Infortunate in nothing but in thee.

Thy sins are visited in this poor child;

The canon of the law is laid on him,

Being but the second generation

Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.

KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done.

CONSTANCE. I have but this to say-

That he is not only plagued for her sin,

But God hath made her sin and her the plague

On this removed issue, plagued for her

And with her plague; her sin his injury,

Her injury the beadle to her sin;

All punish'd in the person of this child,

And all for her-a plague upon her!

ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce

A will that bars the title of thy son.

CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;

A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will!

KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.

It ill beseems this presence to cry aim

To these ill-tuned repetitions.

Some trumpet summon hither to the walls

These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak

Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls

CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?

KING PHILIP. 'Tis France, for England.

KING JOHN. England for itself.

You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-

KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,

Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-

KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first.

These flags of France, that are advanced here

Before the eye and prospect of your town,

Have hither march'd to your endamagement;

The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,

And ready mounted are they to spit forth

Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls;

All preparation for a bloody siege

And merciless proceeding by these French

Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates;

And but for our approach those sleeping stones

That as a waist doth girdle you about

By the compulsion of their ordinance

By this time from their fixed beds of lime

Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made

For bloody power to rush upon your peace.

But on the sight of us your lawful king,

Who painfully with much expedient march

Have brought a countercheck before your gates,

To save unscratch'd your city's threat'ned cheeks-

Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle;

And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,

To make a shaking fever in your walls,

They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,

To make a faithless error in your cars;

Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,

And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits,

Forwearied in this action of swift speed,

Craves harbourage within your city walls.

KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both.

Lo, in this right hand, whose protection

Is most divinely vow'd upon the right

Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,

Son to the elder brother of this man,

And king o'er him and all that he enjoys;

For this down-trodden equity we tread

In warlike march these greens before your town,

Being no further enemy to you

Than the constraint of hospitable zeal

In the relief of this oppressed child

Religiously provokes. Be pleased then

To pay that duty which you truly owe

To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;

And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,

Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;

Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent

Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven;

And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,

With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd,

We will bear home that lusty blood again

Which here we came to spout against your town,

And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.

But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,

'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls

Can hide you from our messengers of war,

Though all these English and their discipline

Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.

Then tell us, shall your city call us lord

In that behalf which we have challeng'd it;

Or shall we give the signal to our rage,

And stalk in blood to our possession?

CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects;

For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.

CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King,

To him will we prove loyal. Till that time

Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King?

And if not that, I bring you witnesses:

Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed-

BASTARD. Bastards and else.

KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives.

KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those-

BASTARD. Some bastards too.

KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.

CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,

We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls

That to their everlasting residence,

Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet

In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!

BASTARD. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since

Sits on's horse back at mine hostess' door,

Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA] Sirrah, were I at home,

At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,

I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,

And make a monster of you.

AUSTRIA. Peace! no more.

BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar!

KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth

In best appointment all our regiments.

BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field.

KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill

Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt