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!

[Exit through the gates, L. s. E.

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

The French King's Tent.

SCENE I.-The same. A Dais with one chair on it, L. U. E.-table with crucifix, book, &c., R.- -Sentries patrolling before the entrance, c., who disappear as the scene proceeds. A chair on the Stage, Shouts and flourishes are heard.

L.

Enter SALISBURY, CONSTANCE, and ARTHUR, L. c.

?

Const. Gone to be married? gone to swear a peace Advances, c. False blood to false blood joined? Gone to be friends? Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces ? It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard:

I do not believe thee, man;

I have a king's oath to the contrary.

Thou shalt be punished for thus frighting 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.

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?
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.

Sal. (R.) As true as, I believe, you think them false, That give you cause to prove my saying true.

Const. Oh! if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;

Lewis marry Blanch! Oh, boy! then where art thou? France friend with England! what becomes of me?— Fellow, begone; I cannot brook thy sight.

Arth. (L.) I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, were grim, 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; But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy, Nature and fortune joined to make thee great : Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose. But fortune, Oh! 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. 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 under-bear. [Crosses, R. Arthur follows her. Sal. Pardon me, madam,

without you to the kings.

Const. (Putting Arthur, R.) Thou may'st, thou shalt: I will not go with thee.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
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
Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it..

[Sits on the ground, R. c. A Flourish, L. U. E.

Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, ELINOR, FAULCONBRIDGE, Austria, and the whole of the

French and English parties. The Attendants place the other chair on the Dais.

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day, Ever in France shall be kept festival:

The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday.

Const. 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:
This day all things begun come to ill end :
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

[Rising.

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
Have I not pawned to you my majesty?

Const. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit,
Resembling majesty, which, being touched and tried,
Proves valueless. You are forsworn, fors worn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace,

And our oppression hath made up this league.-
[King Philip sits on the Dais.
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings!
A widow cries: be husband to me, heavens !

Let not the hours of this ungodly day

Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set arméd discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
Hear me ! Oh, hear me !

Aust. (R.) Lady Constance, peace!

Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.

[Goes, L., and then up a little.

Oh, Lymoges! Oh, 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 is by,

To teach thee safety! 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 calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Aust. Oh, that a man should speak those words to me!
Faulc. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
Faulc. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.
K. John. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.
[Faulc. returns up, L. Trumpet, R. U. E.

Enter PANDULPH and Suite, R. c.

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope.
Pan. 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 wilfully 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.

K. John. What earthly 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 toil in our dominions;

But, as we under heaven 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.

[All appear alarmed at King John's temerity.

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom,
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,

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.

Pan. [Up, R. c.] Then, by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand cursed, and excommunicate :

And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt

From his allegiance to an heretic;

And meritorious shall that hand be called,
That takes away by any secret course,

Thy hateful life.

Const. [Going up to Pandulph.] Oh! 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.
Pan. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
go the hand of that arch-heretic,

Let

And raise the power of France upon his head,
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

Faulc. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because

Faulc. Your breeches best may carry them.

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?
Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal?

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me how you would bestow yourself.

This royal hand and mine are newly knit,

And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood,
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet?
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,