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KING JOHN.

       Would not my lords return to me again

       After they heard young Arthur was alive?

       BASTARD.

       They found him dead, and cast into the streets;

       An empty casket, where the jewel of life

       By some damn’d hand was robb’d and ta’en away.

       KING JOHN.

       That villain Hubert told me he did live.

       BASTARD.

       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;

       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 threatener, and outface the brow

       Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,

       That borrow their behaviours 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.

       KING JOHN.

       The legate of the pope hath been with me,

       And I have made a happy peace with him;

       And he hath promis’d to dismiss the powers

       Led by the Dauphin.

       BASTARD.

       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 cocker’d silken wanton, brave our fields,

       And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,

       Mocking the air with colours 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 defence.

       KING JOHN.

       Have thou the ordering of this present time.

       BASTARD.

       Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know

       Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE 2. Near Saint Edmunds-bury. The French Camp.

       [Enter, in arms, LOUIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers.]

       LOUIS.

       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.

       SALISBURY.

       Upon our sides it never shall be broken.

       And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear

       A voluntary zeal and an unurg’d faith

       To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,

       I am not glad that such a sore of time

       Should seek a plaster by contemn’d 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 honourable rescue and defence

       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 confused wrong.—

       And is’t not pity, O my grieved friends!

       That we, the sons and children of this isle,

       Were 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 enforc’d cause—

       To grace the gentry of a land remote,

       And follow unacquainted colours 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 unneighbourly!

       LOUIS.

       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 honourable 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 amaz’d

       Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven

       Figur’d quite o’er with burning meteors.

       Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,

       And with a great heart heave away this storm:

       Commend these waters to those baby eyes

       That never saw the giant world enrag’d,

       Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,

       Full of warm 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

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