It is hard to imagine a world without Shakespeare. Since their composition four hundred years ago, Shakespeare’s plays and poems have traveled the globe, inviting those who see and read his works to make them their own.
Readers of the New Folger Editions are part of this ongoing process of “taking up Shakespeare,” finding our own thoughts and feelings in language that strikes us as old or unusual and, for that very reason, new. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds. These expertly edited texts are presented to the public as a resource for study, artistic adaptation, and enjoyment. By making the classic texts of the New Folger Editions available in electronic form as The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), we place a trusted resource in the hands of anyone who wants them.
The New Folger Editions of Shakespeare’s plays, which are the basis for the texts realized here in digital form, are special because of their origin. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, is the single greatest documentary source of Shakespeare’s works. An unparalleled collection of early modern books, manuscripts, and artwork connected to Shakespeare, the Folger’s holdings have been consulted extensively in the preparation of these texts. The Editions also reflect the expertise gained through the regular performance of Shakespeare’s works in the Folger’s Elizabethan Theatre.
I want to express my deep thanks to editors Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine for creating these indispensable editions of Shakespeare’s works, which incorporate the best of textual scholarship with a richness of commentary that is both inspired and engaging. Readers who want to know more about Shakespeare and his plays can follow the paths these distinguished scholars have tread by visiting the Folger either in-person or online, where a range of physical and digital resources exists to supplement the material in these texts. I commend to you these words, and hope that they inspire.
Michael Witmore
Director, Folger Shakespeare Library
Until now, with the release of The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), readers in search of a free online text of Shakespeare’s plays had to be content primarily with using the Moby™ Text, which reproduces a late-nineteenth century version of the plays. What is the difference? Many ordinary readers assume that there is a single text for the plays: what Shakespeare wrote. But Shakespeare’s plays were not published the way modern novels or plays are published today: as a single, authoritative text. In some cases, the plays have come down to us in multiple published versions, represented by various Quartos (Qq) and by the great collection put together by his colleagues in 1623, called the First Folio (F). There are, for example, three very different versions of
Hamlet
, two of
King Lear
,
Henry V
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and others. Editors choose which version to use as their base text, and then amend that text with words, lines or speech prefixes from the other versions that, in their judgment, make for a better or more accurate text.
Other editorial decisions involve choices about whether an unfamiliar word could be understood in light of other writings of the period or whether it should be changed; decisions about words that made it into Shakespeare’s text by accident through four hundred years of printings and misprinting; and even decisions based on cultural preference and taste. When the Moby™ Text was created, for example, it was deemed “improper” and “indecent” for Miranda to chastise Caliban for having attempted to rape her. (See
The Tempest
, 1.2: “Abhorred slave,/Which any print of goodness wilt not take,/Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee…”). All Shakespeare editors at the time took the speech away from her and gave it to her father, Prospero.
The editors of the Moby™ Shakespeare produced their text long before scholars fully understood the proper grounds on which to make the thousands of decisions that Shakespeare editors face. The Folger Library Shakespeare Editions, on which the Folger Shakespeare texts depend, make this editorial process as nearly transparent as is possible, in contrast to older texts, like the Moby™, which hide editorial interventions. The reader of the Folger Shakespeare knows where the text has been altered because editorial interventions are signaled by square brackets (for example, from
Othello
: “
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If she in chains of magic were not bound,
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”), half-square brackets (for example, from
Henry V
: “With
half-square bracket
blood
half-square bracket
and sword and fire to win your right,”), or angle brackets (for example, from
Hamlet
: “O farewell, honest
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soldier.
angle bracket
Who hath relieved/you?”). At any point in the text, you can hover your cursor over a bracket for more information.
Because the Folger Shakespeare texts are edited in accord with twenty-first century knowledge about Shakespeare’s texts, the Folger here provides them to readers, scholars, teachers, actors, directors, and students, free of charge, confident of their quality as texts of the plays and pleased to be able to make this contribution to the study and enjoyment of Shakespeare.
The events in
King John
take place in the thirteenth century, well before Shakespeare’s other English history plays. After the death of John’s brother, Richard I, John rules England.
John’s young nephew, Arthur, has a claim to the throne and is supported by the French. At first, a proposed marriage between the French crown prince and John’s niece, Blanche, calms Anglo-French tensions. Then the pope, in a dispute over recognizing an archbishop, excommunicates John and backs Arthur’s claim.
After war erupts, John captures Arthur and orders his death. Arthur’s guardian, Hubert, prepares to burn out Arthur’s eyes, but then spares him. Arthur dies leaping from the prison wall. Arthur’s mother Constance grieves inconsolably.
Meanwhile, French forces reach England. John submits to the pope to gain his aid. Rebellious English nobles join the French, but return to John when they learn the French prince plans to kill them. English forces under the bastard son of Richard I expel the French, but a monk poisons King John, whose son becomes Henry III.
ACT
1
Scene
1
Enter
King
John
,
Queen
Eleanor
,
Pembroke
,
Essex
,
and
Salisbury
,
with
the
Chatillion
of
France
.
Now
say
,
Chatillion
,
what
would
France
with
us
?
Thus
,
after
greeting
,
speaks
the
King
of
France
In
my
behavior
to
the
majesty
,
The
borrowed
majesty
,
of
England
here
.
A
strange
beginning
:
borrowed
majesty
!
Silence
,
good
mother
.
Hear
the
embassy
.
Philip
of
France
,
in
right
and
true
behalf
Of
thy
deceasèd
brother
Geoffrey’s
son
,
Arthur
Plantagenet
,
lays
most
lawful
claim
To
this
fair
island
and
the
territories
,
To
Ireland
,
Poitiers
,
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
.
What
follows
if
we
disallow
of
this
?
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
proud
control
of
fierce
and
bloody
war
,
To
enforce
these
rights
so
forcibly
withheld
.
Here
have
we
war
for
war
and
blood
for
blood
,
Controlment
for
controlment
:
so
answer
France
.
Then
take
my
king’s
defiance
from
my
mouth
,
The
farthest
limit
of
my
embassy
.
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
honorable
conduct
let
him
have
.
Pembroke
,
look
to
’t
.
—
Farewell
,
Chatillion
.
Chatillion
and
Pembroke
exit
.
,
aside
to
King
John
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
.
,
aside
to
Queen
Eleanor
Our
strong
possession
and
our
right
for
us
.
,
aside
to
King
John
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
God
and
you
and
I
shall
hear
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Enter
a
Sheriff
,
who
speaks
aside
to
Essex
.
My
liege
,
here
is
the
strangest
controversy
Come
from
the
country
to
be
judged
by
you
That
e’er
I
heard
.
Shall
I
produce
the
men
?
Let
them
approach
.
Sheriff
exits
.
Our
abbeys
and
our
priories
shall
pay
This
expedition’s
charge
.
Enter
Robert
Faulconbridge
and
Philip
Faulconbridge
.
What
men
are
you
?
Your
faithful
subject
I
,
a
gentleman
,
Born
in
Northamptonshire
,
and
eldest
son
,
As
I
suppose
,
to
Robert
Faulconbridge
,
A
soldier
,
by
the
honor-giving
hand
Of
Coeur
de
Lion
knighted
in
the
field
.
,
to
Robert
Faulconbridge
What
art
thou
?
The
son
and
heir
to
that
same
Faulconbridge
.
Is
that
the
elder
,
and
art
thou
the
heir
?
You
came
not
of
one
mother
then
,
it
seems
.
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
.
Out
on
thee
,
rude
man
!
Thou
dost
shame
thy
mother
And
wound
her
honor
with
this
diffidence
.
I
,
madam
?
No
,
I
have
no
reason
for
it
.
That
is
my
brother’s
plea
,
and
none
of
mine
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
which
if
he
can
prove
,
he
pops
me
out
At
least
from
fair
five
hundred
pound
a
year
.
Heaven
guard
my
mother’s
honor
and
my
land
!
A
good
blunt
fellow
.
—
Why
,
being
younger
born
,
Doth
he
lay
claim
to
thine
inheritance
?
I
know
not
why
,
except
to
get
the
land
.
But
once
he
slandered
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
!
Why
,
what
a
madcap
hath
heaven
lent
us
here
!
,
aside
to
King
John
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
?
,
aside
to
Queen
Eleanor
Mine
eye
hath
well
examinèd
his
parts
And
finds
them
perfect
Richard
.
To
Robert
Faulconbridge
Sirrah
,
speak
.
What
doth
move
you
to
claim
your
brother’s
land
?
Because
he
hath
a
half-face
,
like
my
father
.
With
half
that
face
would
he
have
all
my
land
—
A
half-faced
groat
five
hundred
pound
a
year
!
My
gracious
liege
,
when
that
my
father
lived
,
Your
brother
did
employ
my
father
much
—
ACT 1. SC. 1
Well
,
sir
,
by
this
you
cannot
get
my
land
.
Your
tale
must
be
how
he
employed
my
mother
.
And
once
dispatched
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
sojourned
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
deathbed
he
by
will
bequeathed
His
lands
to
me
,
and
took
it
on
his
death
That
this
my
mother’s
son
was
none
of
his
;
An
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
.
Sirrah
,
your
brother
is
legitimate
.
Your
father’s
wife
did
after
wedlock
bear
him
,
An
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
claimed
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
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Shall
then
my
father’s
will
be
of
no
force
To
dispossess
that
child
which
is
not
his
?
Of
no
more
force
to
dispossess
me
,
sir
,
Than
was
his
will
to
get
me
,
as
I
think
.
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
besides
?
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
stuffed
,
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
.
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
.
Brother
,
take
you
my
land
.
I’ll
take
my
chance
.
Your
face
hath
got
five
hundred
pound
a
year
,
Yet
sell
your
face
for
five
pence
and
’tis
dear
.
—
Madam
,
I’ll
follow
you
unto
the
death
.
Nay
,
I
would
have
you
go
before
me
thither
.
Our
country
manners
give
our
betters
way
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
What
is
thy
name
?
Philip
,
my
liege
,
so
is
my
name
begun
,
Philip
,
good
old
Sir
Robert’s
wife’s
eldest
son
.
From
henceforth
bear
his
name
whose
form
thou
bearest
.
Kneel
thou
down
Philip
,
but
rise
more
great
.
Philip
kneels
.
King
John
dubs
him
a
knight
,
tapping
him
on
the
shoulder
with
his
sword
.
Arise
Sir
Richard
and
Plantagenet
.
,
rising
,
to
Robert
Faulconbridge
Brother
by
th’
mother’s
side
,
give
me
your
hand
.
My
father
gave
me
honor
,
yours
gave
land
.
Now
blessèd
be
the
hour
,
by
night
or
day
,
When
I
was
got
,
Sir
Robert
was
away
!
The
very
spirit
of
Plantagenet
!
I
am
thy
grandam
,
Richard
.
Call
me
so
.
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
.
,
to
Robert
Faulconbridge
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
.
Brother
,
adieu
,
good
fortune
come
to
thee
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
For
thou
wast
got
i’
th’
way
of
honesty
.
All
but
Bastard
exit
.
A
foot
of
honor
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
!
An
if
his
name
be
George
,
I’ll
call
him
Peter
,
For
new-made
honor
doth
forget
men’s
names
;
’Tis
too
respective
and
too
sociable
For
your
conversion
.
Now
your
traveler
,
He
and
his
toothpick
at
my
Worship’s
mess
,
And
when
my
knightly
stomach
is
sufficed
,
Why
then
I
suck
my
teeth
and
catechize
My
pickèd
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
accouterment
,
But
from
the
inward
motion
to
deliver
Sweet
,
sweet
,
sweet
poison
for
the
age’s
tooth
,
Which
though
I
will
not
practice
to
deceive
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
Yet
to
avoid
deceit
I
mean
to
learn
,
For
it
shall
strew
the
footsteps
of
my
rising
.
Enter
Lady
Faulconbridge
and
James
Gurney
.
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
?
O
me
,
’tis
my
mother
.
—
How
now
,
good
lady
?
What
brings
you
here
to
court
so
hastily
?
Where
is
that
slave
thy
brother
?
Where
is
he
That
holds
in
chase
mine
honor
up
and
down
?
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
?
Sir
Robert’s
son
?
Ay
,
thou
unreverent
boy
,
Sir
Robert’s
son
.
Why
scorn’st
thou
at
Sir
Robert
?
He
is
Sir
Robert’s
son
,
and
so
art
thou
.
James
Gurney
,
wilt
thou
give
us
leave
awhile
?
Good
leave
,
good
Philip
.
Philip
Sparrow
,
James
.
There’s
toys
abroad
.
Anon
I’ll
tell
thee
more
.
James
Gurney
exits
.
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
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Hast
thou
conspirèd
with
thy
brother
too
,
That
for
thine
own
gain
shouldst
defend
mine
honor
?
What
means
this
scorn
,
thou
most
untoward
knave
?
Knight
,
knight
,
good
mother
,
Basilisco-like
.
What
,
I
am
dubbed
!
I
have
it
on
my
shoulder
.
But
,
mother
,
I
am
not
Sir
Robert’s
son
.
I
have
disclaimed
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
?
Hast
thou
denied
thyself
a
Faulconbridge
?
As
faithfully
as
I
deny
the
devil
.
King
Richard
Coeur
de
Lion
was
thy
father
.
By
long
and
vehement
suit
I
was
seduced
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
offense
,
Which
was
so
strongly
urged
past
my
defense
.
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
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
unmatchèd
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
ACT 1. SC. 1
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
.
They
exit
.
ACT
2
Scene
1
Enter
,
before
Angiers
,
at
one
side
,
with
Forces
,
Philip
King
of
France
,
Louis
the
Dauphin
,
Constance
,
Arthur
,
and
Attendants
;
at
the
other
side
,
with
Forces
,
Austria
,
wearing
a
lion’s
skin
.
Before
Angiers
well
met
,
brave
Austria
.
—
Arthur
,
that
great
forerunner
of
thy
blood
,
Richard
,
that
robbed
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
colors
,
boy
,
in
thy
behalf
,
And
to
rebuke
the
usurpation
Of
thy
unnatural
uncle
,
English
John
.
Embrace
him
,
love
him
,
give
him
welcome
hither
.
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
unstainèd
love
.
Welcome
before
the
gates
of
Angiers
,
duke
.
A
noble
boy
.
Who
would
not
do
thee
right
?
ACT 2. SC. 1
,
to
Arthur
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-faced
shore
,
Whose
foot
spurns
back
the
ocean’s
roaring
tides
And
coops
from
other
lands
her
islanders
,
Even
till
that
England
,
hedged
in
with
the
main
,
That
water-wallèd
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
.
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
.
The
peace
of
heaven
is
theirs
that
lift
their
swords
In
such
a
just
and
charitable
war
.
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
marketplace
in
Frenchmen’s
blood
,
But
we
will
make
it
subject
to
this
boy
.
Stay
for
an
answer
to
your
embassy
,
Lest
unadvised
you
stain
your
swords
with
blood
.
My
lord
Chatillion
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Enter
Chatillion
.
A
wonder
,
lady
!
Lo
,
upon
thy
wish
Our
messenger
Chatillion
is
arrived
.
—
What
England
says
say
briefly
,
gentle
lord
.
We
coldly
pause
for
thee
.
Chatillion
,
speak
.
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
stayed
,
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
her
niece
,
the
Lady
Blanche
of
Spain
;
With
them
a
bastard
of
the
King’s
deceased
.
And
all
th’
unsettled
humors
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
offense
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
.
How
much
unlooked-for
is
this
expedition
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
By
how
much
unexpected
,
by
so
much
We
must
awake
endeavor
for
defense
,
For
courage
mounteth
with
occasion
.
Let
them
be
welcome
,
then
.
We
are
prepared
.
Enter
King
John
of
England
,
Bastard
,
Queen
Eleanor
,
Blanche
,
Salisbury
,
Pembroke
,
and
others
.
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
.
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
armor
here
we
sweat
.
This
toil
of
ours
should
be
a
work
of
thine
;
But
thou
from
loving
England
art
so
far
That
thou
hast
underwrought
his
lawful
king
,
Cut
off
the
sequence
of
posterity
,
Outfacèd
infant
state
,
and
done
a
rape
Upon
the
maiden
virtue
of
the
crown
.
Look
here
upon
thy
brother
Geoffrey’s
face
.
He
points
to
Arthur
.
These
eyes
,
these
brows
,
were
molded
out
of
his
;
This
little
abstract
doth
contain
that
large
Which
died
in
Geoffrey
,
and
the
hand
of
time
Shall
draw
this
brief
into
as
huge
a
volume
.
That
Geoffrey
was
thy
elder
brother
born
,
And
this
his
son
.
England
was
Geoffrey’s
right
,
And
this
is
Geoffrey’s
.
In
the
name
of
God
,
How
comes
it
then
that
thou
art
called
a
king
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
When
living
blood
doth
in
these
temples
beat
Which
owe
the
crown
that
thou
o’ermasterest
?
From
whom
hast
thou
this
great
commission
,
France
,
To
draw
my
answer
from
thy
articles
?
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
.
Alack
,
thou
dost
usurp
authority
.
Excuse
it
is
to
beat
usurping
down
.
Who
is
it
thou
dost
call
usurper
,
France
?
Let
me
make
answer
:
thy
usurping
son
.
Out
,
insolent
!
Thy
bastard
shall
be
king
That
thou
mayst
be
a
queen
and
check
the
world
.
My
bed
was
ever
to
thy
son
as
true
As
thine
was
to
thy
husband
,
and
this
boy
Liker
in
feature
to
his
father
Geoffrey
Than
thou
and
John
,
in
manners
being
as
like
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
.
,
to
Arthur
There’s
a
good
mother
,
boy
,
that
blots
thy
father
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
There’s
a
good
grandam
,
boy
,
that
would
blot
thee
.
Peace
!
Hear
the
crier
!
What
the
devil
art
thou
?
One
that
will
play
the
devil
,
sir
,
with
you
,
An
he
may
catch
your
hide
and
you
alone
.
You
are
the
hare
of
whom
the
proverb
goes
,
Whose
valor
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
!
O
,
well
did
he
become
that
lion’s
robe
That
did
disrobe
the
lion
of
that
robe
.
It
lies
as
sightly
on
the
back
of
him
As
great
Alcides’
shoes
upon
an
ass
.
—
But
,
ass
,
I’ll
take
that
burden
from
your
back
Or
lay
on
that
shall
make
your
shoulders
crack
.
What
cracker
is
this
same
that
deafs
our
ears
With
this
abundance
of
superfluous
breath
?
Louis
,
determine
what
we
shall
do
straight
.
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
?
My
life
as
soon
!
I
do
defy
thee
,
France
.
—
Arthur
of
Brittany
,
yield
thee
to
my
hand
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
And
out
of
my
dear
love
I’ll
give
thee
more
Than
e’er
the
coward
hand
of
France
can
win
.
Submit
thee
,
boy
.
Come
to
thy
grandam
,
child
.
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
.
,
weeping
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
.
His
mother
shames
him
so
,
poor
boy
,
he
weeps
.
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
bribed
To
do
him
justice
and
revenge
on
you
.
Thou
monstrous
slanderer
of
heaven
and
Earth
earth
!
Thou
monstrous
injurer
of
heaven
and
Earth
earth
,
Call
not
me
slanderer
.
Thou
and
thine
usurp
The
dominations
,
royalties
,
and
rights
Of
this
oppressèd
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
Removèd
from
thy
sin-conceiving
womb
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Bedlam
,
have
done
.
I
have
but
this
to
say
,
That
he
is
not
only
plaguèd
for
her
sin
,
But
God
hath
made
her
sin
and
her
the
plague
On
this
removèd
issue
,
plagued
for
her
,
And
with
her
plague
;
her
sin
his
injury
,
Her
injury
the
beadle
to
her
sin
,
All
punished
in
the
person
of
this
child
And
all
for
her
.
A
plague
upon
her
!
Thou
unadvisèd
scold
,
I
can
produce
A
will
that
bars
the
title
of
thy
son
.
Ay
,
who
doubts
that
?
A
will
—
a
wicked
will
,
A
woman’s
will
,
a
cankered
grandam’s
will
.
Peace
,
lady
.
Pause
,
or
be
more
temperate
.
It
ill
beseems
this
presence
to
cry
aim
To
these
ill-tunèd
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
.
Who
is
it
that
hath
warned
us
to
the
walls
?
’Tis
France
,
for
England
.
England
,
for
itself
.
You
men
of
Angiers
,
and
my
loving
subjects
—
You
loving
men
of
Angiers
,
Arthur’s
subjects
,
Our
trumpet
called
you
to
this
gentle
parle
—
ACT 2. SC. 1
For
our
advantage
.
Therefore
hear
us
first
.
These
flags
of
France
that
are
advancèd
here
Before
the
eye
and
prospect
of
your
town
,
Have
hither
marched
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
Confronts
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
fixèd
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
unscratched
your
city’s
threatened
cheeks
,
Behold
,
the
French
,
amazed
,
vouchsafe
a
parle
.
And
now
,
instead
of
bullets
wrapped
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
ears
,
Which
trust
accordingly
,
kind
citizens
,
And
let
us
in
.
Your
king
,
whose
labored
spirits
Forwearied
in
this
action
of
swift
speed
,
Craves
harborage
within
your
city
walls
.
When
I
have
said
,
make
answer
to
us
both
.
He
takes
Arthur
by
the
hand
.
Lo
,
in
this
right
hand
,
whose
protection
Is
most
divinely
vowed
upon
the
right
ACT 2. SC. 1
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
downtrodden
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
oppressèd
child
Religiously
provokes
.
Be
pleasèd
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
offense
sealed
up
.
Our
cannons’
malice
vainly
shall
be
spent
Against
th’
invulnerable
clouds
of
heaven
,
And
with
a
blessèd
and
unvexed
retire
,
With
unbacked
swords
and
helmets
all
unbruised
,
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
proffered
offer
,
’Tis
not
the
roundure
of
your
old-faced
walls
Can
hide
you
from
our
messengers
of
war
,
Though
all
these
English
and
their
discipline
Were
harbored
in
their
rude
circumference
.
Then
tell
us
,
shall
your
city
call
us
lord
In
that
behalf
which
we
have
challenged
it
?
Or
shall
we
give
the
signal
to
our
rage
And
stalk
in
blood
to
our
possession
?
In
brief
,
we
are
the
King
of
England’s
subjects
.
For
him
,
and
in
his
right
,
we
hold
this
town
.
Acknowledge
then
the
King
and
let
me
in
.
That
can
we
not
.
But
he
that
proves
the
King
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
To
him
will
we
prove
loyal
.
Till
that
time
Have
we
rammed
up
our
gates
against
the
world
.
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
—
Bastards
and
else
.
To
verify
our
title
with
their
lives
.
As
many
and
as
wellborn
bloods
as
those
—
Some
bastards
too
.
Stand
in
his
face
to
contradict
his
claim
.
Till
you
compound
whose
right
is
worthiest
,
We
for
the
worthiest
hold
the
right
from
both
.
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
.
Amen
,
amen
.
—
Mount
,
chevaliers
!
To
arms
!
Saint
George
,
that
swinged
the
dragon
and
e’er
since
Sits
on
’s
horseback
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
.
Peace
!
No
more
.
O
,
tremble
,
for
you
hear
the
lion
roar
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
,
to
his
officers
Up
higher
to
the
plain
,
where
we’ll
set
forth
In
best
appointment
all
our
regiments
.
Speed
,
then
,
to
take
advantage
of
the
field
.
,
to
his
officers
It
shall
be
so
,
and
at
the
other
hill
Command
the
rest
to
stand
.
God
and
our
right
!
They
exit
.
Citizens
remain
,
above
.
Here
,
after
excursions
,
enter
the
Herald
of
France
,
with
Trumpets
,
to
the
gates
.
You
men
of
Angiers
,
open
wide
your
gates
,
And
let
young
Arthur
,
Duke
of
Brittany
,
in
,
Who
by
the
hand
of
France
this
day
hath
made
Much
work
for
tears
in
many
an
English
mother
,
Whose
sons
lie
scattered
on
the
bleeding
ground
.
Many
a
widow’s
husband
groveling
lies
Coldly
embracing
the
discolored
earth
,
And
victory
with
little
loss
doth
play
Upon
the
dancing
banners
of
the
French
,
Who
are
at
hand
,
triumphantly
displayed
,
To
enter
conquerors
and
to
proclaim
Arthur
of
Brittany
England’s
king
and
yours
.
Enter
English
Herald
,
with
Trumpet
.
Rejoice
,
you
men
of
Angiers
,
ring
your
bells
!
King
John
,
your
king
and
England’s
,
doth
approach
,
Commander
of
this
hot
malicious
day
.
Their
armors
,
that
marched
hence
so
silver
bright
,
Hither
return
all
gilt
with
Frenchmen’s
blood
.
There
stuck
no
plume
in
any
English
crest
That
is
removèd
by
a
staff
of
France
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Our
colors
do
return
in
those
same
hands
That
did
display
them
when
we
first
marched
forth
,
And
like
a
jolly
troop
of
huntsmen
come
Our
lusty
English
,
all
with
purpled
hands
,
Dyed
in
the
dying
slaughter
of
their
foes
.
Open
your
gates
,
and
give
the
victors
way
.
Heralds
,
from
off
our
towers
we
might
behold
From
first
to
last
the
onset
and
retire
Of
both
your
armies
,
whose
equality
By
our
best
eyes
cannot
be
censurèd
.
Blood
hath
bought
blood
,
and
blows
have
answered
blows
,
Strength
matched
with
strength
,
and
power
confronted
power
.
Both
are
alike
,
and
both
alike
we
like
.
One
must
prove
greatest
.
While
they
weigh
so
even
,
We
hold
our
town
for
neither
,
yet
for
both
.
Enter
the
two
Kings
with
their
Powers
(
including
the
Bastard
,
Queen
Eleanor
,
Blanche
,
and
Salisbury
;
Austria
,
and
Louis
the
Dauphin
)
,
at
several
doors
.
France
,
hast
thou
yet
more
blood
to
cast
away
?
Say
,
shall
the
current
of
our
right
roam
on
,
Whose
passage
,
vexed
with
thy
impediment
,
Shall
leave
his
native
channel
and
o’erswell
With
course
disturbed
even
thy
confining
shores
,
Unless
thou
let
his
silver
water
keep
A
peaceful
progress
to
the
ocean
?
England
,
thou
hast
not
saved
one
drop
of
blood
In
this
hot
trial
more
than
we
of
France
,
Rather
lost
more
.
And
by
this
hand
I
swear
That
sways
the
earth
this
climate
overlooks
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Before
we
will
lay
down
our
just-borne
arms
,
We’ll
put
thee
down
,
’gainst
whom
these
arms
we
bear
,
Or
add
a
royal
number
to
the
dead
,
Gracing
the
scroll
that
tells
of
this
war’s
loss
With
slaughter
coupled
to
the
name
of
kings
.
,
aside
Ha
,
majesty
!
How
high
thy
glory
towers
When
the
rich
blood
of
kings
is
set
on
fire
!
O
,
now
doth
Death
line
his
dead
chaps
with
steel
,
The
swords
of
soldiers
are
his
teeth
,
his
fangs
,
And
now
he
feasts
,
mousing
the
flesh
of
men
In
undetermined
differences
of
kings
.
Why
stand
these
royal
fronts
amazèd
thus
?
Cry
havoc
,
kings
!
Back
to
the
stainèd
field
,
You
equal
potents
,
fiery-kindled
spirits
.
Then
let
confusion
of
one
part
confirm
The
other’s
peace
.
Till
then
,
blows
,
blood
,
and
death
!
Whose
party
do
the
townsmen
yet
admit
?
Speak
,
citizens
,
for
England
.
Who’s
your
king
?
The
King
of
England
,
when
we
know
the
King
.
Know
him
in
us
,
that
here
hold
up
his
right
.
In
us
,
that
are
our
own
great
deputy
And
bear
possession
of
our
person
here
,
Lord
of
our
presence
,
Angiers
,
and
of
you
.
A
greater
power
than
we
denies
all
this
,
And
till
it
be
undoubted
,
we
do
lock
Our
former
scruple
in
our
strong-barred
gates
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Kings
of
our
fear
,
until
our
fears
resolved
Be
by
some
certain
king
purged
and
deposed
.
By
heaven
,
these
scroyles
of
Angiers
flout
you
,
kings
,
And
stand
securely
on
their
battlements
As
in
a
theater
,
whence
they
gape
and
point
At
your
industrious
scenes
and
acts
of
death
.
Your
royal
presences
,
be
ruled
by
me
:
Do
like
the
mutines
of
Jerusalem
,
Be
friends
awhile
,
and
both
conjointly
bend
Your
sharpest
deeds
of
malice
on
this
town
.
By
east
and
west
let
France
and
England
mount
Their
battering
cannon
chargèd
to
the
mouths
,
Till
their
soul-fearing
clamors
have
brawled
down
The
flinty
ribs
of
this
contemptuous
city
.
I’d
play
incessantly
upon
these
jades
,
Even
till
unfencèd
desolation
Leave
them
as
naked
as
the
vulgar
air
.
That
done
,
dissever
your
united
strengths
And
part
your
mingled
colors
once
again
;
Turn
face
to
face
and
bloody
point
to
point
.
Then
in
a
moment
Fortune
shall
cull
forth
Out
of
one
side
her
happy
minion
,
To
whom
in
favor
she
shall
give
the
day
And
kiss
him
with
a
glorious
victory
.
How
like
you
this
wild
counsel
,
mighty
states
?
Smacks
it
not
something
of
the
policy
?
Now
by
the
sky
that
hangs
above
our
heads
,
I
like
it
well
.
France
,
shall
we
knit
our
powers
And
lay
this
Angiers
even
with
the
ground
,
Then
after
fight
who
shall
be
king
of
it
?
,
to
King
Philip
An
if
thou
hast
the
mettle
of
a
king
,
Being
wronged
as
we
are
by
this
peevish
town
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Turn
thou
the
mouth
of
thy
artillery
,
As
we
will
ours
,
against
these
saucy
walls
,
And
when
that
we
have
dashed
them
to
the
ground
,
Why
,
then
,
defy
each
other
and
pell-mell
Make
work
upon
ourselves
,
for
heaven
or
hell
.
Let
it
be
so
.
Say
,
where
will
you
assault
?
We
from
the
west
will
send
destruction
Into
this
city’s
bosom
.
I
from
the
north
.
Our
thunder
from
the
south
Shall
rain
their
drift
of
bullets
on
this
town
.
,
aside
O
,
prudent
discipline
!
From
north
to
south
,
Austria
and
France
shoot
in
each
other’s
mouth
.
I’ll
stir
them
to
it
.
—
Come
,
away
,
away
!
Hear
us
,
great
kings
.
Vouchsafe
awhile
to
stay
,
And
I
shall
show
you
peace
and
fair-faced
league
,
Win
you
this
city
without
stroke
or
wound
,
Rescue
those
breathing
lives
to
die
in
beds
That
here
come
sacrifices
for
the
field
.
Persever
not
,
but
hear
me
,
mighty
kings
.
Speak
on
with
favor
.
We
are
bent
to
hear
.
That
daughter
there
of
Spain
,
the
Lady
Blanche
,
Is
near
to
England
.
Look
upon
the
years
Of
Louis
the
Dauphin
and
that
lovely
maid
.
If
lusty
love
should
go
in
quest
of
beauty
,
Where
should
he
find
it
fairer
than
in
Blanche
?
If
zealous
love
should
go
in
search
of
virtue
,
Where
should
he
find
it
purer
than
in
Blanche
?
If
love
ambitious
sought
a
match
of
birth
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Whose
veins
bound
richer
blood
than
Lady
Blanche
?
Such
as
she
is
,
in
beauty
,
virtue
,
birth
,
Is
the
young
Dauphin
every
way
complete
.
If
not
complete
of
,
say
he
is
not
she
,
And
she
again
wants
nothing
,
to
name
want
,
If
want
it
be
not
that
she
is
not
he
.
He
is
the
half
part
of
a
blessèd
man
,
Left
to
be
finishèd
by
such
as
she
,
And
she
a
fair
divided
excellence
,
Whose
fullness
of
perfection
lies
in
him
.
O
,
two
such
silver
currents
when
they
join
Do
glorify
the
banks
that
bound
them
in
,
And
two
such
shores
to
two
such
streams
made
one
,
Two
such
controlling
bounds
shall
you
be
,
kings
,
To
these
two
princes
,
if
you
marry
them
.
This
union
shall
do
more
than
battery
can
To
our
fast-closèd
gates
,
for
at
this
match
,
With
swifter
spleen
than
powder
can
enforce
,
The
mouth
of
passage
shall
we
fling
wide
ope
And
give
you
entrance
.
But
without
this
match
,
The
sea
enragèd
is
not
half
so
deaf
,
Lions
more
confident
,
mountains
and
rocks
More
free
from
motion
,
no
,
not
Death
himself
In
mortal
fury
half
so
peremptory
As
we
to
keep
this
city
.
King
Philip
and
Louis
the
Dauphin
walk
aside
and
talk
.
,
aside
Here’s
a
stay
That
shakes
the
rotten
carcass
of
old
Death
Out
of
his
rags
!
Here’s
a
large
mouth
indeed
That
spits
forth
death
and
mountains
,
rocks
and
seas
;
Talks
as
familiarly
of
roaring
lions
As
maids
of
thirteen
do
of
puppy
dogs
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
What
cannoneer
begot
this
lusty
blood
?
He
speaks
plain
cannon
fire
,
and
smoke
,
and
bounce
.
He
gives
the
bastinado
with
his
tongue
.
Our
ears
are
cudgeled
.
Not
a
word
of
his
But
buffets
better
than
a
fist
of
France
.
Zounds
,
I
was
never
so
bethumped
with
words
Since
I
first
called
my
brother’s
father
Dad
.
,
aside
to
King
John
Son
,
list
to
this
conjunction
;
make
this
match
.
Give
with
our
niece
a
dowry
large
enough
,
For
by
this
knot
thou
shalt
so
surely
tie
Thy
now
unsured
assurance
to
the
crown
That
yon
green
boy
shall
have
no
sun
to
ripe
The
bloom
that
promiseth
a
mighty
fruit
.
I
see
a
yielding
in
the
looks
of
France
.
Mark
how
they
whisper
.
Urge
them
while
their
souls
Are
capable
of
this
ambition
,
Lest
zeal
,
now
melted
by
the
windy
breath
Of
soft
petitions
,
pity
,
and
remorse
,
Cool
and
congeal
again
to
what
it
was
.
Why
answer
not
the
double
majesties
This
friendly
treaty
of
our
threatened
town
?
Speak
England
first
,
that
hath
been
forward
first
To
speak
unto
this
city
.
What
say
you
?
If
that
the
Dauphin
there
,
thy
princely
son
,
Can
in
this
book
of
beauty
read
I
love
,
Her
dowry
shall
weigh
equal
with
a
queen
.
For
Anjou
and
fair
Touraine
,
Maine
,
Poitiers
,
And
all
that
we
upon
this
side
the
sea
—
Except
this
city
now
by
us
besieged
—
ACT 2. SC. 1
Find
liable
to
our
crown
and
dignity
,
Shall
gild
her
bridal
bed
and
make
her
rich
In
titles
,
honors
,
and
promotions
,
As
she
in
beauty
,
education
,
blood
,
Holds
hand
with
any
princess
of
the
world
.
What
sayst
thou
,
boy
?
Look
in
the
lady’s
face
.
I
do
,
my
lord
,
and
in
her
eye
I
find
A
wonder
or
a
wondrous
miracle
,
The
shadow
of
myself
formed
in
her
eye
,
Which
,
being
but
the
shadow
of
your
son
,
Becomes
a
sun
and
makes
your
son
a
shadow
.
I
do
protest
I
never
loved
myself
Till
now
infixèd
I
beheld
myself
Drawn
in
the
flattering
table
of
her
eye
.
He
whispers
with
Blanche
.
,
aside
Drawn
in
the
flattering
table
of
her
eye
?
Hanged
in
the
frowning
wrinkle
of
her
brow
And
quartered
in
her
heart
!
He
doth
espy
Himself
love’s
traitor
.
This
is
pity
now
,
That
hanged
and
drawn
and
quartered
there
should
be
In
such
a
love
so
vile
a
lout
as
he
.
,
aside
to
Dauphin
My
uncle’s
will
in
this
respect
is
mine
.
If
he
see
aught
in
you
that
makes
him
like
,
That
anything
he
sees
which
moves
his
liking
I
can
with
ease
translate
it
to
my
will
.
Or
if
you
will
,
to
speak
more
properly
,
I
will
enforce
it
eas’ly
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
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Though
churlish
thoughts
themselves
should
be
your
judge
,
That
I
can
find
should
merit
any
hate
.
What
say
these
young
ones
?
What
say
you
,
my
niece
?
That
she
is
bound
in
honor
still
to
do
What
you
in
wisdom
still
vouchsafe
to
say
.
Speak
then
,
Prince
Dauphin
.
Can
you
love
this
lady
?
Nay
,
ask
me
if
I
can
refrain
from
love
,
For
I
do
love
her
most
unfeignedly
.
Then
do
I
give
Volquessen
,
Touraine
,
Maine
,
Poitiers
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
pleased
withal
,
Command
thy
son
and
daughter
to
join
hands
.
It
likes
us
well
.
—
Young
princes
,
close
your
hands
.
And
your
lips
too
,
for
I
am
well
assured
That
I
did
so
when
I
was
first
assured
.
Dauphin
and
Blanche
join
hands
and
kiss
.
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
solemnized
.
—
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
She
is
sad
and
passionate
at
your
Highness’
tent
.
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
.
We
will
heal
up
all
,
For
we’ll
create
young
Arthur
Duke
of
Brittany
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
.
Salisbury
exits
.
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
unlooked-for
,
unpreparèd
pomp
.
All
but
the
Bastard
exit
.
Mad
world
,
mad
kings
,
mad
composition
!
John
,
to
stop
Arthur’s
title
in
the
whole
,
Hath
willingly
departed
with
a
part
;
And
France
,
whose
armor
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
—
ACT 2. SC. 1
That
smooth-faced
gentleman
,
tickling
Commodity
,
Commodity
,
the
bias
of
the
world
—
The
world
,
who
of
itself
is
peisèd
well
,
Made
to
run
even
upon
even
ground
,
Till
this
advantage
,
this
vile-drawing
bias
,
This
sway
of
motion
,
this
Commodity
,
Makes
it
take
head
from
all
indifferency
,
From
all
direction
,
purpose
,
course
,
intent
.
And
this
same
bias
,
this
Commodity
,
This
bawd
,
this
broker
,
this
all-changing
word
,
Clapped
on
the
outward
eye
of
fickle
France
,
Hath
drawn
him
from
his
own
determined
aid
,
From
a
resolved
and
honorable
war
To
a
most
base
and
vile-concluded
peace
.
And
why
rail
I
on
this
Commodity
?
But
for
because
he
hath
not
wooed
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
!
He
exits
.
ACT
3
Scene
1
Enter
Constance
,
Arthur
,
and
Salisbury
.
,
to
Salisbury
Gone
to
be
married
?
Gone
to
swear
a
peace
?
False
blood
to
false
blood
joined
?
Gone
to
be
friends
?
Shall
Louis
have
Blanche
and
Blanche
those
provinces
?
It
is
not
so
.
Thou
hast
misspoke
,
misheard
.
Be
well
advised
;
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
punished
for
thus
flighting
me
,
For
I
am
sick
and
capable
of
fears
,
Oppressed
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
vexed
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
?
ACT 3. SC. 1
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
.
As
true
as
I
believe
you
think
them
false
That
give
you
cause
to
prove
my
saying
true
.
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
.
Louis
marry
Blanche
?
—
O
,
boy
,
then
where
art
thou
?
—
France
friend
with
England
?
What
becomes
of
me
?
Fellow
,
be
gone
.
I
cannot
brook
thy
sight
.
This
news
hath
made
thee
a
most
ugly
man
.
What
other
harm
have
I
,
good
lady
,
done
But
spoke
the
harm
that
is
by
others
done
?
Which
harm
within
itself
so
heinous
is
As
it
makes
harmful
all
that
speak
of
it
.
I
do
beseech
you
,
madam
,
be
content
.
If
thou
that
bidd’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
,
Patched
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
ACT 3. SC. 1
Become
thy
great
birth
,
nor
deserve
a
crown
.
But
thou
art
fair
,
and
at
thy
birth
,
dear
boy
,
Nature
and
Fortune
joined
to
make
thee
great
.
Of
Nature’s
gifts
thou
mayst
with
lilies
boast
,
And
with
the
half-blown
rose
.
But
Fortune
,
O
,
She
is
corrupted
,
changed
,
and
won
from
thee
;
Sh’
adulterates
hourly
with
thine
Uncle
John
,
And
with
her
golden
hand
hath
plucked
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
underbear
.
Pardon
me
,
madam
,
I
may
not
go
without
you
to
the
Kings
.
Thou
mayst
,
thou
shalt
,
I
will
not
go
with
thee
.
I
will
instruct
my
sorrows
to
be
proud
,
For
grief
is
proud
and
makes
his
owner
stoop
.
She
sits
down
.
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
earth
Can
hold
it
up
.
Here
I
and
sorrows
sit
.
Here
is
my
throne
;
bid
kings
come
bow
to
it
.
Enter
King
John
,
hand
in
hand
with
King
Philip
of
France
,
Louis
the
Dauphin
,
Blanche
,
Queen
Eleanor
,
Bastard
,
Austria
,
and
Attendants
.
,
to
Blanche
’Tis
true
,
fair
daughter
,
and
this
blessèd
day
Ever
in
France
shall
be
kept
festival
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
To
solemnize
this
day
the
glorious
sun
Stays
in
his
course
and
plays
the
alchemist
,
Turning
with
splendor
of
his
precious
eye
The
meager
cloddy
earth
to
glittering
gold
.
The
yearly
course
that
brings
this
day
about
Shall
never
see
it
but
a
holy
day
.
,
rising
A
wicked
day
,
and
not
a
holy
day
!
What
hath
this
day
deserved
?
What
hath
it
done
That
it
in
golden
letters
should
be
set
Among
the
high
tides
in
the
calendar
?
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
crossed
.
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
itself
to
hollow
falsehood
change
!
By
heaven
,
lady
,
you
shall
have
no
cause
To
curse
the
fair
proceedings
of
this
day
.
Have
I
not
pawned
to
you
my
majesty
?
You
have
beguiled
me
with
a
counterfeit
Resembling
majesty
,
which
,
being
touched
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
vigor
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
perjured
kings
!
ACT 3. SC. 1
A
widow
cries
;
be
husband
to
me
,
God
!
Let
not
the
hours
of
this
ungodly
day
Wear
out
the
days
in
peace
,
but
ere
sunset
Set
armèd
discord
’twixt
these
perjured
kings
.
Hear
me
,
O
,
hear
me
!
Lady
Constance
,
peace
.
War
,
war
,
no
peace
!
Peace
is
to
me
a
war
.
O
Limoges
,
O
Austria
,
thou
dost
shame
That
bloody
spoil
.
Thou
slave
,
thou
wretch
,
thou
coward
,
Thou
little
valiant
,
great
in
villainy
,
Thou
ever
strong
upon
the
stronger
side
,
Thou
Fortune’s
champion
,
that
dost
never
fight
But
when
her
humorous
Ladyship
ladyship
is
by
To
teach
thee
safety
.
Thou
art
perjured
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
?
And
dost
thou
now
fall
over
to
my
foes
?
Thou
wear
a
lion’s
hide
!
Doff
it
for
shame
,
And
hang
a
calfskin
on
those
recreant
limbs
.
O
,
that
a
man
should
speak
those
words
to
me
!
And
hang
a
calfskin
on
those
recreant
limbs
.
Thou
dar’st
not
say
so
,
villain
,
for
thy
life
!
And
hang
a
calfskin
on
those
recreant
limbs
.
We
like
not
this
.
Thou
dost
forget
thyself
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
Enter
Pandulph
.
Here
comes
the
holy
legate
of
the
Pope
.
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
willfully
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
.
What
earthy
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
God
are
supreme
head
,
So
,
under
Him
,
that
great
supremacy
Where
we
do
reign
we
will
alone
uphold
Without
th’
assistance
of
a
mortal
hand
.
So
tell
the
Pope
,
all
reverence
set
apart
To
him
and
his
usurped
authority
.
Brother
of
England
,
you
blaspheme
in
this
.
Though
you
and
all
the
kings
of
Christendom
Are
led
so
grossly
by
this
meddling
priest
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
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
.
Then
,
by
the
lawful
power
that
I
have
,
Thou
shalt
stand
cursed
and
excommunicate
;
And
blessèd
shall
he
be
that
doth
revolt
From
his
allegiance
to
an
heretic
;
And
meritorious
shall
that
hand
be
called
,
Canonizèd
and
worshiped
as
a
saint
,
That
takes
away
by
any
secret
course
Thy
hateful
life
.
O
,
lawful
let
it
be
That
I
have
room
with
Rome
to
curse
awhile
!
Good
father
cardinal
,
cry
thou
Amen
To
my
keen
curses
,
for
without
my
wrong
There
is
no
tongue
hath
power
to
curse
him
right
.
There’s
law
and
warrant
,
lady
,
for
my
curse
.
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
?
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
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
Look’st
thou
pale
,
France
?
Do
not
let
go
thy
hand
.
Look
to
that
,
devil
,
lest
that
France
repent
And
by
disjoining
hands
,
hell
lose
a
soul
.
King
Philip
,
listen
to
the
Cardinal
.
And
hang
a
calfskin
on
his
recreant
limbs
.
Well
,
ruffian
,
I
must
pocket
up
these
wrongs
,
Because
—
Your
breeches
best
may
carry
them
.
Philip
,
what
sayst
thou
to
the
Cardinal
?
What
should
he
say
,
but
as
the
Cardinal
?
Bethink
you
,
father
,
for
the
difference
Is
purchase
of
a
heavy
curse
from
Rome
,
Or
the
light
loss
of
England
for
a
friend
.
Forgo
the
easier
.
That’s
the
curse
of
Rome
.
O
Louis
,
stand
fast
!
The
devil
tempts
thee
here
In
likeness
of
a
new
untrimmèd
bride
.
The
Lady
Constance
speaks
not
from
her
faith
,
But
from
her
need
.
,
to
King
Philip
O
,
if
thou
grant
my
need
,
Which
only
lives
but
by
the
death
of
faith
,
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
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
The
King
is
moved
,
and
answers
not
to
this
.
,
to
King
Philip
O
,
be
removed
from
him
,
and
answer
well
!
Do
so
,
King
Philip
.
Hang
no
more
in
doubt
.
Hang
nothing
but
a
calfskin
,
most
sweet
lout
.
I
am
perplexed
and
know
not
what
to
say
.
What
canst
thou
say
but
will
perplex
thee
more
,
If
thou
stand
excommunicate
and
cursed
?
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
linked
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
,
God
knows
they
were
besmeared
and
overstained
With
slaughter’s
pencil
,
where
revenge
did
paint
The
fearful
difference
of
incensèd
kings
.
And
shall
these
hands
,
so
lately
purged
of
blood
,
So
newly
joined
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
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
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
blest
To
do
your
pleasure
and
continue
friends
.
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
mayst
hold
a
serpent
by
the
tongue
,
A
chafèd
lion
by
the
mortal
paw
,
A
fasting
tiger
safer
by
the
tooth
,
Than
keep
in
peace
that
hand
which
thou
dost
hold
.
I
may
disjoin
my
hand
,
but
not
my
faith
.
So
mak’st
thou
faith
an
enemy
to
faith
,
And
like
a
civil
war
sett’st
oath
to
oath
,
Thy
tongue
against
thy
tongue
.
O
,
let
thy
vow
First
made
to
God
,
first
be
to
God
performed
,
That
is
,
to
be
the
champion
of
our
Church
!
What
since
thou
swor’st
is
sworn
against
thyself
And
may
not
be
performèd
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
.
The
better
act
of
purposes
mistook
Is
to
mistake
again
;
though
indirect
,
Yet
indirection
thereby
grows
direct
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
And
falsehood
falsehood
cures
,
as
fire
cools
fire
Within
the
scorchèd
veins
of
one
new-burned
.
It
is
religion
that
doth
make
vows
kept
,
But
thou
hast
sworn
against
religion
By
what
thou
swear’st
against
the
thing
thou
swear’st
,
And
mak’st
an
oath
the
surety
for
thy
truth
Against
an
oath
.
The
truth
thou
art
unsure
To
swear
swears
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
later
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
these
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
So
heavy
as
thou
shalt
not
shake
them
off
,
But
in
despair
die
under
their
black
weight
.
Rebellion
,
flat
rebellion
!
Will
’t
not
be
?
Will
not
a
calfskin
stop
that
mouth
of
thine
?
Father
,
to
arms
!
Upon
thy
wedding
day
?
Against
the
blood
that
thou
hast
marrièd
?
What
,
shall
our
feast
be
kept
with
slaughtered
men
?
Shall
braying
trumpets
and
loud
churlish
drums
,
Clamors
of
hell
,
be
measures
to
our
pomp
?
She
kneels
.
O
husband
,
hear
me
!
Ay
,
alack
,
how
new
Is
husband
in
my
mouth
!
Even
for
that
name
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
Which
till
this
time
my
tongue
did
ne’er
pronounce
,
Upon
my
knee
I
beg
,
go
not
to
arms
Against
mine
uncle
.
,
kneeling
O
,
upon
my
knee
Made
hard
with
kneeling
,
I
do
pray
to
thee
,
Thou
virtuous
Dauphin
,
alter
not
the
doom
Forethought
by
heaven
!
,
to
Dauphin
Now
shall
I
see
thy
love
.
What
motive
may
Be
stronger
with
thee
than
the
name
of
wife
?
That
which
upholdeth
him
that
thee
upholds
,
His
honor
.
—
O
,
thine
honor
,
Louis
,
thine
honor
!
,
to
King
Philip
I
muse
your
Majesty
doth
seem
so
cold
,
When
such
profound
respects
do
pull
you
on
.
I
will
denounce
a
curse
upon
his
head
.
,
dropping
King
John’s
hand
Thou
shalt
not
need
.
—
England
,
I
will
fall
from
thee
.
,
rising
O
,
fair
return
of
banished
majesty
!
O
,
foul
revolt
of
French
inconstancy
!
France
,
thou
shalt
rue
this
hour
within
this
hour
.
Old
Time
the
clock-setter
,
that
bald
sexton
Time
,
Is
it
as
he
will
?
Well
,
then
,
France
shall
rue
.
,
rising
The
sun’s
o’ercast
with
blood
.
Fair
day
,
adieu
.
Which
is
the
side
that
I
must
go
withal
?
I
am
with
both
,
each
army
hath
a
hand
,
ACT 3. SC. 2
And
in
their
rage
,
I
having
hold
of
both
,
They
whirl
asunder
and
dismember
me
.
Husband
,
I
cannot
pray
that
thou
mayst
win
.
—
Uncle
,
I
needs
must
pray
that
thou
mayst
lose
.
—
Father
,
I
may
not
wish
the
fortune
thine
.
—
Grandam
,
I
will
not
wish
thy
wishes
thrive
.
Whoever
wins
,
on
that
side
shall
I
lose
.
Assurèd
loss
before
the
match
be
played
.
Lady
,
with
me
,
with
me
thy
fortune
lies
.
There
where
my
fortune
lives
,
there
my
life
dies
.
,
to
Bastard
Cousin
,
go
draw
our
puissance
together
.
Bastard
exits
.
France
,
I
am
burned
up
with
inflaming
wrath
,
A
rage
whose
heat
hath
this
condition
,
That
nothing
can
allay
,
nothing
but
blood
—
The
blood
,
and
dearest-valued
blood
,
of
France
.
Thy
rage
shall
burn
thee
up
,
and
thou
shalt
turn
To
ashes
ere
our
blood
shall
quench
that
fire
.
Look
to
thyself
.
Thou
art
in
jeopardy
.
No
more
than
he
that
threats
.
—
To
arms
let’s
hie
!
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Alarums
,
excursions
.
Enter
Bastard
with
Austria’s
head
.
Now
,
by
my
life
,
this
day
grows
wondrous
hot
.
Some
airy
devil
hovers
in
the
sky
And
pours
down
mischief
.
Austria’s
head
lie
there
,
While
Philip
breathes
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Enter
King
John
,
Arthur
,
Hubert
.
Hubert
,
keep
this
boy
.
—
Philip
,
make
up
.
My
mother
is
assailèd
in
our
tent
And
ta’en
,
I
fear
.
My
lord
,
I
rescued
her
.
Her
Highness
is
in
safety
,
fear
you
not
.
But
on
,
my
liege
,
for
very
little
pains
Will
bring
this
labor
to
an
happy
end
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Alarums
,
excursions
,
retreat
.
Enter
King
John
,
Queen
Eleanor
,
Arthur
,
Bastard
,
Hubert
,
Lords
.
,
to
Queen
Eleanor
So
shall
it
be
.
Your
Grace
shall
stay
behind
So
strongly
guarded
.
To
Arthur
.
Cousin
,
look
not
sad
.
Thy
grandam
loves
thee
,
and
thy
uncle
will
As
dear
be
to
thee
as
thy
father
was
.
O
,
this
will
make
my
mother
die
with
grief
!
,
to
Bastard
Cousin
,
away
for
England
!
Haste
before
,
And
ere
our
coining
see
thou
shake
the
bags
Of
hoarding
abbots
;
imprisoned
angels
Set
at
liberty
.
The
fat
ribs
of
peace
Must
by
the
hungry
now
be
fed
upon
.
Use
our
commission
in
his
utmost
force
.
Bell
,
book
,
and
candle
shall
not
drive
me
back
When
gold
and
silver
becks
me
to
come
on
.
I
leave
your
Highness
.
—
Grandam
,
I
will
pray
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
If
ever
I
remember
to
be
holy
,
For
your
fair
safety
.
So
I
kiss
your
hand
.
Farewell
,
gentle
cousin
.
Coz
,
farewell
.
Bastard
exits
.
,
to
Arthur
Come
hither
,
little
kinsman
.
Hark
,
a
word
.
They
walk
aside
.
Come
hither
,
Hubert
.
He
takes
Hubert
aside
.
O
,
my
gentle
Hubert
,
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
cherishèd
.
Give
me
thy
hand
.
I
had
a
thing
to
say
,
But
I
will
fit
it
with
some
better
tune
.
By
heaven
,
Hubert
,
I
am
almost
ashamed
To
say
what
good
respect
I
have
of
thee
.
I
am
much
bounden
to
your
Majesty
.
Good
friend
,
thou
hast
no
cause
to
say
so
yet
,
But
thou
shalt
have
.
And
,
creep
time
ne’er
so
slow
,
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
gauds
To
give
me
audience
.
If
the
midnight
bell
Did
with
his
iron
tongue
and
brazen
mouth
Sound
on
into
the
drowsy
race
of
night
;
If
this
same
were
a
churchyard
where
we
stand
,
And
thou
possessèd
with
a
thousand
wrongs
;
ACT 3. SC. 3
Or
if
that
surly
spirit
,
melancholy
,
Had
baked
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
couldst
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
.
So
well
that
what
you
bid
me
undertake
,
Though
that
my
death
were
adjunct
to
my
act
,
By
heaven
,
I
would
do
it
.
Do
not
I
know
thou
wouldst
?
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
.
And
I’ll
keep
him
so
That
he
shall
not
offend
your
Majesty
.
Death
.
My
lord
?
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
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
Remember
.
He
turns
to
Queen
Eleanor
.
Madam
,
fare
you
well
.
I’ll
send
those
powers
o’er
to
your
Majesty
.
My
blessing
go
with
thee
.
,
to
Arthur
For
England
,
cousin
,
go
.
Hubert
shall
be
your
man
,
attend
on
you
With
all
true
duty
.
—
On
toward
Calais
,
ho
!
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
King
Philip
of
France
,
Louis
the
Dauphin
,
Pandulph
,
Attendants
.
So
,
by
a
roaring
tempest
on
the
flood
,
A
whole
armada
of
convicted
sail
Is
scattered
and
disjoined
from
fellowship
.
Courage
and
comfort
.
All
shall
yet
go
well
.
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
?
What
he
hath
won
,
that
hath
he
fortified
.
So
hot
a
speed
,
with
such
advice
disposed
,
Such
temperate
order
in
so
fierce
a
cause
,
Doth
want
example
.
Who
hath
read
or
heard
Of
any
kindred
action
like
to
this
?
Well
could
I
bear
that
England
had
this
praise
,
So
we
could
find
some
pattern
of
our
shame
.
Enter
Constance
,
with
her
hair
unbound
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
Look
who
comes
here
!
A
grave
unto
a
soul
,
Holding
th’
eternal
spirit
against
her
will
In
the
vile
prison
of
afflicted
breath
.
—
I
prithee
,
lady
,
go
away
with
me
.
Lo
,
now
,
now
see
the
issue
of
your
peace
!
Patience
,
good
lady
.
Comfort
,
gentle
Constance
.
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
,
Thou
hate
and
terror
to
prosperity
,
And
I
will
kiss
thy
detestable
bones
And
put
my
eyeballs
in
thy
vaulty
brows
,
And
ring
these
fingers
with
thy
household
worms
,
And
stop
this
gap
of
breath
with
fulsome
dust
,
And
be
a
carrion
monster
like
thyself
.
Come
,
grin
on
me
,
and
I
will
think
thou
smil’st
,
And
buss
thee
as
thy
wife
.
Misery’s
love
,
O
,
come
to
me
!
O
fair
affliction
,
peace
!
No
,
no
,
I
will
not
,
having
breath
to
cry
.
O
,
that
my
tongue
were
in
the
thunder’s
mouth
!
Then
with
a
passion
would
I
shake
the
world
And
rouse
from
sleep
that
fell
anatomy
Which
cannot
hear
a
lady’s
feeble
voice
,
Which
scorns
a
modern
invocation
.
Lady
,
you
utter
madness
and
not
sorrow
.
Thou
art
not
holy
to
belie
me
so
.
I
am
not
mad
.
This
hair
I
tear
is
mine
;
ACT 3. SC. 4
My
name
is
Constance
;
I
was
Geoffrey’s
wife
;
Young
Arthur
is
my
son
,
and
he
is
lost
.
I
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
canonized
,
cardinal
.
For
,
being
not
mad
but
sensible
of
grief
,
My
reasonable
part
produces
reason
How
I
may
be
delivered
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
.
Bind
up
those
tresses
.
—
O
,
what
love
I
note
In
the
fair
multitude
of
those
her
hairs
;
Where
but
by
chance
a
silver
drop
hath
fall’n
,
Even
to
that
drop
ten
thousand
wiry
friends
Do
glue
themselves
in
sociable
grief
,
Like
true
,
inseparable
,
faithful
loves
,
Sticking
together
in
calamity
.
To
England
,
if
you
will
.
Bind
up
your
hairs
.
Yes
,
that
I
will
.
And
wherefore
will
I
do
it
?
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
!
But
now
I
envy
at
their
liberty
,
And
will
again
commit
them
to
their
bonds
,
Because
my
poor
child
is
a
prisoner
.
She
binds
up
her
hair
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
And
father
cardinal
,
I
have
heard
you
say
That
we
shall
see
and
know
our
friends
in
heaven
.
If
that
be
true
,
I
shall
see
my
boy
again
;
For
since
the
birth
of
Cain
,
the
first
male
child
,
To
him
that
did
but
yesterday
suspire
,
There
was
not
such
a
gracious
creature
born
.
But
now
will
canker
sorrow
eat
my
bud
And
chase
the
native
beauty
from
his
cheek
,
And
he
will
look
as
hollow
as
a
ghost
,
As
dim
and
meager
as
an
ague’s
fit
,
And
so
he’ll
die
;
and
,
rising
so
again
,
When
I
shall
meet
him
in
the
court
of
heaven
I
shall
not
know
him
.
Therefore
never
,
never
Must
I
behold
my
pretty
Arthur
more
.
You
hold
too
heinous
a
respect
of
grief
.
He
talks
to
me
that
never
had
a
son
.
You
are
as
fond
of
grief
as
of
your
child
.
Grief
fills
the
room
up
of
my
absent
child
,
Lies
in
his
bed
,
walks
up
and
down
with
me
,
Puts
on
his
pretty
looks
,
repeats
his
words
,
Remembers
me
of
all
his
gracious
parts
,
Stuffs
out
his
vacant
garments
with
his
form
;
Then
,
have
I
reason
to
be
fond
of
grief
?
Fare
you
well
.
Had
you
such
a
loss
as
I
,
I
could
give
better
comfort
than
you
do
.
She
unbinds
her
hair
.
I
will
not
keep
this
form
upon
my
head
When
there
is
such
disorder
in
my
wit
.
O
Lord
!
My
boy
,
my
Arthur
,
my
fair
son
,
My
life
,
my
joy
,
my
food
,
my
all
the
world
,
My
widow-comfort
and
my
sorrows’
cure
!
She
exits
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
I
fear
some
outrage
,
and
I’ll
follow
her
.
He
exits
,
with
Attendants
.
There’s
nothing
in
this
world
can
make
me
joy
.
Life
is
as
tedious
as
a
twice-told
tale
,
Vexing
the
dull
ear
of
a
drowsy
man
;
And
bitter
shame
hath
spoiled
the
sweet
world’s
taste
,
That
it
yields
naught
but
shame
and
bitterness
.
Before
the
curing
of
a
strong
disease
,
Even
in
the
instant
of
repair
and
health
,
The
fit
is
strongest
.
Evils
that
take
leave
On
their
departure
most
of
all
show
evil
.
What
have
you
lost
by
losing
of
this
day
?
All
days
of
glory
,
joy
,
and
happiness
.
If
you
had
won
it
,
certainly
you
had
.
No
,
no
.
When
Fortune
means
to
men
most
good
,
She
looks
upon
them
with
a
threat’ning
eye
.
’Tis
strange
to
think
how
much
King
John
hath
lost
In
this
which
he
accounts
so
clearly
won
.
Are
not
you
grieved
that
Arthur
is
his
prisoner
?
As
heartily
as
he
is
glad
he
hath
him
.
Your
mind
is
all
as
youthful
as
your
blood
.
Now
hear
me
speak
with
a
prophetic
spirit
.
For
even
the
breath
of
what
I
mean
to
speak
Shall
blow
each
dust
,
each
straw
,
each
little
rub
,
Out
of
the
path
which
shall
directly
lead
Thy
foot
to
England’s
throne
.
And
therefore
mark
:
John
hath
seized
Arthur
,
and
it
cannot
be
That
,
whiles
warm
life
plays
in
that
infant’s
veins
,
ACT 3. SC. 4
The
misplaced
John
should
entertain
an
hour
,
One
minute
,
nay
,
one
quiet
breath
of
rest
.
A
scepter
snatched
with
an
unruly
hand
Must
be
as
boisterously
maintained
as
gained
.
And
he
that
stands
upon
a
slipp’ry
place
Makes
nice
of
no
vile
hold
to
stay
him
up
.
That
John
may
stand
,
then
Arthur
needs
must
fall
.
So
be
it
,
for
it
cannot
be
but
so
.
But
what
shall
I
gain
by
young
Arthur’s
fall
?
You
,
in
the
right
of
Lady
Blanche
your
wife
,
May
then
make
all
the
claim
that
Arthur
did
.
And
lose
it
,
life
and
all
,
as
Arthur
did
.
How
green
you
are
and
fresh
in
this
old
world
!
John
lays
you
plots
.
The
times
conspire
with
you
,
For
he
that
steeps
his
safety
in
true
blood
Shall
find
but
bloody
safety
,
and
untrue
.
This
act
so
evilly
borne
shall
cool
the
hearts
Of
all
his
people
and
freeze
up
their
zeal
,
That
none
so
small
advantage
shall
step
forth
To
check
his
reign
but
they
will
cherish
it
.
No
natural
exhalation
in
the
sky
,
No
scope
of
nature
,
no
distempered
day
,
No
common
wind
,
no
customèd
event
,
But
they
will
pluck
away
his
natural
cause
And
call
them
meteors
,
prodigies
,
and
signs
,
Abortives
,
presages
,
and
tongues
of
heaven
,
Plainly
denouncing
vengeance
upon
John
.
Maybe
he
will
not
touch
young
Arthur’s
life
,
But
hold
himself
safe
in
his
prisonment
.
O
,
sir
,
when
he
shall
hear
of
your
approach
,
ACT 3. SC. 4
If
that
young
Arthur
be
not
gone
already
,
Even
at
that
news
he
dies
;
and
then
the
hearts
Of
all
his
people
shall
revolt
from
him
And
kiss
the
lips
of
unacquainted
change
,
And
pick
strong
matter
of
revolt
and
wrath
Out
of
the
bloody
fingers’
ends
of
John
.
Methinks
I
see
this
hurly
all
on
foot
;
And
,
O
,
what
better
matter
breeds
for
you
Than
I
have
named
!
The
bastard
Faulconbridge
Is
now
in
England
ransacking
the
Church
,
Offending
charity
.
If
but
a
dozen
French
Were
there
in
arms
,
they
would
be
as
a
call
To
train
ten
thousand
English
to
their
side
,
Or
as
a
little
snow
,
tumbled
about
,
Anon
becomes
a
mountain
.
O
noble
dauphin
,
Go
with
me
to
the
King
.
’Tis
wonderful
What
may
be
wrought
out
of
their
discontent
,
Now
that
their
souls
are
topful
of
offense
.
For
England
,
go
.
I
will
whet
on
the
King
.
Strong
reasons
makes
strange
actions
.
Let
us
go
.
If
you
say
ay
,
the
King
will
not
say
no
.
They
exit
.
ACT
4
Scene
1
Enter
Hubert
and
Executioners
,
with
irons
and
rope
.
Heat
me
these
irons
hot
,
and
look
thou
stand
Within
the
arras
.
When
I
strike
my
foot
Upon
the
bosom
of
the
ground
,
rush
forth
And
bind
the
boy
which
you
shall
find
with
me
Fast
to
the
chair
.
Be
heedful
.
Hence
,
and
watch
.
I
hope
your
warrant
will
bear
out
the
deed
.
Uncleanly
scruples
fear
not
you
.
Look
to
’t
.
Executioners
exit
.
Young
lad
,
come
forth
.
I
have
to
say
with
you
.
Enter
Arthur
.
Good
morrow
,
Hubert
.
Good
morrow
,
little
prince
.
As
little
prince
,
having
so
great
a
title
To
be
more
prince
,
as
may
be
.
You
are
sad
.
Indeed
,
I
have
been
merrier
.
Mercy
on
me
!
ACT 4. SC. 1
Methinks
nobody
should
be
sad
but
I
.
Yet
I
remember
,
when
I
was
in
France
,
Young
gentlemen
would
be
as
sad
as
night
Only
for
wantonness
.
By
my
christendom
,
So
I
were
out
of
prison
and
kept
sheep
,
I
should
be
as
merry
as
the
day
is
long
.
And
so
I
would
be
here
but
that
I
doubt
My
uncle
practices
more
harm
to
me
.
He
is
afraid
of
me
,
and
I
of
him
.
Is
it
my
fault
that
I
was
Geoffrey’s
son
?
No
,
indeed
,
is
’t
not
.
And
I
would
to
heaven
I
were
your
son
,
so
you
would
love
me
,
Hubert
.
,
aside
If
I
talk
to
him
,
with
his
innocent
prate
He
will
awake
my
mercy
,
which
lies
dead
.
Therefore
I
will
be
sudden
and
dispatch
.
Are
you
sick
,
Hubert
?
You
look
pale
today
.
In
sooth
,
I
would
you
were
a
little
sick
That
I
might
sit
all
night
and
watch
with
you
.
I
warrant
I
love
you
more
than
you
do
me
.
,
aside
His
words
do
take
possession
of
my
bosom
.
He
shows
Arthur
a
paper
.
Read
here
,
young
Arthur
.
(
Aside
.
)
How
now
,
foolish
rheum
?
Turning
dispiteous
torture
out
of
door
?
I
must
be
brief
lest
resolution
drop
Out
at
mine
eyes
in
tender
womanish
tears
.
—
Can
you
not
read
it
?
Is
it
not
fair
writ
?
Too
fairly
,
Hubert
,
for
so
foul
effect
.
Must
you
with
hot
irons
burn
out
both
mine
eyes
?
Young
boy
,
I
must
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
And
will
you
?
And
I
will
.
Have
you
the
heart
?
When
your
head
did
but
ache
,
I
knit
my
handkercher
about
your
brows
—
The
best
I
had
,
a
princess
wrought
it
me
—
And
I
did
never
ask
it
you
again
;
And
with
my
hand
at
midnight
held
your
head
,
And
like
the
watchful
minutes
to
the
hour
Still
and
anon
cheered
up
the
heavy
time
,
Saying
What
lack
you
?
and
Where
lies
your
grief
?
Or
What
good
love
may
I
perform
for
you
?
Many
a
poor
man’s
son
would
have
lien
still
And
ne’er
have
spoke
a
loving
word
to
you
;
But
you
at
your
sick
service
had
a
prince
.
Nay
,
you
may
think
my
love
was
crafty
love
,
And
call
it
cunning
.
Do
,
an
if
you
will
.
If
heaven
be
pleased
that
you
must
use
me
ill
,
Why
then
you
must
.
Will
you
put
out
mine
eyes
—
These
eyes
that
never
did
nor
never
shall
So
much
as
frown
on
you
?
I
have
sworn
to
do
it
.
And
with
hot
irons
must
I
burn
them
out
.
Ah
,
none
but
in
this
Iron
Age
would
do
it
.
The
iron
of
itself
,
though
heat
red-hot
,
Approaching
near
these
eyes
,
would
drink
my
tears
And
quench
this
fiery
indignation
Even
in
the
matter
of
mine
innocence
;
Nay
,
after
that
,
consume
away
in
rust
But
for
containing
fire
to
harm
mine
eye
.
Are
you
more
stubborn-hard
than
hammered
iron
?
An
if
an
angel
should
have
come
to
me
And
told
me
Hubert
should
put
out
mine
eyes
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
I
would
not
have
believed
him
.
No
tongue
but
Hubert’s
.
stamps
his
foot
and
calls
Come
forth
.
Enter
Executioners
with
ropes
,
a
heated
iron
,
and
a
brazier
of
burning
coals
.
Do
as
I
bid
you
do
.
O
,
save
me
,
Hubert
,
save
me
!
My
eyes
are
out
Even
with
the
fierce
looks
of
these
bloody
men
.
Give
me
the
iron
,
I
say
,
and
bind
him
here
.
He
takes
the
iron
.
Alas
,
what
need
you
be
so
boist’rous-rough
?
I
will
not
struggle
;
I
will
stand
stone-still
.
For
God’s
sake
,
Hubert
,
let
me
not
be
bound
!
Nay
,
hear
me
,
Hubert
!
Drive
these
men
away
,
And
I
will
sit
as
quiet
as
a
lamb
.
I
will
not
stir
nor
wince
nor
speak
a
word
Nor
look
upon
the
iron
angerly
.
Thrust
but
these
men
away
,
and
I’ll
forgive
you
,
Whatever
torment
you
do
put
me
to
.
,
to
Executioners
Go
stand
within
.
Let
me
alone
with
him
.
I
am
best
pleased
to
be
from
such
a
deed
.
Executioners
exit
.
Alas
,
I
then
have
chid
away
my
friend
!
He
hath
a
stern
look
but
a
gentle
heart
.
Let
him
come
back
,
that
his
compassion
may
Give
life
to
yours
.
Come
,
boy
,
prepare
yourself
.
Is
there
no
remedy
?
ACT 4. SC. 1
None
but
to
lose
your
eyes
.
O
God
,
that
there
were
but
a
mote
in
yours
,
A
grain
,
a
dust
,
a
gnat
,
a
wandering
hair
,
Any
annoyance
in
that
precious
sense
.
Then
,
feeling
what
small
things
are
boisterous
there
,
Your
vile
intent
must
needs
seem
horrible
.
Is
this
your
promise
?
Go
to
,
hold
your
tongue
.
Hubert
,
the
utterance
of
a
brace
of
tongues
Must
needs
want
pleading
for
a
pair
of
eyes
.
Let
me
not
hold
my
tongue
.
Let
me
not
,
Hubert
,
Or
,
Hubert
,
if
you
will
,
cut
out
my
tongue
,
So
I
may
keep
mine
eyes
.
O
,
spare
mine
eyes
,
Though
to
no
use
but
still
to
look
on
you
.
He
seizes
the
iron
.
Lo
,
by
my
troth
,
the
instrument
is
cold
,
And
would
not
harm
me
.
,
taking
back
the
iron
I
can
heat
it
,
boy
.
No
,
in
good
sooth
.
The
fire
is
dead
with
grief
,
Being
create
for
comfort
,
to
be
used
In
undeserved
extremes
.
See
else
yourself
.
There
is
no
malice
in
this
burning
coal
.
The
breath
of
heaven
hath
blown
his
spirit
out
And
strewed
repentant
ashes
on
his
head
.
But
with
my
breath
I
can
revive
it
,
boy
.
An
if
you
do
,
you
will
but
make
it
blush
And
glow
with
shame
of
your
proceedings
,
Hubert
.
Nay
,
it
perchance
will
sparkle
in
your
eyes
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
And
,
like
a
dog
that
is
compelled
to
fight
,
Snatch
at
his
master
that
doth
tar
him
on
.
All
things
that
you
should
use
to
do
me
wrong
Deny
their
office
.
Only
you
do
lack
That
mercy
which
fierce
fire
and
iron
extends
,
Creatures
of
note
for
mercy-lacking
uses
.
Well
,
see
to
live
.
I
will
not
touch
thine
eye
For
all
the
treasure
that
thine
uncle
owes
.
Yet
am
I
sworn
,
and
I
did
purpose
,
boy
,
With
this
same
very
iron
to
burn
them
out
.
O
,
now
you
look
like
Hubert
.
All
this
while
You
were
disguisèd
.
Peace
.
No
more
.
Adieu
.
Your
uncle
must
not
know
but
you
are
dead
.
I’ll
fill
these
doggèd
spies
with
false
reports
.
And
,
pretty
child
,
sleep
doubtless
and
secure
That
Hubert
,
for
the
wealth
of
all
the
world
,
Will
not
offend
thee
.
O
heaven
!
I
thank
you
,
Hubert
.
Silence
.
No
more
.
Go
closely
in
with
me
.
Much
danger
do
I
undergo
for
thee
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
King
John
,
Pembroke
,
Salisbury
,
and
other
Lords
.
King
John
ascends
the
throne
.
Here
once
again
we
sit
,
once
again
crowned
And
looked
upon
,
I
hope
,
with
cheerful
eyes
.
This
once
again
,
but
that
your
Highness
pleased
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
Was
once
superfluous
.
You
were
crowned
before
,
And
that
high
royalty
was
ne’er
plucked
off
,
The
faiths
of
men
ne’er
stainèd
with
revolt
;
Fresh
expectation
troubled
not
the
land
With
any
longed-for
change
or
better
state
.
Therefore
,
to
be
possessed
with
double
pomp
,
To
guard
a
title
that
was
rich
before
,
To
gild
refinèd
gold
,
to
paint
the
lily
,
To
throw
a
perfume
on
the
violet
,
To
smooth
the
ice
or
add
another
hue
Unto
the
rainbow
,
or
with
taper-light
To
seek
the
beauteous
eye
of
heaven
to
garnish
,
Is
wasteful
and
ridiculous
excess
.
But
that
your
royal
pleasure
must
be
done
,
This
act
is
as
an
ancient
tale
new
told
,
And
,
in
the
last
repeating
,
troublesome
,
Being
urgèd
at
a
time
unseasonable
.
In
this
the
antique
and
well-noted
face
Of
plain
old
form
is
much
disfigurèd
,
And
like
a
shifted
wind
unto
a
sail
,
It
makes
the
course
of
thoughts
to
fetch
about
,
Startles
and
frights
consideration
,
Makes
sound
opinion
sick
and
truth
suspected
For
putting
on
so
new
a
fashioned
robe
.
When
workmen
strive
to
do
better
than
well
,
They
do
confound
their
skill
in
covetousness
,
And
oftentimes
excusing
of
a
fault
Doth
make
the
fault
the
worse
by
th’
excuse
,
As
patches
set
upon
a
little
breach
Discredit
more
in
hiding
of
the
fault
Than
did
the
fault
before
it
was
so
patched
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
To
this
effect
,
before
you
were
new-crowned
,
We
breathed
our
counsel
;
but
it
pleased
your
Highness
To
overbear
it
,
and
we
are
all
well
pleased
,
Since
all
and
every
part
of
what
we
would
Doth
make
a
stand
at
what
your
Highness
will
.
Some
reasons
of
this
double
coronation
I
have
possessed
you
with
,
and
think
them
strong
;
And
more
,
more
strong
,
when
lesser
is
my
fear
,
I
shall
endue
you
with
.
Meantime
,
but
ask
What
you
would
have
reformed
that
is
not
well
,
And
well
shall
you
perceive
how
willingly
I
will
both
hear
and
grant
you
your
requests
.
Then
I
,
as
one
that
am
the
tongue
of
these
To
sound
the
purposes
of
all
their
hearts
,
Both
for
myself
and
them
,
but
chief
of
all
Your
safety
,
for
the
which
myself
and
them
Bend
their
best
studies
,
heartily
request
Th’
enfranchisement
of
Arthur
,
whose
restraint
Doth
move
the
murmuring
lips
of
discontent
To
break
into
this
dangerous
argument
:
If
what
in
rest
you
have
in
right
you
hold
,
Why
then
your
fears
,
which
,
as
they
say
,
attend
The
steps
of
wrong
,
should
move
you
to
mew
up
Your
tender
kinsman
and
to
choke
his
days
With
barbarous
ignorance
and
deny
his
youth
The
rich
advantage
of
good
exercise
.
That
the
time’s
enemies
may
not
have
this
To
grace
occasions
,
let
it
be
our
suit
That
you
have
bid
us
ask
,
his
liberty
,
Which
for
our
goods
we
do
no
further
ask
Than
whereupon
our
weal
,
on
you
depending
,
Counts
it
your
weal
he
have
his
liberty
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
Let
it
be
so
.
I
do
commit
his
youth
To
your
direction
.
Enter
Hubert
.
Hubert
,
what
news
with
you
?
King
John
and
Hubert
talk
aside
.
This
is
the
man
should
do
the
bloody
deed
.
He
showed
his
warrant
to
a
friend
of
mine
.
The
image
of
a
wicked
heinous
fault
Lives
in
his
eye
.
That
close
aspect
of
his
Doth
show
the
mood
of
a
much
troubled
breast
,
And
I
do
fearfully
believe
’tis
done
What
we
so
feared
he
had
a
charge
to
do
.
The
color
of
the
King
doth
come
and
go
Between
his
purpose
and
his
conscience
,
Like
heralds
’twixt
two
dreadful
battles
set
.
His
passion
is
so
ripe
it
needs
must
break
.
And
when
it
breaks
,
I
fear
will
issue
thence
The
foul
corruption
of
a
sweet
child’s
death
.
,
coming
forward
with
Hubert
We
cannot
hold
mortality’s
strong
hand
.
—
Good
lords
,
although
my
will
to
give
is
living
,
The
suit
which
you
demand
is
gone
and
dead
.
He
tells
us
Arthur
is
deceased
tonight
.
Indeed
,
we
feared
his
sickness
was
past
cure
.
Indeed
,
we
heard
how
near
his
death
he
was
Before
the
child
himself
felt
he
was
sick
.
This
must
be
answered
either
here
or
hence
.
Why
do
you
bend
such
solemn
brows
on
me
?
ACT 4. SC. 2
Think
you
I
bear
the
shears
of
destiny
?
Have
I
commandment
on
the
pulse
of
life
?
It
is
apparent
foul
play
,
and
’tis
shame
That
greatness
should
so
grossly
offer
it
.
So
thrive
it
in
your
game
,
and
so
farewell
.
Stay
yet
,
Lord
Salisbury
.
I’ll
go
with
thee
And
find
th’
inheritance
of
this
poor
child
,
His
little
kingdom
of
a
forcèd
grave
.
That
blood
which
owed
the
breadth
of
all
this
isle
,
Three
foot
of
it
doth
hold
.
Bad
world
the
while
!
This
must
not
be
thus
borne
;
this
will
break
out
To
all
our
sorrows
,
and
ere
long
,
I
doubt
.
Pembroke
,
Salisbury
,
and
other
Lords
exit
.
They
burn
in
indignation
.
I
repent
.
There
is
no
sure
foundation
set
on
blood
,
No
certain
life
achieved
by
others’
death
.
Enter
Messenger
.
A
fearful
eye
thou
hast
.
Where
is
that
blood
That
I
have
seen
inhabit
in
those
cheeks
?
So
foul
a
sky
clears
not
without
a
storm
.
Pour
down
thy
weather
:
how
goes
all
in
France
?
From
France
to
England
.
Never
such
a
power
For
any
foreign
preparation
Was
levied
in
the
body
of
a
land
.
The
copy
of
your
speed
is
learned
by
them
,
For
when
you
should
be
told
they
do
prepare
,
The
tidings
comes
that
they
are
all
arrived
.
O
,
where
hath
our
intelligence
been
drunk
?
Where
hath
it
slept
?
Where
is
my
mother’s
care
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
That
such
an
army
could
be
drawn
in
France
And
she
not
hear
of
it
?
My
liege
,
her
ear
Is
stopped
with
dust
.
The
first
of
April
died
Your
noble
mother
.
And
as
I
hear
,
my
lord
,
The
Lady
Constance
in
a
frenzy
died
Three
days
before
.
But
this
from
rumor’s
tongue
I
idly
heard
.
If
true
or
false
,
I
know
not
.
,
aside
Withhold
thy
speed
,
dreadful
occasion
!
O
,
make
a
league
with
me
till
I
have
pleased
My
discontented
peers
.
What
?
Mother
dead
?
How
wildly
then
walks
my
estate
in
France
!
—
Under
whose
conduct
came
those
powers
of
France
That
thou
for
truth
giv’st
out
are
landed
here
?
Under
the
Dauphin
.
Thou
hast
made
me
giddy
With
these
ill
tidings
.
Enter
Bastard
and
Peter
of
Pomfret
.
To
Bastard
.
Now
,
what
says
the
world
To
your
proceedings
?
Do
not
seek
to
stuff
My
head
with
more
ill
news
,
for
it
is
full
.
But
if
you
be
afeard
to
hear
the
worst
,
Then
let
the
worst
,
unheard
,
fall
on
your
head
.
Bear
with
me
,
cousin
,
for
I
was
amazed
Under
the
tide
,
but
now
I
breathe
again
Aloft
the
flood
and
can
give
audience
To
any
tongue
,
speak
it
of
what
it
will
.
How
I
have
sped
among
the
clergymen
The
sums
I
have
collected
shall
express
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
But
as
I
traveled
hither
through
the
land
,
I
find
the
people
strangely
fantasied
,
Possessed
with
rumors
,
full
of
idle
dreams
,
Not
knowing
what
they
fear
,
but
full
of
fear
.
And
here’s
a
prophet
that
I
brought
with
me
From
forth
the
streets
of
Pomfret
,
whom
I
found
With
many
hundreds
treading
on
his
heels
,
To
whom
he
sung
in
rude
harsh-sounding
rhymes
That
ere
the
next
Ascension
Day
at
noon
,
Your
Highness
should
deliver
up
your
crown
.
,
to
Peter
Thou
idle
dreamer
,
wherefore
didst
thou
so
?
Foreknowing
that
the
truth
will
fall
out
so
.
Hubert
,
away
with
him
!
Imprison
him
.
And
on
that
day
at
noon
,
whereon
he
says
I
shall
yield
up
my
crown
,
let
him
be
hanged
.
Deliver
him
to
safety
and
return
,
For
I
must
use
thee
.
Hubert
and
Peter
exit
.
O
my
gentle
cousin
,
Hear’st
thou
the
news
abroad
,
who
are
arrived
?
The
French
,
my
lord
.
Men’s
mouths
are
full
of
it
.
Besides
,
I
met
Lord
Bigot
and
Lord
Salisbury
With
eyes
as
red
as
new-enkindled
fire
,
And
others
more
,
going
to
seek
the
grave
Of
Arthur
,
whom
they
say
is
killed
tonight
On
your
suggestion
.
Gentle
kinsman
,
go
And
thrust
thyself
into
their
companies
.
I
have
a
way
to
win
their
loves
again
.
Bring
them
before
me
.
I
will
seek
them
out
.
Nay
,
but
make
haste
,
the
better
foot
before
!
ACT 4. SC. 2
O
,
let
me
have
no
subject
enemies
When
adverse
foreigners
affright
my
towns
With
dreadful
pomp
of
stout
invasion
.
Be
Mercury
,
set
feathers
to
thy
heels
,
And
fly
like
thought
from
them
to
me
again
.
The
spirit
of
the
time
shall
teach
me
speed
.
He
exits
.
Spoke
like
a
sprightful
noble
gentleman
.
To
Messenger
.
Go
after
him
,
for
he
perhaps
shall
need
Some
messenger
betwixt
me
and
the
peers
,
And
be
thou
he
.
With
all
my
heart
,
my
liege
.
Messenger
exits
.
My
mother
dead
!
Enter
Hubert
.
My
lord
,
they
say
five
moons
were
seen
tonight
—
Four
fixèd
,
and
the
fifth
did
whirl
about
The
other
four
in
wondrous
motion
.
Five
moons
!
Old
men
and
beldams
in
the
streets
Do
prophesy
upon
it
dangerously
.
Young
Arthur’s
death
is
common
in
their
mouths
,
And
when
they
talk
of
him
,
they
shake
their
heads
And
whisper
one
another
in
the
ear
,
And
he
that
speaks
doth
grip
the
hearer’s
wrist
,
Whilst
he
that
hears
makes
fearful
action
With
wrinkled
brows
,
with
nods
,
with
rolling
eyes
.
I
saw
a
smith
stand
with
his
hammer
,
thus
,
The
whilst
his
iron
did
on
the
anvil
cool
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
With
open
mouth
swallowing
a
tailor’s
news
,
Who
with
his
shears
and
measure
in
his
hand
,
Standing
on
slippers
which
his
nimble
haste
Had
falsely
thrust
upon
contrary
feet
,
Told
of
a
many
thousand
warlike
French
That
were
embattlèd
and
ranked
in
Kent
.
Another
lean
,
unwashed
artificer
Cuts
off
his
tale
and
talks
of
Arthur’s
death
.
Why
seek’st
thou
to
possess
me
with
these
fears
?
Why
urgest
thou
so
oft
young
Arthur’s
death
?
Thy
hand
hath
murdered
him
.
I
had
a
mighty
cause
To
wish
him
dead
,
but
thou
hadst
none
to
kill
him
.
No
had
,
my
lord
!
Why
,
did
you
not
provoke
me
?
It
is
the
curse
of
kings
to
be
attended
By
slaves
that
take
their
humors
for
a
warrant
To
break
within
the
bloody
house
of
life
,
And
on
the
winking
of
authority
To
understand
a
law
,
to
know
the
meaning
Of
dangerous
majesty
,
when
perchance
it
frowns
More
upon
humor
than
advised
respect
.
,
showing
a
paper
Here
is
your
hand
and
seal
for
what
I
did
.
O
,
when
the
last
accompt
twixt
heaven
and
Earth
earth
Is
to
be
made
,
then
shall
this
hand
and
seal
Witness
against
us
to
damnation
!
How
oft
the
sight
of
means
to
do
ill
deeds
Make
deeds
ill
done
!
Hadst
not
thou
been
by
,
A
fellow
by
the
hand
of
nature
marked
,
Quoted
,
and
signed
to
do
a
deed
of
shame
,
This
murder
had
not
come
into
my
mind
.
But
taking
note
of
thy
abhorred
aspect
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
Finding
thee
fit
for
bloody
villainy
,
Apt
,
liable
to
be
employed
in
danger
,
I
faintly
broke
with
thee
of
Arthur’s
death
;
And
thou
,
to
be
endearèd
to
a
king
,
Made
it
no
conscience
to
destroy
a
prince
.
My
lord
—
Hadst
thou
but
shook
thy
head
or
made
a
pause
When
I
spake
darkly
what
I
purposèd
,
Or
turned
an
eye
of
doubt
upon
my
face
,
As
bid
me
tell
my
tale
in
express
words
,
Deep
shame
had
struck
me
dumb
,
made
me
break
off
,
And
those
thy
fears
might
have
wrought
fears
in
me
.
But
thou
didst
understand
me
by
my
signs
And
didst
in
signs
again
parley
with
sin
,
Yea
,
without
stop
didst
let
thy
heart
consent
And
consequently
thy
rude
hand
to
act
The
deed
which
both
our
tongues
held
vile
to
name
.
Out
of
my
sight
,
and
never
see
me
more
.
My
nobles
leave
me
,
and
my
state
is
braved
,
Even
at
my
gates
,
with
ranks
of
foreign
powers
.
Nay
,
in
the
body
of
this
fleshly
land
,
This
kingdom
,
this
confine
of
blood
and
breath
,
Hostility
and
civil
tumult
reigns
Between
my
conscience
and
my
cousin’s
death
.
Arm
you
against
your
other
enemies
.
I’ll
make
a
peace
between
your
soul
and
you
.
Young
Arthur
is
alive
.
This
hand
of
mine
Is
yet
a
maiden
and
an
innocent
hand
,
Not
painted
with
the
crimson
spots
of
blood
.
Within
this
bosom
never
entered
yet
The
dreadful
motion
of
a
murderous
thought
,
And
you
have
slandered
nature
in
my
form
,
ACT 4. SC. 3
Which
,
howsoever
rude
exteriorly
,
Is
yet
the
cover
of
a
fairer
mind
Than
to
be
butcher
of
an
innocent
child
.
Doth
Arthur
live
?
O
,
haste
thee
to
the
peers
,
Throw
this
report
on
their
incensèd
rage
,
And
make
them
tame
to
their
obedience
.
Forgive
the
comment
that
my
passion
made
Upon
thy
feature
,
for
my
rage
was
blind
,
And
foul
imaginary
eyes
of
blood
Presented
thee
more
hideous
than
thou
art
.
O
,
answer
not
,
but
to
my
closet
bring
The
angry
lords
with
all
expedient
haste
.
I
conjure
thee
but
slowly
;
run
more
fast
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Arthur
on
the
walls
,
dressed
as
a
shipboy
.
The
wall
is
high
,
and
yet
will
I
leap
down
.
Good
ground
,
be
pitiful
and
hurt
me
not
.
There’s
few
or
none
do
know
me
.
If
they
did
,
This
shipboy’s
semblance
hath
disguised
me
quite
.
I
am
afraid
,
and
yet
I’ll
venture
it
.
If
I
get
down
and
do
not
break
my
limbs
,
I’ll
find
a
thousand
shifts
to
get
away
.
As
good
to
die
and
go
as
die
and
stay
.
He
jumps
.
O
me
,
my
uncle’s
spirit
is
in
these
stones
.
Heaven
take
my
soul
,
and
England
keep
my
bones
.
He
dies
.
Enter
Pembroke
,
Salisbury
with
a
letter
,
and
Bigot
.
Lords
,
I
will
meet
him
at
Saint
Edmundsbury
;
ACT 4. SC. 3
It
is
our
safety
,
and
we
must
embrace
This
gentle
offer
of
the
perilous
time
.
Who
brought
that
letter
from
the
Cardinal
?
The
Count
Melun
,
a
noble
lord
of
France
,
Whose
private
with
me
of
the
Dauphin’s
love
Is
much
more
general
than
these
lines
import
.
Tomorrow
morning
let
us
meet
him
,
then
.
Or
rather
then
set
forward
,
for
’twill
be
Two
long
days’
journey
,
lords
,
or
ere
we
meet
.
Enter
Bastard
.
Once
more
today
well
met
,
distempered
lords
.
The
King
by
me
requests
your
presence
straight
.
The
King
hath
dispossessed
himself
of
us
.
We
will
not
line
his
thin
bestainèd
cloak
With
our
pure
honors
,
nor
attend
the
foot
That
leaves
the
print
of
blood
where’er
it
walks
.
Return
,
and
tell
him
so
.
We
know
the
worst
.
Whate’er
you
think
,
good
words
I
think
were
best
.
Our
griefs
and
not
our
manners
reason
now
.
But
there
is
little
reason
in
your
grief
.
Therefore
’twere
reason
you
had
manners
now
.
Sir
,
sir
,
impatience
hath
his
privilege
.
’Tis
true
,
to
hurt
his
master
,
no
man’s
else
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
This
is
the
prison
.
He
sees
Arthur’s
body
.
What
is
he
lies
here
?
O
Death
,
made
proud
with
pure
and
princely
beauty
!
The
Earth
earth
had
not
a
hole
to
hide
this
deed
.
Murder
,
as
hating
what
himself
hath
done
,
Doth
lay
it
open
to
urge
on
revenge
.
Or
when
he
doomed
this
beauty
to
a
grave
,
Found
it
too
precious-princely
for
a
grave
.
,
to
Bastard
Sir
Richard
,
what
think
you
?
You
have
beheld
.
Or
have
you
read
or
heard
,
or
could
you
think
,
Or
do
you
almost
think
,
although
you
see
,
That
you
do
see
?
Could
thought
,
without
this
object
,
Form
such
another
?
This
is
the
very
top
,
The
height
,
the
crest
,
or
crest
unto
the
crest
,
Of
murder’s
arms
.
This
is
the
bloodiest
shame
,
The
wildest
savagery
,
the
vilest
stroke
That
ever
wall-eyed
wrath
or
staring
rage
Presented
to
the
tears
of
soft
remorse
.
All
murders
past
do
stand
excused
in
this
.
And
this
,
so
sole
and
so
unmatchable
,
Shall
give
a
holiness
,
a
purity
,
To
the
yet
unbegotten
sin
of
times
And
prove
a
deadly
bloodshed
but
a
jest
,
Exampled
by
this
heinous
spectacle
.
It
is
a
damnèd
and
a
bloody
work
,
The
graceless
action
of
a
heavy
hand
,
If
that
it
be
the
work
of
any
hand
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
If
that
it
be
the
work
of
any
hand
?
We
had
a
kind
of
light
what
would
ensue
.
It
is
the
shameful
work
of
Hubert’s
hand
,
The
practice
and
the
purpose
of
the
King
,
From
whose
obedience
I
forbid
my
soul
,
Kneeling
before
this
ruin
of
sweet
life
He
kneels
.
And
breathing
to
his
breathless
excellence
The
incense
of
a
vow
,
a
holy
vow
:
Never
to
taste
the
pleasures
of
the
world
,
Never
to
be
infected
with
delight
,
Nor
conversant
with
ease
and
idleness
,
Till
I
have
set
a
glory
to
this
hand
By
giving
it
the
worship
of
revenge
.
,
kneeling
Our
souls
religiously
confirm
thy
words
.
They
rise
.
Enter
Hubert
.
Lords
,
I
am
hot
with
haste
in
seeking
you
.
Arthur
doth
live
;
the
King
hath
sent
for
you
.
O
,
he
is
bold
and
blushes
not
at
death
!
—
Avaunt
,
thou
hateful
villain
,
get
thee
gone
!
I
am
no
villain
.
,
drawing
his
sword
Must
I
rob
the
law
?
Your
sword
is
bright
,
sir
.
Put
it
up
again
.
Not
till
I
sheathe
it
in
a
murderer’s
skin
.
Stand
back
,
Lord
Salisbury
,
stand
back
,
I
say
.
By
heaven
,
I
think
my
sword’s
as
sharp
as
yours
.
He
puts
his
hand
on
his
sword
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
I
would
not
have
you
,
lord
,
forget
yourself
,
Nor
tempt
the
danger
of
my
true
defense
,
Lest
I
,
by
marking
of
your
rage
,
forget
Your
worth
,
your
greatness
,
and
nobility
.
Out
,
dunghill
!
Dar’st
thou
brave
a
nobleman
?
Not
for
my
life
.
But
yet
I
dare
defend
My
innocent
life
against
an
emperor
.
Thou
art
a
murderer
.
Do
not
prove
me
so
.
Yet
I
am
none
.
Whose
tongue
soe’er
speaks
false
,
Not
truly
speaks
.
Who
speaks
not
truly
,
lies
.
,
drawing
his
sword
Cut
him
to
pieces
.
,
drawing
his
sword
Keep
the
peace
,
I
say
.
Stand
by
,
or
I
shall
gall
you
,
Faulconbridge
.
Thou
wert
better
gall
the
devil
,
Salisbury
.
If
thou
but
frown
on
me
,
or
stir
thy
foot
,
Or
teach
thy
hasty
spleen
to
do
me
shame
,
I’ll
strike
thee
dead
.
Put
up
thy
sword
betime
,
Or
I’ll
so
maul
you
and
your
toasting-iron
That
you
shall
think
the
devil
is
come
from
hell
.
What
wilt
thou
do
,
renownèd
Faulconbridge
?
Second
a
villain
and
a
murderer
?
Lord
Bigot
,
I
am
none
.
Who
killed
this
prince
?
’Tis
not
an
hour
since
I
left
him
well
.
I
honored
him
,
I
loved
him
,
and
will
weep
My
date
of
life
out
for
his
sweet
life’s
loss
.
He
weeps
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
Trust
not
those
cunning
waters
of
his
eyes
,
For
villainy
is
not
without
such
rheum
,
And
he
,
long
traded
in
it
,
makes
it
seem
like
rivers
of
remorse
and
innocency
.
Away
with
me
,
all
you
whose
souls
abhor
Th’
uncleanly
savors
of
a
slaughterhouse
,
For
I
am
stifled
with
this
smell
of
sin
.
Away
,
toward
Bury
,
to
the
Dauphin
there
.
There
,
tell
the
King
,
he
may
inquire
us
out
.
Lords
exit
.
Here’s
a
good
world
!
Knew
you
of
this
fair
work
?
Beyond
the
infinite
and
boundless
reach
Of
mercy
,
if
thou
didst
this
deed
of
death
,
Art
thou
damned
,
Hubert
.
Do
but
hear
me
,
sir
.
Ha
!
I’ll
tell
thee
what
.
Thou
’rt
damned
as
black
—
nay
,
nothing
is
so
black
—
Thou
art
more
deep
damned
than
Prince
Lucifer
.
There
is
not
yet
so
ugly
a
fiend
of
hell
As
thou
shalt
be
,
if
thou
didst
kill
this
child
.
Upon
my
soul
—
If
thou
didst
but
consent
To
this
most
cruel
act
,
do
but
despair
,
And
if
thou
want’st
a
cord
,
the
smallest
thread
That
ever
spider
twisted
from
her
womb
Will
serve
to
strangle
thee
;
a
rush
will
be
a
beam
To
hang
thee
on
.
Or
wouldst
thou
drown
thyself
,
Put
but
a
little
water
in
a
spoon
And
it
shall
be
as
all
the
ocean
,
Enough
to
stifle
such
a
villain
up
.
I
do
suspect
thee
very
grievously
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
If
I
in
act
,
consent
,
or
sin
of
thought
Be
guilty
of
the
stealing
that
sweet
breath
Which
was
embounded
in
this
beauteous
clay
,
Let
hell
want
pains
enough
to
torture
me
.
I
left
him
well
.
Go
,
bear
him
in
thine
arms
.
I
am
amazed
,
methinks
,
and
lose
my
way
Among
the
thorns
and
dangers
of
this
world
.
Hubert
takes
up
Arthur’s
body
.
How
easy
dost
thou
take
all
England
up
!
From
forth
this
morsel
of
dead
royalty
,
The
life
,
the
right
,
and
truth
of
all
this
realm
Is
fled
to
heaven
,
and
England
now
is
left
To
tug
and
scamble
and
to
part
by
th’
teeth
The
unowed
interest
of
proud-swelling
state
.
Now
for
the
bare-picked
bone
of
majesty
Doth
doggèd
war
bristle
his
angry
crest
And
snarleth
in
the
gentle
eyes
of
peace
.
Now
powers
from
home
and
discontents
at
home
Meet
in
one
line
,
and
vast
confusion
waits
,
As
doth
a
raven
on
a
sick-fall’n
beast
,
The
imminent
decay
of
wrested
pomp
.
Now
happy
he
whose
cloak
and
cincture
can
Hold
out
this
tempest
.
Bear
away
that
child
,
And
follow
me
with
speed
.
I’ll
to
the
King
.
A
thousand
businesses
are
brief
in
hand
,
And
heaven
itself
doth
frown
upon
the
land
.
They
exit
,
with
Hubert
carrying
Arthur’s
body
.
ACT
5
Scene
1
Enter
King
John
and
Pandulph
with
the
crown
,
and
their
Attendants
.
Thus
have
I
yielded
up
into
your
hand
The
circle
of
my
glory
.
,
handing
John
the
crown
Take
again
From
this
my
hand
,
as
holding
of
the
Pope
,
Your
sovereign
greatness
and
authority
.
Now
keep
your
holy
word
.
Go
meet
the
French
,
And
from
his
Holiness
use
all
your
power
To
stop
their
marches
’fore
we
are
inflamed
.
Our
discontented
counties
do
revolt
,
Our
people
quarrel
with
obedience
,
Swearing
allegiance
and
the
love
of
soul
To
stranger
blood
,
to
foreign
royalty
.
This
inundation
of
mistempered
humor
Rests
by
you
only
to
be
qualified
.
Then
pause
not
,
for
the
present
time’s
so
sick
That
present
med’cine
must
be
ministered
,
Or
overthrow
incurable
ensues
.
It
was
my
breath
that
blew
this
tempest
up
,
Upon
your
stubborn
usage
of
the
Pope
;
ACT 5. SC. 1
But
since
you
are
a
gentle
convertite
,
My
tongue
shall
hush
again
this
storm
of
war
And
make
fair
weather
in
your
blust’ring
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
.
He
exits
,
with
Attendants
.
Is
this
Ascension
Day
?
Did
not
the
prophet
Say
that
before
Ascension
Day
at
noon
My
crown
I
should
give
off
?
Even
so
I
have
.
I
did
suppose
it
should
be
on
constraint
,
But
,
God
be
thanked
,
it
is
but
voluntary
.
Enter
Bastard
.
All
Kent
hath
yielded
.
Nothing
there
holds
out
But
Dover
Castle
.
London
hath
received
Like
a
kind
host
the
Dauphin
and
his
powers
.
Your
nobles
will
not
hear
you
,
but
are
gone
To
offer
service
to
your
enemy
;
And
wild
amazement
hurries
up
and
down
The
little
number
of
your
doubtful
friends
.
Would
not
my
lords
return
to
me
again
After
they
heard
young
Arthur
was
alive
?
They
found
him
dead
and
cast
into
the
streets
,
An
empty
casket
where
the
jewel
of
life
By
some
damned
hand
was
robbed
and
ta’en
away
.
That
villain
Hubert
told
me
he
did
live
!
So
,
on
my
soul
,
he
did
,
for
aught
he
knew
.
But
wherefore
do
you
droop
?
Why
look
you
sad
?
Be
great
in
act
,
as
you
have
been
in
thought
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
Let
not
the
world
see
fear
and
sad
distrust
Govern
the
motion
of
a
kingly
eye
.
Be
stirring
as
the
time
;
be
fire
with
fire
;
Threaten
the
threat’ner
,
and
outface
the
brow
Of
bragging
horror
.
So
shall
inferior
eyes
,
That
borrow
their
behaviors
from
the
great
,
Grow
great
by
your
example
and
put
on
The
dauntless
spirit
of
resolution
.
Away
,
and
glister
like
the
god
of
war
When
he
intendeth
to
become
the
field
.
Show
boldness
and
aspiring
confidence
.
What
,
shall
they
seek
the
lion
in
his
den
And
fright
him
there
?
And
make
him
tremble
there
?
O
,
let
it
not
be
said
!
Forage
,
and
run
To
meet
displeasure
farther
from
the
doors
,
And
grapple
with
him
ere
he
come
so
nigh
.
The
legate
of
the
Pope
hath
been
with
me
,
And
I
have
made
a
happy
peace
with
him
,
And
he
hath
promised
to
dismiss
the
powers
Led
by
the
Dauphin
.
O
inglorious
league
!
Shall
we
upon
the
footing
of
our
land
Send
fair-play
orders
and
make
compromise
,
Insinuation
,
parley
,
and
base
truce
To
arms
invasive
?
Shall
a
beardless
boy
,
A
cockered
silken
wanton
,
brave
our
fields
And
flesh
his
spirit
in
a
warlike
soil
,
Mocking
the
air
with
colors
idly
spread
,
And
find
no
check
?
Let
us
,
my
liege
,
to
arms
!
Perchance
the
Cardinal
cannot
make
your
peace
;
Or
if
he
do
,
let
it
at
least
be
said
They
saw
we
had
a
purpose
of
defense
.
Have
thou
the
ordering
of
this
present
time
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
Away
,
then
,
with
good
courage
!
(
Aside
.
)
Yet
I
know
Our
party
may
well
meet
a
prouder
foe
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
,
in
arms
,
Louis
the
Dauphin
,
Salisbury
,
Melun
,
Pembroke
,
Bigot
,
and
French
and
English
Soldiers
.
,
handing
a
paper
to
Melun
My
Lord
Melun
,
let
this
be
copied
out
,
And
keep
it
safe
for
our
remembrance
.
Return
the
precedent
to
these
lords
again
,
That
having
our
fair
order
written
down
,
Both
they
and
we
,
perusing
o’er
these
notes
,
May
know
wherefore
we
took
the
Sacrament
,
And
keep
our
faiths
firm
and
inviolable
.
Upon
our
sides
it
never
shall
be
broken
.
And
,
noble
dauphin
,
albeit
we
swear
A
voluntary
zeal
and
unurged
faith
To
your
proceedings
,
yet
believe
me
,
prince
,
I
am
not
glad
that
such
a
sore
of
time
Should
seek
a
plaster
by
contemned
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
Where
honorable
rescue
and
defense
Cries
out
upon
the
name
of
Salisbury
!
But
such
is
the
infection
of
the
time
That
for
the
health
and
physic
of
our
right
,
We
cannot
deal
but
with
the
very
hand
Of
stern
injustice
and
confusèd
wrong
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
And
is
’t
not
pity
,
O
my
grievèd
friends
,
That
we
,
the
sons
and
children
of
this
isle
,
Was
born
to
see
so
sad
an
hour
as
this
,
Wherein
we
step
after
a
stranger
,
march
Upon
her
gentle
bosom
,
and
fill
up
Her
enemies’
ranks
?
I
must
withdraw
and
weep
Upon
the
spot
of
this
enforcèd
cause
,
To
grace
the
gentry
of
a
land
remote
,
And
follow
unacquainted
colors
here
.
What
,
here
?
O
nation
,
that
thou
couldst
remove
,
That
Neptune’s
arms
,
who
clippeth
thee
about
,
Would
bear
thee
from
the
knowledge
of
thyself
And
grapple
thee
unto
a
pagan
shore
,
Where
these
two
Christian
armies
might
combine
The
blood
of
malice
in
a
vein
of
league
,
And
not
to
spend
it
so
unneighborly
.
He
weeps
.
A
noble
temper
dost
thou
show
in
this
,
And
great
affections
wrestling
in
thy
bosom
Doth
make
an
earthquake
of
nobility
.
O
,
what
a
noble
combat
hast
thou
fought
Between
compulsion
and
a
brave
respect
!
Let
me
wipe
off
this
honorable
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
amazed
Than
had
I
seen
the
vaulty
top
of
heaven
Figured
quite
o’er
with
burning
meteors
.
Lift
up
thy
brow
,
renownèd
Salisbury
,
And
with
a
great
heart
heave
away
this
storm
.
Commend
these
waters
to
those
baby
eyes
That
never
saw
the
giant
world
enraged
,
Nor
met
with
fortune
other
than
at
feasts
ACT 5. SC. 2
Full
warm
of
blood
,
of
mirth
,
of
gossiping
.
Come
,
come
;
for
thou
shalt
thrust
thy
hand
as
deep
Into
the
purse
of
rich
prosperity
As
Louis
himself
.
—
So
,
nobles
,
shall
you
all
,
That
knit
your
sinews
to
the
strength
of
mine
.
And
even
there
,
methinks
,
an
angel
spake
.
Enter
Pandulph
.
Look
where
the
holy
legate
comes
apace
To
give
us
warrant
from
the
hand
of
God
,
And
on
our
actions
set
the
name
of
right
With
holy
breath
.
Hail
,
noble
prince
of
France
.
The
next
is
this
:
King
John
hath
reconciled
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
colors
now
wind
up
,
And
tame
the
savage
spirit
of
wild
war
That
,
like
a
lion
fostered
up
at
hand
,
It
may
lie
gently
at
the
foot
of
peace
And
be
no
further
harmful
than
in
show
.
Your
Grace
shall
pardon
me
;
I
will
not
back
.
I
am
too
high-born
to
be
propertied
,
To
be
a
secondary
at
control
,
Or
useful
servingman
and
instrument
To
any
sovereign
state
throughout
the
world
.
Your
breath
first
kindled
the
dead
coal
of
wars
Between
this
chastised
kingdom
and
myself
And
brought
in
matter
that
should
feed
this
fire
;
And
now
’tis
far
too
huge
to
be
blown
out
With
that
same
weak
wind
which
enkindled
it
.
You
taught
me
how
to
know
the
face
of
right
,
Acquainted
me
with
interest
to
this
land
,
Yea
,
thrust
this
enterprise
into
my
heart
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
And
come
you
now
to
tell
me
John
hath
made
His
peace
with
Rome
?
What
is
that
peace
to
me
?
I
,
by
the
honor
of
my
marriage
bed
,
After
young
Arthur
claim
this
land
for
mine
.
And
now
it
is
half
conquered
,
must
I
back
Because
that
John
hath
made
his
peace
with
Rome
?
Am
I
Rome’s
slave
?
What
penny
hath
Rome
borne
?
What
men
provided
?
What
munition
sent
To
underprop
this
action
?
Is
’t
not
I
That
undergo
this
charge
?
Who
else
but
I
,
And
such
as
to
my
claim
are
liable
,
Sweat
in
this
business
and
maintain
this
war
?
Have
I
not
heard
these
islanders
shout
out
Vive
le
Roi
as
I
have
banked
their
towns
?
Have
I
not
here
the
best
cards
for
the
game
To
win
this
easy
match
played
for
a
crown
?
And
shall
I
now
give
o’er
the
yielded
set
?
No
,
no
,
on
my
soul
,
it
never
shall
be
said
.
You
look
but
on
the
outside
of
this
work
.
Outside
or
inside
,
I
will
not
return
Till
my
attempt
so
much
be
glorified
As
to
my
ample
hope
was
promisèd
Before
I
drew
this
gallant
head
of
war
And
culled
these
fiery
spirits
from
the
world
To
outlook
conquest
and
to
win
renown
Even
in
the
jaws
of
danger
and
of
death
.
A
trumpet
sounds
.
What
lusty
trumpet
thus
doth
summon
us
?
Enter
Bastard
.
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
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
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
.
The
Dauphin
is
too
willful-opposite
And
will
not
temporize
with
my
entreaties
.
He
flatly
says
he’ll
not
lay
down
his
arms
.
By
all
the
blood
that
ever
fury
breathed
,
The
youth
says
well
!
Now
hear
our
English
king
,
For
thus
his
royalty
doth
speak
in
me
:
He
is
prepared
—
and
reason
too
he
should
.
This
apish
and
unmannerly
approach
,
This
harnessed
masque
and
unadvisèd
revel
,
This
unheard
sauciness
and
boyish
troops
,
The
King
doth
smile
at
,
and
is
well
prepared
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
concealèd
wells
,
To
crouch
in
litter
of
your
stable
planks
,
To
lie
like
pawns
locked
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
this
voice
an
armèd
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
aerie
towers
To
souse
annoyance
that
comes
near
his
nest
.
—
And
you
degenerate
,
you
ingrate
revolts
,
You
bloody
Neroes
,
ripping
up
the
womb
Of
your
dear
mother
England
,
blush
for
shame
!
For
your
own
ladies
and
pale-visaged
maids
ACT 5. SC. 2
Like
Amazons
come
tripping
after
drums
,
Their
thimbles
into
armèd
gauntlets
change
,
Their
needles
to
lances
,
and
their
gentle
hearts
To
fierce
and
bloody
inclination
.
There
end
thy
brave
and
turn
thy
face
in
peace
.
We
grant
thou
canst
outscold
us
.
Fare
thee
well
.
We
hold
our
time
too
precious
to
be
spent
With
such
a
brabbler
.
Give
me
leave
to
speak
.
No
,
I
will
speak
.
We
will
attend
to
neither
.
Strike
up
the
drums
,
and
let
the
tongue
of
war
Plead
for
our
interest
and
our
being
here
.
Indeed
,
your
drums
being
beaten
will
cry
out
,
And
so
shall
you
,
being
beaten
.
Do
but
start
An
echo
with
the
clamor
of
thy
drum
,
And
even
at
hand
a
drum
is
ready
braced
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-mouthed
thunder
.
For
at
hand
,
Not
trusting
to
this
halting
legate
here
,
Whom
he
hath
used
rather
for
sport
than
need
,
Is
warlike
John
,
and
in
his
forehead
sits
A
bare-ribbed
Death
,
whose
office
is
this
day
To
feast
upon
whole
thousands
of
the
French
.
Strike
up
our
drums
to
find
this
danger
out
.
And
thou
shalt
find
it
,
dauphin
,
do
not
doubt
.
They
exit
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
Scene
3
Alarums
.
Enter
King
John
and
Hubert
.
How
goes
the
day
with
us
?
O
,
tell
me
,
Hubert
.
Badly
,
I
fear
.
How
fares
your
Majesty
?
This
fever
that
hath
troubled
me
so
long
Lies
heavy
on
me
.
O
,
my
heart
is
sick
.
Enter
a
Messenger
.
My
lord
,
your
valiant
kinsman
,
Faulconbridge
,
Desires
your
Majesty
to
leave
the
field
And
send
him
word
by
me
which
way
you
go
.
Tell
him
toward
Swinstead
,
to
the
abbey
there
.
Be
of
good
comfort
,
for
the
great
supply
That
was
expected
by
the
Dauphin
here
Are
wracked
three
nights
ago
on
Goodwin
Sands
.
This
news
was
brought
to
Richard
but
even
now
.
The
French
fight
coldly
and
retire
themselves
.
Ay
me
,
this
tyrant
fever
burns
me
up
And
will
not
let
me
welcome
this
good
news
.
Set
on
toward
Swinstead
.
To
my
litter
straight
.
Weakness
possesseth
me
,
and
I
am
faint
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Salisbury
,
Pembroke
,
and
Bigot
.
I
did
not
think
the
King
so
stored
with
friends
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
Up
once
again
.
Put
spirit
in
the
French
.
If
they
miscarry
,
we
miscarry
too
.
That
misbegotten
devil
,
Faulconbridge
,
In
spite
of
spite
,
alone
upholds
the
day
.
They
say
King
John
,
sore
sick
,
hath
left
the
field
.
Enter
Melun
,
wounded
,
led
by
a
Soldier
.
Lead
me
to
the
revolts
of
England
here
.
When
we
were
happy
,
we
had
other
names
.
It
is
the
Count
Melun
.
Wounded
to
death
.
Fly
,
noble
English
;
you
are
bought
and
sold
.
Unthread
the
rude
eye
of
rebellion
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
,
He
means
to
recompense
the
pains
you
take
By
cutting
off
your
heads
.
Thus
hath
he
sworn
,
And
I
with
him
,
and
many
more
with
me
,
Upon
the
altar
at
Saint
Edmundsbury
,
Even
on
that
altar
where
we
swore
to
you
Dear
amity
and
everlasting
love
.
May
this
be
possible
?
May
this
be
true
?
Have
I
not
hideous
death
within
my
view
,
Retaining
but
a
quantity
of
life
,
Which
bleeds
away
even
as
a
form
of
wax
Resolveth
from
his
figure
’gainst
the
fire
?
ACT 5. SC. 4
What
in
the
world
should
make
me
now
deceive
,
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
Louis
do
win
the
day
,
He
is
forsworn
if
e’er
those
eyes
of
yours
Behold
another
daybreak
in
the
East
.
But
even
this
night
,
whose
black
contagious
breath
Already
smokes
about
the
burning
crest
Of
the
old
,
feeble
,
and
day-wearied
sun
,
Even
this
ill
night
your
breathing
shall
expire
,
Paying
the
fine
of
rated
treachery
Even
with
a
treacherous
fine
of
all
your
lives
,
If
Louis
by
your
assistance
win
the
day
.
Commend
me
to
one
Hubert
with
your
king
;
The
love
of
him
,
and
this
respect
besides
,
For
that
my
grandsire
was
an
Englishman
,
Awakes
my
conscience
to
confess
all
this
.
In
lieu
whereof
,
I
pray
you
bear
me
hence
From
forth
the
noise
and
rumor
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
.
We
do
believe
thee
,
and
beshrew
my
soul
But
I
do
love
the
favor
and
the
form
Of
this
most
fair
occasion
,
by
the
which
We
will
untread
the
steps
of
damnèd
flight
,
And
like
a
bated
and
retirèd
flood
,
Leaving
our
rankness
and
irregular
course
,
Stoop
low
within
those
bounds
we
have
o’erlooked
And
calmly
run
on
in
obedience
Even
to
our
ocean
,
to
our
great
King
John
.
My
arm
shall
give
thee
help
to
bear
thee
hence
,
For
I
do
see
the
cruel
pangs
of
death
ACT 5. SC. 5
Right
in
thine
eye
.
—
Away
,
my
friends
!
New
flight
,
And
happy
newness
,
that
intends
old
right
.
They
exit
,
assisting
Melun
.
Scene
5
Enter
Louis
,
the
Dauphin
and
his
train
.
The
sun
of
heaven
,
methought
,
was
loath
to
set
,
But
stayed
and
made
the
western
welkin
blush
,
When
English
measured
backward
their
own
ground
In
faint
retire
.
O
,
bravely
came
we
off
,
When
with
a
volley
of
our
needless
shot
,
After
such
bloody
toil
,
we
bid
good
night
And
wound
our
tott’ring
colors
clearly
up
,
Last
in
the
field
and
almost
lords
of
it
.
Enter
a
Messenger
.
Where
is
my
prince
,
the
Dauphin
?
Here
.
What
news
?
The
Count
Melun
is
slain
.
The
English
lords
,
By
his
persuasion
,
are
again
fall’n
off
,
And
your
supply
,
which
you
have
wished
so
long
,
Are
cast
away
and
sunk
on
Goodwin
Sands
.
Ah
,
foul
,
shrewd
news
.
Beshrew
thy
very
heart
!
I
did
not
think
to
be
so
sad
tonight
As
this
hath
made
me
.
Who
was
he
that
said
King
John
did
fly
an
hour
or
two
before
The
stumbling
night
did
part
our
weary
powers
?
Whoever
spoke
it
,
it
is
true
,
my
lord
.
ACT 5. SC. 6
Well
,
keep
good
quarter
and
good
care
tonight
.
The
day
shall
not
be
up
so
soon
as
I
To
try
the
fair
adventure
of
tomorrow
.
They
exit
.
Scene
6
Enter
Bastard
and
Hubert
,
severally
.
Who’s
there
?
Speak
ho
!
Speak
quickly
,
or
I
shoot
.
A
friend
.
What
art
thou
?
Of
the
part
of
England
.
Whither
dost
thou
go
?
What’s
that
to
thee
?
Why
may
not
I
demand
of
thine
affairs
As
well
as
thou
of
mine
?
Hubert
,
I
think
?
Thou
hast
a
perfect
thought
.
I
will
upon
all
hazards
well
believe
Thou
art
my
friend
,
that
know’st
my
tongue
so
well
.
Who
art
thou
?
Who
thou
wilt
.
An
if
thou
please
,
Thou
mayst
befriend
me
so
much
as
to
think
I
come
one
way
of
the
Plantagenets
.
Unkind
remembrance
!
Thou
and
endless
night
Have
done
me
shame
.
Brave
soldier
,
pardon
me
That
any
accent
breaking
from
thy
tongue
Should
’scape
the
true
acquaintance
of
mine
ear
.
Come
,
come
.
Sans
compliment
,
what
news
abroad
?
ACT 5. SC. 6
Why
,
here
walk
I
in
the
black
brow
of
night
To
find
you
out
.
Brief
,
then
;
and
what’s
the
news
?
O
my
sweet
sir
,
news
fitting
to
the
night
,
Black
,
fearful
,
comfortless
,
and
horrible
.
Show
me
the
very
wound
of
this
ill
news
.
I
am
no
woman
;
I’ll
not
swoon
at
it
.
The
King
,
I
fear
,
is
poisoned
by
a
monk
.
I
left
him
almost
speechless
,
and
broke
out
To
acquaint
you
with
this
evil
,
that
you
might
The
better
arm
you
to
the
sudden
time
Than
if
you
had
at
leisure
known
of
this
.
How
did
he
take
it
?
Who
did
taste
to
him
?
A
monk
,
I
tell
you
,
a
resolvèd
villain
,
Whose
bowels
suddenly
burst
out
.
The
King
Yet
speaks
and
peradventure
may
recover
.
Who
didst
thou
leave
to
tend
his
Majesty
?
Why
,
know
you
not
?
The
lords
are
all
come
back
,
And
brought
Prince
Henry
in
their
company
,
At
whose
request
the
King
hath
pardoned
them
,
And
they
are
all
about
his
Majesty
.
Withhold
thine
indignation
,
mighty
God
,
And
tempt
us
not
to
bear
above
our
power
.
I’ll
tell
thee
,
Hubert
,
half
my
power
this
night
,
Passing
these
flats
,
are
taken
by
the
tide
.
These
Lincoln
Washes
have
devourèd
them
.
Myself
,
well
mounted
,
hardly
have
escaped
.
ACT 5. SC. 7
Away
before
.
Conduct
me
to
the
King
.
I
doubt
he
will
be
dead
or
ere
I
come
.
They
exit
.
Scene
7
Enter
Prince
Henry
,
Salisbury
,
and
Bigot
.
It
is
too
late
.
The
life
of
all
his
blood
Is
touched
corruptibly
,
and
his
pure
brain
,
Which
some
suppose
the
soul’s
frail
dwelling-house
,
Doth
,
by
the
idle
comments
that
it
makes
,
Foretell
the
ending
of
mortality
.
Enter
Pembroke
.
His
Highness
yet
doth
speak
,
and
holds
belief
That
being
brought
into
the
open
air
It
would
allay
the
burning
quality
Of
that
fell
poison
which
assaileth
him
.
Let
him
be
brought
into
the
orchard
here
.
Bigot
exits
.
Doth
he
still
rage
?
He
is
more
patient
Than
when
you
left
him
.
Even
now
he
sung
.
O
vanity
of
sickness
!
Fierce
extremes
In
their
continuance
will
not
feel
themselves
.
Death
,
having
preyed
upon
the
outward
parts
,
Leaves
them
invisible
,
and
his
siege
is
now
Against
the
mind
,
the
which
he
pricks
and
wounds
With
many
legions
of
strange
fantasies
,
Which
in
their
throng
and
press
to
that
last
hold
ACT 5. SC. 7
Confound
themselves
.
’Tis
strange
that
Death
should
sing
.
I
am
the
cygnet
to
this
pale
faint
swan
,
Who
chants
a
doleful
hymn
to
his
own
death
,
And
from
the
organ-pipe
of
frailty
sings
His
soul
and
body
to
their
lasting
rest
.
Be
of
good
comfort
,
prince
,
for
you
are
born
To
set
a
form
upon
that
indigest
Which
he
hath
left
so
shapeless
and
so
rude
.
King
John
brought
in
,
attended
by
Bigot
.
Ay
,
marry
,
now
my
soul
hath
elbow-room
.
It
would
not
out
at
windows
nor
at
doors
.
There
is
so
hot
a
summer
in
my
bosom
That
all
my
bowels
crumble
up
to
dust
.
I
am
a
scribbled
form
drawn
with
a
pen
Upon
a
parchment
,
and
against
this
fire
Do
I
shrink
up
.
How
fares
your
Majesty
?
Poisoned
—
ill
fare
—
dead
,
forsook
,
cast
off
,
And
none
of
you
will
bid
the
winter
come
To
thrust
his
icy
fingers
in
my
maw
,
Nor
let
my
kingdom’s
rivers
take
their
course
Through
my
burned
bosom
,
nor
entreat
the
North
To
make
his
bleak
winds
kiss
my
parchèd
lips
And
comfort
me
with
cold
.
I
do
not
ask
you
much
.
I
beg
cold
comfort
,
and
you
are
so
strait
And
so
ingrateful
,
you
deny
me
that
.
O
,
that
there
were
some
virtue
in
my
tears
That
might
relieve
you
!
The
salt
in
them
is
hot
.
Within
me
is
a
hell
,
and
there
the
poison
ACT 5. SC. 7
Is
,
as
a
fiend
,
confined
to
tyrannize
On
unreprievable
,
condemnèd
blood
.
Enter
Bastard
.
O
,
I
am
scalded
with
my
violent
motion
And
spleen
of
speed
to
see
your
Majesty
.
O
cousin
,
thou
art
come
to
set
mine
eye
.
The
tackle
of
my
heart
is
cracked
and
burnt
,
And
all
the
shrouds
wherewith
my
life
should
sail
Are
turnèd
to
one
thread
,
one
little
hair
.
My
heart
hath
one
poor
string
to
stay
it
by
,
Which
holds
but
till
thy
news
be
utterèd
,
And
then
all
this
thou
seest
is
but
a
clod
And
module
of
confounded
royalty
.
The
Dauphin
is
preparing
hitherward
,
Where
God
He
knows
how
we
shall
answer
him
.
For
in
a
night
the
best
part
of
my
power
,
As
I
upon
advantage
did
remove
,
Were
in
the
Washes
all
unwarily
Devourèd
by
the
unexpected
flood
.
King
John
dies
.
You
breathe
these
dead
news
in
as
dead
an
ear
.
—
My
liege
!
My
lord
!
—
But
now
a
king
,
now
thus
.
Even
so
must
I
run
on
,
and
even
so
stop
.
What
surety
of
the
world
,
what
hope
,
what
stay
,
When
this
was
now
a
king
and
now
is
clay
?
Art
thou
gone
so
?
I
do
but
stay
behind
To
do
the
office
for
thee
of
revenge
,
And
then
my
soul
shall
wait
on
thee
to
heaven
,
As
it
on
Earth
earth
hath
been
thy
servant
still
.
—
ACT 5. SC. 7
Now
,
now
,
you
stars
,
that
move
in
your
right
spheres
,
Where
be
your
powers
?
Show
now
your
mended
faiths
And
instantly
return
with
me
again
To
push
destruction
and
perpetual
shame
Out
of
the
weak
door
of
our
fainting
land
.
Straight
let
us
seek
,
or
straight
we
shall
be
sought
;
The
Dauphin
rages
at
our
very
heels
.
It
seems
you
know
not
,
then
,
so
much
as
we
.
The
Cardinal
Pandulph
is
within
at
rest
,
Who
half
an
hour
since
came
from
the
Dauphin
,
And
brings
from
him
such
offers
of
our
peace
As
we
with
honor
and
respect
may
take
,
With
purpose
presently
to
leave
this
war
.
He
will
the
rather
do
it
when
he
sees
Ourselves
well-sinewèd
to
our
defense
.
Nay
,
’tis
in
a
manner
done
already
,
For
many
carriages
he
hath
dispatched
To
the
sea-side
,
and
put
his
cause
and
quarrel
To
the
disposing
of
the
Cardinal
,
With
whom
yourself
,
myself
,
and
other
lords
,
If
you
think
meet
,
this
afternoon
will
post
To
consummate
this
business
happily
.
Let
it
be
so
.
—
And
you
,
my
noble
prince
,
With
other
princes
that
may
best
be
spared
,
Shall
wait
upon
your
father’s
funeral
.
At
Worcester
must
his
body
be
interred
,
For
so
he
willed
it
.
Thither
shall
it
,
then
,
And
happily
may
your
sweet
self
put
on
The
lineal
state
and
glory
of
the
land
,
ACT 5. SC. 7
To
whom
with
all
submission
on
my
knee
I
do
bequeath
my
faithful
services
And
true
subjection
everlastingly
.
He
kneels
.
And
the
like
tender
of
our
love
we
make
To
rest
without
a
spot
forevermore
.
Salisbury
,
Pembroke
,
and
Bigot
kneel
.
I
have
a
kind
soul
that
would
give
you
thanks
And
knows
not
how
to
do
it
but
with
tears
.
They
rise
.
O
,
let
us
pay
the
time
but
needful
woe
,
Since
it
hath
been
beforehand
with
our
griefs
.
This
England
never
did
nor
never
shall
Lie
at
the
proud
foot
of
a
conqueror
But
when
it
first
did
help
to
wound
itself
.
Now
these
her
princes
are
come
home
again
,
Come
the
three
corners
of
the
world
in
arms
And
we
shall
shock
them
.
Naught
shall
make
us
rue
,
If
England
to
itself
do
rest
but
true
.
They
exit
,
bearing
the
body
of
King
John
.
all or part of a full metrical line
all or part of a prose speech
a short line which cannot be joined with other lines to form a full metrical line, or which may not be definitively identified asverse or prose
editorial emendation