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the holy legate comes apace,

       To give us warrant from the hand of heaven

       And on our actions set the name of right

       With holy breath.

       [Enter PANDULPH, attended.]

       PANDULPH.

       Hail, noble prince of France!

       The next is this,—King John hath reconcil’d

       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 threatening colours now wind up,

       And tame the savage spirit of wild war,

       That, like a lion foster’d up at hand,

       It may lie gently at the foot of peace

       And be no further harmful than in show.

       LOUIS.

       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 chastis’d 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;

       And come ye now to tell me John hath made

       His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?

       I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,

       After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;

       And, now it is half-conquer’d, 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 bank’d their towns?

       Have I not here the best cards for the game,

       To will this easy match, play’d for a crown?

       And shall I now give o’er the yielded set?

       No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

       PANDULPH.

       You look but on the outside of this work.

       LOUIS.

       Outside or inside, I will not return

       Till my attempt so much be glorified

       As to my ample hope was promised

       Before I drew this gallant head of war,

       And cull’d these fiery spirits from the world,

       To outlook conquest, and to will renown

       Even in the jaws of danger and of death.—

       [Trumpet sounds.]

       What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

       [Enter the BASTARD, attended.]

       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

       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.

       PANDULPH.

       The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,

       And will not temporize with my entreaties;

       He flatly says he’ll not lay down his arms.

       BASTARD.

       By all the blood that ever fury breath’d,

       The youth says well.—Now hear our English king;

       For thus his royalty doth speak in me.

       He is prepar’d; and reason too he should:

       This apish and unmannerly approach,

       This harness’d masque and unadvised revel

       This unhair’d sauciness and boyish troops,

       The king doth smile at; and is well prepar’d

       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 concealed wells;

       To crouch in litter of your stable planks;

       To lie, like pawns, lock’d 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 armed 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 aery 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-visag’d maids,

       Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,—

       Their thimbles into armed gauntlets chang’d,

       Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts

       To fierce and bloody inclination.

       LOUIS.

       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.

       PANDULPH.

       Give me leave to speak.

       BASTARD.

       No, I will speak.

       LOUIS.

       We will attend to neither.—

       Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,

       Plead for our interest and our being here.

       BASTARD.

       Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;

       And so shall you, being beaten: do but start

       And echo with the clamour of thy drum,

      

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