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Lew. She is sad and passionate, at your highness'tent. K. Phil. Brother of England, how may we con
tent This widow lady? [The Citizens
the Gates, and enter, to present the Keys of the Town. K. John. We will heal up all : For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne, And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make hiin lord of.—Call the Lady Constance, Some speedy messenger; bid her repair To our solemnity.
[Exit SALISBURY. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd-for, unprepared, pomp. [Flourish of Drums and Trumpets.—Exeunt all
but FAULCON BRIDGE. Faul. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part: And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, As Heaven's own soldier,) rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,--This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, From a resolv'd and honourable war, To a most base and vile concluded peace. And why rail I on this commodity ? But for because he hath not woo'd 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:
ACT THE THIRD.
The French King's Tent.
Enter ARTHUR, CONSTANCE, and SALISBURY.
Con. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro
Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, That gave you cause to prove my saying true.
Con. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die. Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou ? France friend with England ! what becomes of me?Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight. Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content,
Con. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, Patch'd 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 join'd to make thee great: Of nature's gifts thou may’st with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, 0! She is corrupted, chang’d, and won from thee; She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John; And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? Enevnom him with words; or get thee gone, And leave those woes alone, which I alone Am bound to underbear.
Sal. Pardon me, madam,
[Throws herself on the Ground. Flourish of Trumpets and Drums. Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, BLANCH,
AUSTRIA, ELINOR, FAULCON BRIDGE, CHATILLON, PEMBROKE, Essex, HUBERT, ENGLISH Herald, French HERALD, English and FRENCH GENTLEMEN, and GUARDS,
K.Phil. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day Ever in France shall be kept festival;
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
K. Phil. By Heaven, lady, you shall have no
To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Con. You have beguild me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and
try'd, 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 vigour 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 perjur'd 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 armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd Kings! Hear me, 0, hear me !
Aust, Lady Constance, peace,
Con. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges! 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,
me! Faul, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant
limbs, Aust, Thou dar’st not say so, villain, for thy life. Faul. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant
limbs, K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thy
A Trumpet sounds.
Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH, Attended,
Pan. Hail, you anointed deputies of Heaven!
K. John. What earthly name to interrogatorics