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THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING JOHN
by William Shakespeare
Contents
Dramatis Personæ
KING JOHN.
PRINCE HENRY, son to King John; afterwards KING HENRY III.
ARTHUR, Duke of Brittany, nephew to King John.
EARL OF PEMBROKE.
EARL OF ESSEX.
EARL OF SALISBURY.
ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk.
HUBERT DE BURGH, Chamberlain to the King.
ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge.
The BASTARD, PHILIP FAULCONBRIDGE, his half-brother, bastard son to King Richard I.
JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge.
PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet
KING JOHN.
PRINCE HENRY, son of King John; later KING HENRY III.
ARTHUR, Duke of Brittany, nephew of King John.
EARL OF PEMBROKE.
EARL OF ESSEX.
EARL OF SALISBURY.
ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk.
HUBERT DE BURGH, the King's Chamberlain.
ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son of Sir Robert Faulconbridge.
The BASTARD, PHILIP FAULCONBRIDGE, his half-brother, illegitimate son of King Richard I.
JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge.
PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet
KING PHILIP II., King of France.
LOUIS, the Dauphin; son to King Philip II.
DUKE OF AUSTRIA, also called Limoges.
MELUN, a French lord.
CHATILLION, Ambassador from France to King John.
CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope’s legate.
KING PHILIP II, King of France.
LOUIS, the Dauphin; son of King Philip II.
DUKE OF AUSTRIA, also known as Limoges.
MELUN, a French lord.
CHATILLION, Ambassador from France to King John.
CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope’s representative.
QUEEN ELEANOR, Mother to King John and Widow of King Henry II.
CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur.
BLANCHE OF SPAIN, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and Niece to King John.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, Mother to the Bastard and Robert Faulconbridge.
QUEEN ELEANOR, Mother of King John and Widow of King Henry II.
CONSTANCE, Mother of Arthur.
BLANCHE OF SPAIN, Daughter of Alphonso, King of Castile, and Niece of King John.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, Mother of the Bastard and Robert Faulconbridge.
Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers and other Attendants.
Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, and other Attendants.
SCENE: Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France.
ACT I
SCENE I. Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace.
Enter King John, Queen Eleanor, Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury and others with Chatillion.
Enter King John, Queen Eleanor, Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury and others with Chatillon.
KING JOHN.
Now, say, Chatillion, what would France with us?
KING JOHN.
Now, tell me, Chatillion, what does France want from us?
CHATILLION.
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
In my behaviour to the majesty,
The borrow’d majesty, of England here.
CHATILLION.
So, after greeting, the King of France speaks
In my manner to the royalty,
The borrowed royalty, of England here.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
A strange beginning: “borrow’d majesty”!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
An odd start: "borrowed royalty"!
KING JOHN.
Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.
KING JOHN.
Quiet, good mother; listen to the message.
CHATILLION.
Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased 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.
CHATILLION.
Philip of France, on behalf of your late brother Geoffrey’s son,
Arthur Plantagenet, rightfully claims
This beautiful island and its lands,
Including Ireland, Poitiers, Anjou, Touraine, and Maine,
Asking you to set aside the sword
That illegally holds these various titles,
And hand it over to young Arthur,
Your nephew and rightful king.
KING JOHN.
What follows if we disallow of this?
KING JOHN.
What happens if we reject this?
CHATILLION.
The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
CHATILLION.
The proud mastery over brutal and bloody conflict,
To assert these rights that have been forcibly denied.
KING JOHN.
Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
Controlment for controlment: so answer France.
KING JOHN.
Here we have war for war and blood for blood,
Revenge for revenge: so respond, France.
CHATILLION.
Then take my king’s defiance from my mouth,
The farthest limit of my embassy.
CHATILLION.
Then take my king's challenge from my words,
The utmost boundary of my mission.
KING JOHN.
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 honourable conduct let him have.
Pembroke, look to ’t. Farewell, Chatillion.
KING JOHN.
Take my message to him and leave in peace.
Be as quick as lightning in the eyes of France,
Because before you can even tell him, I’ll be there,
The sound of my cannons will be heard.
So go on! Be the trumpet of our anger
And a dark warning of your own downfall.—
Let him have an honorable exit.
Pembroke, make sure of it. Goodbye, Chatillion.
[Exeunt Chatillion and Pembroke.]
[Exit Chatillion and Pembroke.]
QUEEN ELEANOR.
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.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
What now, my son! Haven't I always said
That ambitious Constance wouldn't stop
Until she had set France and the whole world
On the side of her son?
This could have been avoided and resolved
With some simple acts of love,
But now the control of two kingdoms must
Be decided with a fearful and bloody outcome.
KING JOHN.
Our strong possession and our right for us.
KING JOHN.
Our solid claim and our right for ourselves.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
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 heaven and you and I shall hear.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Your grip on power is way stronger than your claim,
Or else things will go badly for both of us:
That's what my conscience is telling you,
A truth only heaven, you, and I will know.
Enter a Sheriff, who whispers to Essex.
Enter a Sheriff, who whispers to Essex.
ESSEX.
My liege, here is the strangest controversy,
Come from the country to be judg’d by you,
That e’er I heard. Shall I produce the men?
ESSEX.
My lord, here is the strangest disagreement,
Come from the countryside to be judged by you,
That I’ve ever heard. Should I bring in the men?
KING JOHN.
Let them approach.
KING JOHN.
Let them come closer.
[Exit Sheriff.]
[Exit Sheriff.]
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition’s charge.
Our abbeys and priories will cover
The cost of this mission.
Enter Robert Faulconbridge and Philip, his Bastard brother.
Enter Robert Faulconbridge and Philip, his half-brother.
What men are you?
What kind of men are you?
BASTARD.
Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
A soldier by the honour-giving hand
Of Cœur-de-lion knighted in the field.
BASTARD.
I am your loyal subject, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire and the eldest son,
As I believe, to Robert Faulconbridge,
A soldier who was knighted in the field
By the honor-granting hand of Cœur-de-lion.
KING JOHN.
What art thou?
KING JOHN.
What are you?
ROBERT.
The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.
ROBERT.
The son and heir of that same Faulconbridge.
KING JOHN.
Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
KING JOHN.
Are you the older one, and are you the heir?
So it looks like you didn't come from the same mother, then.
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
You definitely have one mother, powerful king;
That’s obvious; and, I believe, one father.
But for the real certainty of that truth,
I leave it to heaven and to my mother.
About that, I have doubts, like all men’s children might.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother
And wound her honour with this diffidence.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Get away from me, rude man! You're embarrassing your mother
And hurting her honor with this lack of confidence.
BASTARD.
I, madam? No, I have no reason for it;
That is my brother’s plea, and none of mine;
The which if he can prove, he pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year.
Heaven guard my mother’s honour and my land!
BASTARD.
Me? No, I have no reason for that;
That’s my brother’s argument, not mine;
If he can prove it, he kicks me out
At least from a good five hundred pounds a year.
God protect my mother’s honor and my estate!
KING JOHN.
A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
KING JOHN.
A straightforward guy. Why, just because he's younger,
does he think he deserves your inheritance?
BASTARD.
I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander’d 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!
BASTARD.
I don't know why, except to claim the land.
But once he accused me of being a bastard.
But whether I’m truly begotten or not,
I still blame my mother for that;
But I am just as legitimate, my lord—
Thank the heavens for the ones who worked for me!—
Compare our faces and judge for yourself.
If old Sir Robert fathered us both
And is indeed our father, and this son is like him,
Oh old Sir Robert, father, on my knees
I thank heaven that I’m not like you!
KING JOHN.
Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!
KING JOHN.
What a crazy person heaven has given us here!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
He hath a trick of Cœur-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?
QUEEN ELEANOR.
He has a resemblance to King Richard's face;
The way he speaks is a bit like him.
Don't you see some signs of my son
In this man's overall appearance?
KING JOHN.
Mine eye hath well examined his parts
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother’s land?
KING JOHN.
I've looked closely at his abilities
And found them to be excellent, Richard. Hey, you, speak,
What makes you want to claim your brother’s land?
BASTARD.
Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
With half that face would he have all my land:
A half-fac’d groat five hundred pound a year!
BASTARD.
Because he has a half-face, just like my father.
With that half of a face, he would take all my land:
A half-faced coin worth five hundred pounds a year!
ROBERT.
My gracious liege, when that my father liv’d,
Your brother did employ my father much—
ROBERT.
My gracious king, when my father was alive,
Your brother relied heavily on my father—
BASTARD.
Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land.
Your tale must be how he employ’d my mother.
BASTARD.
Well, sir, you won't be able to take my land with this.
Your story has to be about how he used my mother.
ROBERT.
And once dispatch’d 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 sojourn’d 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 death-bed he by will bequeath’d
His lands to me, and took it, on his death
That this my mother’s son was none of his;
And 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.
ROBERT.
And once he sent him on a mission
To Germany, to meet with the emperor
To discuss important matters of that time.
The King seized the opportunity of his absence
And in the meantime stayed at my father’s;
How he succeeded there, I'm ashamed to say;
But the truth is: there were vast distances of sea and land
Between my father and my mother, as I’ve heard my father say,
When this same energetic gentleman was conceived.
On his deathbed, he left his lands to me in his will
And declared, before he died,
That this son of my mother was not his;
And even if he were, he came into the world
A full fourteen weeks before his due time.
So, please, my lord, let me have what is rightfully mine,
My father’s land, as my father intended.
KING JOHN.
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father’s wife did after wedlock bear him,
And 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 claim’d 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.
KING JOHN.
Listen, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife had him after marrying,
And if she was unfaithful, that's on her;
That issue falls on all husbands
Who marry wives. Tell me, what if my brother,
Who, as you say, worked hard to have this son,
Had claimed this son as his from your father?
Honestly, good friend, your father could have kept
This calf, born from his cow, hidden from everyone;
Honestly, he could; then, if he were my brother’s,
My brother couldn't claim him; nor could your father,
Since he isn't his, deny him. This is the conclusion;
My mother's son fathered your father's heir;
Your father's heir must receive your father's land.
ROBERT.
Shall then my father’s will be of no force
To dispossess that child which is not his?
ROBERT.
So, my father's will doesn't have any power
to take away that child who isn't his?
BASTARD.
Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
BASTARD.
You have no more power to take me away, sir,
Than he had the desire to make me, as I see it.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Whether hadst thou rather be: a Faulconbridge
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Cœur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence and no land besides?
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Would you rather be: a Faulconbridge
And enjoy your land like your brother,
Or the supposed son of Cœur-de-lion,
Lord of your presence and no land other than that?
BASTARD.
Madam, and 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 stuff’d, 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.
BASTARD.
Madam, if my brother had my appearance
And I had his—Sir Robert’s—his looks;
And if my legs were two such riding sticks,
My arms stuffed like eel skins, my face so thin
That I wouldn’t dare put a rose in my ear
For fear that people would say, “Look where three farthings goes!”
And if I were heir to all this land
Because of his looks,
I would never want to move from this spot;
I would give up every inch to have this face.
I wouldn’t want to be Sir Nob at all.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
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.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
I like you a lot. Will you give up your fortune,
leave your land to him, and follow me?
I'm a soldier and I'm headed to France now.
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
Brother, if you take my land, I'll take my chance.
Your face is worth five hundred pounds a year,
But selling your face for five pence is too pricey.
Madam, I'll follow you to the end.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
No, I want you to go ahead of me there.
BASTARD.
Our country manners give our betters way.
BASTARD.
Our societal norms allow those above us to have their way.
KING JOHN.
What is thy name?
KING JOHN.
What's your name?
BASTARD.
Philip, my liege, so is my name begun;
Philip, good old Sir Robert’s wife’s eldest son.
BASTARD.
Philip, my lord, that’s how my name starts;
Philip, the eldest son of Sir Robert's wife.
KING JOHN.
From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest.
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
KING JOHN.
From now on, carry the name of the one whose likeness you bear.
Kneel down, Philip, but stand up even greater,
Rise, Sir Richard, and Plantagenet.
BASTARD.
Brother by th’ mother’s side, give me your hand.
My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, Sir Robert was away!
BASTARD.
Brother on our mom's side, give me your hand.
My dad gave me honor, yours gave land.
Now blessed be the time, whether night or day,
When I was conceived, Sir Robert was away!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
The very spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
The true essence of Plantagenet!
I am your grandmother, Richard; call me that.
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
Ma'am, it’s by chance, not by reality; so what?
Something from the right side,
In through the window, or maybe over the hatch.
If you can’t move during the day, you have to wander at night,
And having something is still having it, no matter how people get it.
Close or far away, a good win is still a good shot,
And I am who I am, no matter how I was conceived.
KING JOHN.
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.
KING JOHN.
Go, Faulconbridge; now you have what you wanted.
A knight without land turns you into a knight with land.
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we need to hurry
To France, to France, because it’s essential.
BASTARD.
Brother, adieu, good fortune come to thee!
For thou wast got i’ th’ way of honesty.
BASTARD.
Brother, goodbye, and may good fortune come to you!
For you were born in a way that was honest.
[Exeunt all but the Bastard.]
[Everyone exits except the Bastard.]
A foot of honour 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!”
And if his name be George, I’ll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men’s names:
’Tis too respective and too sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveller,
He and his toothpick at my worship’s mess,
And when my knightly stomach is suffic’d,
Why then I suck my teeth and catechize
My picked 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 accoutrement,
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s tooth,
Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
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?
A foot of honor better than I was,
But a lot of land worse off.
Well, now I can make any Joan a lady.
“Good day, Sir Richard!” “Thank you, friend!”
And if his name is George, I’ll call him Peter;
Because new honor forgets people’s names:
It’s too formal and too friendly
For your transformation. Now your traveler,
He and his toothpick at my table,
And when my knightly stomach is full,
Then I suck my teeth and question
My chosen man of the world: “My dear sir,”
Leaning on my elbow, I start,
“I will ask you”—that’s the Question now;
And then comes Answer like a textbook:
“O sir,” says Answer, “at your best command;
At your service, sir.”
“No, sir,” says Question, “I, kind sir, am at yours.”
And so, before Answer knows what Question wants,
Only in polite dialogue,
And talking about the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenees and the river Po,
It leads toward dinner in conclusion.
But this is noble company,
And suits a high-spirited person like me;
For he is just a nobody in these times
If he doesn’t reflect on what’s going on,
And so am I, whether I do or not;
And not just in style and manner,
Outward appearance, outer gear,
But from the inner drive to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age’s cravings,
Which, though I won’t practice deceit,
Yet, to avoid trickery, I intend to learn;
For it will pave the way for my rise.
But who comes in such a hurry in riding clothes?
What woman courier is this? Does she have no husband
To take the trouble to blow a horn before her?
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney.
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney.
O me, ’tis my mother!—How now, good lady?
What brings you here to court so hastily?
O my, it's my mom!—What’s up, good lady?
What brings you to court in such a rush?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Where is that slave, thy brother? Where is he
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Where is that fool, your brother? Where is he
That keeps chasing my honor everywhere?
BASTARD.
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?
BASTARD.
My brother Robert, old Sir Robert’s son?
Colbrand the giant, that same powerful man?
Is it Sir Robert’s son that you’re looking for?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Sir Robert’s son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
Sir Robert’s son. Why scorn’st thou at Sir Robert?
He is Sir Robert’s son, and so art thou.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Sir Robert’s son! Yes, you disrespectful boy,
Sir Robert’s son. Why do you look down on Sir Robert?
He is Sir Robert’s son, and so are you.
BASTARD.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?
BASTARD.
James Gurney, will you let us be for a bit?
GURNEY.
Good leave, good Philip.
GURNEY.
Goodbye, good Philip.
BASTARD.
Philip?—sparrow!—James,
There’s toys abroad. Anon I’ll tell thee more.
BASTARD.
Philip?—sparrow!—James,
There are toys out there. I'll tell you more soon.
[Exit Gurney.]
[Exit Gurney.]
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 … 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.
Madam, I wasn't old Sir Robert's son.
Sir Robert might have had his share in me
On Good Friday, and never broke his fast.
Sir Robert had his strengths—I'll admit—
But he couldn’t … get me. Sir Robert couldn’t do it.
We know his work. So, good mother,
Who do I owe for these limbs?
Sir Robert never helped make this leg.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Have you teamed up with your brother as well,
To defend my honor for your own benefit?
What’s with this disrespect, you most troublesome fool?
BASTARD.
Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
What! I am dubb’d! I have it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert’s son.
I have disclaim’d 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?
BASTARD.
Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
What! I’m knighted! I feel it on my shoulder.
But, mom, I’m not Sir Robert’s son.
I’ve rejected Sir Robert and my land;
Legitimation, name, and everything is lost.
So, dear mother, let me know who my father is—
Some decent man, I hope. Who was it, mom?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
Have you denied yourself a Faulconbridge?
BASTARD.
As faithfully as I deny the devil.
BASTARD.
As truly as I deny the devil.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
King Richard Cœur-de-lion was thy father.
By long and vehement suit I was seduc’d
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 offence,
Which was so strongly urg’d, past my defence.
LADY FAULCONBRIDGE.
King Richard the Lionheart was your father.
After a long and passionate plea, I was persuaded
To make space for him in my husband's bed.
Please don't hold my wrongdoing against me!
You are the result of my serious mistake,
Which was pushed so hard, I couldn't resist.
BASTARD.
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,
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 unmatched 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
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.
BASTARD.
Now, honestly, if I had to do it again,
Madam, I wouldn't wish for a better father.
Some sins have their privileges in this world,
And yours is one of them. Your fault wasn't your foolishness.
You have to lay your heart in his hands,
A forced tribute to commanding love,
Against which even the fearless lion couldn't fight,
Nor could he keep his noble heart from Richard’s grasp.
He who can take the hearts of lions
Could easily win a woman's heart. Yes, my mother,
With all my heart, I thank you for my father!
Whoever lives and dares to say you did wrong
When I was conceived, I’ll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will introduce you to my family;
And they will say when Richard fathered me,
If you had said no, it would have been a sin.
Whoever says it was, is lying. I say it wasn’t.
[Exeunt.]
[Exeunt.]
ACT II
SCENE I. France. Before the walls of Angiers.
Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria and Forces; on the other, Philip King of France, Louis, Constance, Arthur and Forces.
Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria and his troops; on the other, Philip, King of France; Louis; Constance; Arthur and their troops.
LOUIS.
Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robb’d 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 colours, boy, in thy behalf,
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
LOUIS.
Before Angiers, we met the brave Austria.
Arthur, the great ancestor of your lineage,
Richard, who stole the lion's heart
And fought for the holy wars in Palestine,
This brave duke met an early end because of.
And, to make up for it to his descendants,
He has come here at our request
To wave his banner, boy, in your name,
And to challenge the takeover
By your unnatural uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, welcome him here.
ARTHUR.
God shall forgive you Cœur-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 unstained love.
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.
ARTHUR.
May God forgive you for Cœur-de-lion’s death
If you give his child a chance to live,
Protecting their rights under your wings of war.
I greet you with a weak hand,
But with a heart full of pure love.
Welcome to the gates of Angiers, duke.
LOUIS.
A noble boy. Who would not do thee right?
LOUIS.
A noble boy. Who wouldn't treat you well?
AUSTRIA.
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-fac’d shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean’s roaring tides
And coops from other lands her islanders,
Even till that England, hedg’d in with the main,
That water-walled 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.
AUSTRIA.
On your cheek, I place this passionate kiss,
As a seal to this promise of my love:
I will not return home,
Until you have Angiers and your rightful place in France,
Along with that pale, white-faced shore,
Whose land pushes back the ocean’s roaring waves
And keeps its islanders safe from other lands,
Even until that England, surrounded by the sea,
That water-walled fortress, still safe
And confident against foreign threats,
Even until that furthest corner of the west
Salutes you as its king; until then, fair boy,
I won’t think of home, but will follow the fight.
CONSTANCE.
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!
CONSTANCE.
Oh, please take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
Until your strong hand helps give him the strength
To properly repay your love!
AUSTRIA.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.
AUSTRIA.
The peace of heaven belongs to those who raise their swords
In such a fair and compassionate war.
KING PHILIP.
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 market-place in Frenchmen’s blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.
KING PHILIP.
Alright then, let’s get to work; our cannons will be aimed
At the walls of this defiant town.
Gather our top commanders,
To figure out the best strategies.
We’ll show this town what it means to face us,
March to the marketplace in the blood of our enemies,
But we’ll make it submit to this boy.
CONSTANCE.
Stay for an answer to your embassy,
Lest unadvis’d 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.
CONSTANCE.
Wait for a response to your message,
So you don’t unwittingly stain your swords with blood.
My Lord Chatillion may come from England with
The rights we seek through peace instead of war,
And then we’ll regret every drop of blood
That reckless haste caused us to spill.
Enter Chatillion.
Enter Chatillion.
KING PHILIP.
A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,
Our messenger Chatillion is arriv’d.
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillion, speak.
KING PHILIP.
A surprise, my lady! Look, just as you wished,
Our messenger Chatillion has arrived.
Speak briefly about what England says, kind lord;
We’re waiting for you; Chatillion, go ahead and speak.
CHATILLION.
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 stay’d, 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 deceas’d.
And all th’ unsettled humours 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 offence and scathe in Christendom.
CHATILLION.
Then pull your troops back from this pointless siege
And direct them toward a more significant challenge.
England, fed up with your rightful demands,
Has taken up arms. The opposing winds,
Whose delay I’ve managed, have allowed him time
To land his troops just as quickly as I;
His movements are timely for this town,
His forces are strong, his soldiers confident.
Along with him comes the mother-queen,
An Ate, goading him toward bloodshed and conflict;
With her is her niece, the Lady Blanche of Spain;
Alongside them is a son born out of wedlock of the deceased king.
And all the restless tempers of the land;
Reckless, thoughtless, fiery volunteers,
With the faces of ladies and the fierceness of dragons,
Have abandoned their fortunes back home,
Carrying their birthrights with pride,
To take a risk on new fortunes here.
In short, a braver selection of fearless spirits
Than what the English ships have ferryed over
Has never sailed on the rising tide
To cause harm and chaos in Christendom.
[Drums beat within.]
Drums thump inside.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance. They are at hand,
To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.
The interruption of their rude drums
Cuts off more details. They’re here,
To talk or to fight, so get ready.
KING PHILIP.
How much unlook’d-for is this expedition!
KING PHILIP.
How unexpected is this mission!
AUSTRIA.
By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavour for defence,
For courage mounteth with occasion.
Let them be welcome, then; we are prepar’d.
AUSTRIA.
By how much unexpected, by so much
We must wake up and prepare for defense,
For courage rises with opportunity.
Let them be welcome, then; we are ready.
Enter King John, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard, Pembroke, Lords and Forces.
Enter King John, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard, Pembroke, Lords and Forces.
KING JOHN.
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.
KING JOHN.
Peace to France, as long as France allows
Our rightful and direct entry to our own;
If not, let France suffer, and peace rise to heaven,
While we, as God's angry agents, correct
Their haughty disrespect that disturbs His peace to heaven.
KING PHILIP.
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 armour 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,
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geoffrey’s face;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded 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 call’d a king,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which owe the crown that thou o’ermasterest?
KING PHILIP.
Peace to England, if that war comes back
From France to England, so that we can live in peace.
We love England; and for that reason we’re here,
Sweating under the weight of our armor.
This struggle should be a task for you;
But you’re so far from loving England
That you’ve undermined his rightful king,
Cut off the line of succession,
Made a show of infant authority, and violated
The pure virtue of the crown.
Look here at your brother Geoffrey’s face;
These eyes, these brows, were shaped from his:
This small representation holds the essence
Of what died with Geoffrey, and time
Will turn this brief moment into a vast story.
Geoffrey was your older brother,
And this is his son; England belonged to Geoffrey,
And this claims Geoffrey’s right. In God’s name,
How is it that you are called a king,
When living blood beats in these veins,
Which should belong to the crown you hold?
KING JOHN.
From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
To draw my answer from thy articles?
KING JOHN.
Who gave you this big responsibility, France,
To get my response from your demands?
KING PHILIP.
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.
KING PHILIP.
From that higher judge who inspires good thoughts
In anyone with strong authority,
To examine the flaws and imperfections of justice.
That judge has appointed me as guardian to this boy,
Under whose authority I accuse your wrongdoing
And with whose help I intend to correct it.
KING JOHN.
Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
KING JOHN.
Oh no, you're taking over authority.
KING PHILIP.
Excuse it is to beat usurping down.
KING PHILIP.
It's an excuse to take down the usurper.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Who are you calling a usurper, France?
CONSTANCE.
Let me make answer: thy usurping son.
CONSTANCE.
Let me respond: your usurping son.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,
That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Get out, you arrogant fool! Your illegitimate child will be king,
So you can be a queen and control the world!
CONSTANCE.
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, and if thou wert his mother.
CONSTANCE.
My bed was always as faithful to your son
As yours was to your husband; and this boy
Looks more like his father Geoffrey
Than you and John do in behavior; being as similar
As rain is to water, or a devil to his mother.
My boy a bastard! I swear, I don't believe
His father was ever truly conceived:
It can't be true, even if you were his mother.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
There’s a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
There’s a good mother, kid, that stains your father.
CONSTANCE.
There’s a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.
CONSTANCE.
There’s a good old lady, kid, who would take care of you.
AUSTRIA.
Peace!
AUSTRIA.
Peace!
BASTARD.
Hear the crier!
JERK.
Listen to the crier!
AUSTRIA.
What the devil art thou?
AUSTRIA.
What the hell are you?
BASTARD.
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 valour 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.
BASTARD.
Someone who's going to mess with you, sir,
If he gets the chance to take you down, he will.
You’re like the hare in the saying,
Whose bravery challenges even the dead lions.
I’ll skin you alive if I catch you properly;
Hey, watch out; I swear I will, I swear.
BLANCHE.
O, well did he become that lion’s robe
That did disrobe the lion of that robe!
BLANCHE.
Oh, he really suited that lion's robe
That took the lion out of that robe!
BASTARD.
It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides’ shows upon an ass.
But, ass, I’ll take that burden from your back,
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.
BASTARD.
It looks just as bad on him
As great Hercules' shows on a donkey.
But, donkey, I’ll take that burden off your back,
Or put on one that will make your shoulders break.
AUSTRIA.
What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?
AUSTRIA.
What nonsense is this that deafens our ears
With all this unnecessary talk?
KING PHILIP.
Louis, determine what we shall do straight.
KING PHILIP.
Louis, decide what we should do immediately.
LOUIS.
Women and fools, break off your conference.
LOUIS.
Ladies and fools, end your discussion.
KING PHILIP.
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?
KING PHILIP.
King John, this is what it all comes down to:
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
I claim these from you in the name of Arthur.
Will you give them up and lay down your weapons?
KING JOHN.
My life as soon: I do defy thee, France.
Arthur of Brittany, yield thee to my hand;
And out of my dear love I’ll give thee more
Than e’er the coward hand of France can win.
Submit thee, boy.
KING JOHN.
My life is short: I defy you, France.
Arthur of Brittany, surrender to me;
And out of my deep affection, I’ll give you more
Than what any coward from France could ever take.
Submit, boy.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Come to thy grandam, child.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Come to your grandma, kid.
CONSTANCE.
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.
CONSTANCE.
Go ahead, kid, go to your grandma, kid.
Give grandma the kingdom, and she’ll
Give you a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
There’s a good grandma.
ARTHUR.
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.
ARTHUR.
Please, mother, be quiet!
I wish I were buried in my grave.
I don't deserve all this trouble that's made for me.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
His mother embarrasses him so much, the poor guy, that he's crying.
CONSTANCE.
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 brib’d
To do him justice, and revenge on you.
CONSTANCE.
Now, shame on you, whether she does or not!
It's his grandmother's wrongs, not his mother's shames,
That pull those heavenly tears from his sad eyes,
Which heaven will accept as payment.
Yes, with these crystal beads heaven will be swayed
To grant him justice and take revenge on you.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
You terrible slanderer of heaven and earth!
CONSTANCE.
Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!
Call not me slanderer. Thou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights
Of this oppressed 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
Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.
CONSTANCE.
You monstrous destroyer of heaven and earth!
Don’t call me a slanderer. You and yours take over
The powers, thrones, and rights
Of this oppressed boy. This is your eldest son’s child,
Unfortunate only because of you.
Your sins affect this poor child;
The burden of the law is on him,
Being just the second generation
Removed from your sin-filled womb.
KING JOHN.
Bedlam, have done.
KING JOHN.
Enough with the chaos.
CONSTANCE.
I have but this to say,
That he is not only plagued for her sin,
But God hath made her sin and her the plague
On this removed issue, plagued for her
And with her plague; her sin his injury
Her injury the beadle to her sin,
All punish’d in the person of this child,
And all for her. A plague upon her!
CONSTANCE.
I have just this to say,
That he is not only suffering because of her sin,
But God has made both her sin and her the source of suffering
On this distant matter, punished for her
And with her suffering; her sin is his harm
Her harm the servant to her sin,
All punished in this child's person,
And all because of her. A curse on her!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
You foolish nag, I can show you
A will that denies your son's claim.
CONSTANCE.
Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;
A woman’s will; a cankered grandam’s will!
CONSTANCE.
Yeah, who doubts that? A will, a twisted will;
A woman’s will; an old bitter woman’s will!
KING PHILIP.
Peace, lady! Pause, or be more temperate.
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
To these ill-tuned 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.
KING PHILIP.
Calm down, lady! Hold on for a moment, or be more reasonable.
It's inappropriate for us to shout accusations
At these poorly timed echoes.—
Someone call these men of Angiers to the walls.
Let’s hear them say whose claim they recognize, Arthur’s or John’s.
Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens upon the walls.
Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens on the walls.
CITIZEN.
Who is it that hath warn’d us to the walls?
CITIZEN.
Who told us to go to the walls?
KING PHILIP.
’Tis France, for England.
KING PHILIP.
It's France, for England.
KING JOHN.
England for itself.
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects—
KING JOHN.
England for itself.
You people of Angiers, and my dear subjects—
KING PHILIP.
You loving men of Angiers, Arthur’s subjects,
Our trumpet call’d you to this gentle parle—
KING PHILIP.
You caring people of Angiers, Arthur’s subjects,
Our trumpet summoned you to this friendly conversation—
KING JOHN.
For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of your town,
Have hither march’d 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 fixed 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 unscratch’d your city’s threatened cheeks,
Behold, the French, amaz’d, vouchsafe a parle;
And now, instead of bullets wrapp’d 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 labour’d spirits
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Craves harbourage within your city walls.
KING JOHN.
For our benefit; so listen to us first.
These French flags that are raised here
In front of your town's view,
Have come here to cause you harm.
The cannons are loaded with anger,
And are ready to unleash
Their iron fury against your walls.
All preparations for a bloody siege
And ruthless actions by these French
Are right in front of your city’s eyes, your closed gates;
And if it weren't for our arrival, those resting stones,
That surround you like a belt,
Due to their force
By now would have been awakened from their beds of lime
And caused widespread destruction
For deadly power to attack your peace.
But at the sight of us, your rightful king,
Who has marched here with great effort,
We present a challenge before your gates,
To save your city’s threatened safety,
Look, the French, surprised, agree to talk;
And now, instead of bullets wrapped in fire,
To shake your walls in fear,
They send only calm words wrapped in smoke,
To create a misleading sound in your ears,
Which you should trust, kind citizens,
And let us in, your king, whose weary spirit
After this swift action,
Seeks shelter within your city walls.
KING PHILIP.
When I have said, make answer to us both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow’d upon the right
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 down-trodden 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 oppressed child
Religiously provokes. Be pleased 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 offence seal’d up;
Our cannons’ malice vainly shall be spent
Against th’ invulnerable clouds of heaven;
And with a blessed and unvex’d retire,
With unhack’d swords and helmets all unbruis’d,
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 proffer’d offer,
’Tis not the roundure of your old-fac’d walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war,
Though all these English, and their discipline
Were harbour’d in their rude circumference.
Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord
In that behalf which we have challeng’d it?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage
And stalk in blood to our possession?
KING PHILIP.
When I say, respond to both of us.
Look, in this right hand, which is most divinely pledged
To the right of the one it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son of the elder brother of this man,
And king over him and all that he has.
For this oppressed right we march
In a warring way before your town,
Being no more enemies to you
Than the pressure of hospitality
In helping this suffering child
Religiously compels us. So please
Fulfill the duty you truly owe
To him who is owed it, this young prince,
And then our arms, like a muzzled bear,
Unless provoked, have sealed up all offense;
Our cannons’ anger would be wasted
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
And with a blessed and peaceful retreat,
With untarnished swords and helmets all unbruised,
We will take home that spirited blood
Which we came here to spill against your town,
And leave your children, wives, and you in peace.
But if you foolishly reject our offered deal,
It’s not the thickness of your old walls
That can shield you from our war messengers,
Even if all these English and their discipline
Are safely contained within their rough perimeter.
Then, tell us, will your city call us lord
In the matter we have challenged?
Or will we signal our rage
And tread in blood to take what we want?
FIRST CITIZEN.
In brief, we are the King of England’s subjects.
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Basically, we are subjects of the King of England.
We hold this town for him and in his name.
KING JOHN.
Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.
KING JOHN.
So recognize the King, and let me in.
CITIZEN.
That can we not; but he that proves the King,
To him will we prove loyal. Till that time
Have we ramm’d up our gates against the world.
CITIZEN.
We can't do that; but whoever proves to be the King,
To him we will be loyal. Until then,
We have shut our gates against the world.
KING JOHN.
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—
KING JOHN.
Doesn't the crown of England make the King?
And if not, I have witnesses,
Thirty thousand loyal hearts from England—
BASTARD.
Bastards and else.
BASTARD.
Bastards and others.
KING JOHN.
To verify our title with their lives.
KING JOHN.
To confirm our claim with their lives.
KING PHILIP.
As many and as well-born bloods as those—
KING PHILIP.
As many and as noble lineages as those—
BASTARD.
Some bastards too.
BASTARD.
Some jerks too.
KING PHILIP.
Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
KING PHILIP.
Confront him directly to challenge his claim.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Until you decide whose claim is strongest,
We believe the right belongs to both the worthy.
KING JOHN.
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!
KING JOHN.
Then God forgive the sins of all those souls
Who, before the evening dew falls, will leave
For their eternal home,
In the terrifying trial of our kingdom’s king!
KING PHILIP.
Amen, Amen!—Mount, chevaliers! To arms!
KING PHILIP.
Amen, Amen!—Rise up, knights! To arms!
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
Saint George, the one who fought the dragon, and ever since
Rides on his horse at my inn’s door,
Teach us some sword fighting! [To Austria.] Hey, if I were at home,
At your place, hey, with your lioness,
I would put an ox's head on your lion’s skin,
And turn you into a monster.
AUSTRIA.
Peace! No more.
AUSTRIA.
Peace! Not anymore.
BASTARD.
O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar.
BASTARD.
Oh, tremble, because you can hear the lion roar.
KING JOHN.
Up higher to the plain; where we’ll set forth
In best appointment all our regiments.
KING JOHN.
Let's move up to the plain; where we'll prepare
All our troops in the best order.
BASTARD.
Speed, then, to take advantage of the field.
BASTARD.
Quickly, take advantage of the situation.
KING PHILIP.
It shall be so; and at the other hill
Command the rest to stand. God and our right!
KING PHILIP.
It will be done; and on the other hill
Order the others to hold their position. God and our rights!
[Exeunt severally.]
[Exit individually.]
Here, after excursions, enter a Herald of France with Trumpets, to the gates.
Here, after some outings, a French Herald enters with trumpets, approaching the gates.
FRENCH HERALD.
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 scatter’d on the bleeding ground.
Many a widow’s husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour’d earth;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French,
Who are at hand, triumphantly display’d,
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Brittany England’s king and yours.
FRENCH HERALD.
You people of Angiers, open your gates wide,
And let young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in,
Who today has caused many English mothers
To shed tears,
As their sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.
Many a widow's husband lies there,
Coldly embracing the stained earth;
And victory, with little loss, is playing
On the dancing banners of the French,
Who are ready, triumphantly displayed,
To enter as conquerors, and to announce
Arthur of Brittany as England’s king and yours.
Enter English Herald with Trumpet.
Enter English Herald with Trumpet.
ENGLISH HERALD.
Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
King John, your king and England’s, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day.
Their armours, that march’d hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen’s blood;
There stuck no plume in any English crest
That is removed by a staff of France,
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march’d 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.
ENGLISH HERALD.
Rejoice, people of Angiers, ring your bells:
King John, your king and England’s, is coming,
Commander of this hot, fierce day.
Their armors, that marched out so shiny bright,
Come back all stained with Frenchmen’s blood;
No plume has been taken from any English crest
That hasn’t been removed by a French hand,
Our colors return in the same hands
That displayed them when we first marched out;
And, like a cheerful group of hunters, come
Our spirited English, all with bloodied hands,
Drenched in the dying slaughter of their enemies:
Open your gates and let the victors through.
FIRST CITIZEN.
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 censured:
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer’d blows;
Strength match’d 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.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Heralds, from our towers, we can see,
From start to finish, the advance and retreat
Of both your armies; their balance
Is beyond our best judgment:
Blood has been traded for blood, and blows have been met with blows;
Strength matched with strength, and power faced power:
Both are equal, and we appreciate both equally.
One has to be the strongest: as long as they remain so evenly matched,
We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
Enter on one side King John, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard and Forces; on the other, King Philip, Louis, Austria and Forces.
Enter on one side King John, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard and their troops; on the other, King Philip, Louis, Austria and their troops.
KING JOHN.
France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
Say, shall the current of our right run on,
Whose passage, vex’d with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o’erswell
With course disturb’d even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean?
KING JOHN.
France, do you still have more blood to waste?
Tell me, will our rightful claim continue,
Whose flow, troubled by your obstruction,
Will leave its natural path and flood
With a disturbed course, even your borders,
Unless you allow its clear water to maintain
A calm flow to the ocean?
KING PHILIP.
England, thou hast not sav’d 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,
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.
KING PHILIP.
England, you haven’t saved a single drop of blood
In this intense struggle, more than we of France;
In fact, you’ve lost more. And by this hand I swear,
That controls the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we lay down our newly acquired weapons,
We’ll take you down, against whom we bear these arms,
Or increase the royal count of the dead,
Adding to the record that details this war’s losses
With slaughter matched to the name of kings.
BASTARD.
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 undetermin’d differences of kings.
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
Cry havoc, kings! Back to the stained field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other’s peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!
BASTARD.
Ha, Your Majesty! How high your glory rises
When the royal blood of kings is ignited!
Oh, now Death sharpens his cold jaws with steel;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, gnawing on the flesh of men,
In the uncertain conflicts of kings.
Why do these royal faces look so shocked?
Shout havoc, kings! Back to the bloody battlefield,
You equal powers, fiery spirits!
Then let the chaos of one side establish
The peace of the other. Until then, strikes, blood, and death!
KING JOHN.
Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
KING JOHN.
Whose side do the townspeople still support?
KING PHILIP.
Speak, citizens, for England; who’s your king?
KING PHILIP.
Speak up, citizens of England; who is your king?
FIRST CITIZEN.
The King of England, when we know the king.
FIRST CITIZEN.
The King of England, once we recognize him.
KING PHILIP.
Know him in us, that here hold up his right.
KING PHILIP.
Recognize him in us, as we uphold his rights here.
KING JOHN.
In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here,
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
KING JOHN.
In us, who are our own powerful representative,
And hold the authority of our presence here,
Master of our influence, Angiers, and of you.
FIRST CITIZEN.
A greater power than we denies all this;
And till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr’d gates:
Kings of our fear, until our fears, resolv’d,
Be by some certain king purg’d and depos’d.
FIRST CITIZEN.
A greater force than we rejects all of this;
And until it's beyond doubt, we keep
Our earlier doubts locked behind our strong gates:
Rulers of our fear, until our fears, resolved,
Are cleared and removed by some definite king.
BASTARD.
By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul’d 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 charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl’d down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
I’d play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours 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 favour 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?
BASTARD.
By heaven, those punks from Angiers are mocking you, kings,
And standing confidently on their walls
Like it’s a show, where they gawk and point
At your hard work and scenes of death.
Let your royal presence be guided by me:
Act like the rebels of Jerusalem,
Be friends for a while, and together aim
Your sharpest acts of malice at this town:
From east to west, let France and England prepare
Their cannons ready to fire,
Until their fearsome roars have broken down
The hard defenses of this scornful city:
I’d keep harassing these idiots,
Until complete destruction
Leaves them as bare as the open air.
Once that’s done, break up your united forces,
And separate your mixed colors once again;
Face each other, and aim to kill;
Then, in a moment, Fortune shall pick out
From one side her lucky favorite,
To whom she’ll grant victory,
And bestow upon him a glorious win.
What do you think of this wild plan, powerful leaders?
Doesn’t it have a hint of strategy?
KING JOHN.
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?
KING JOHN.
Now, by the sky above us,
I like this plan. France, shall we join our forces
And level this Angiers to the ground;
Then after the battle, who will be king of it?
BASTARD.
An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
Being wrong’d as we are by this peevish town,
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
And when that we have dash’d them to the ground,
Why then defy each other, and pell-mell,
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.
BASTARD.
If you have the spirit of a king,
Being wronged like we are by this petty town,
Aim your artillery,
As we will aim ours, at these arrogant walls;
And once we've brought them down,
Then let us challenge each other, and in chaos,
Turn on ourselves, for heaven or hell.
KING PHILIP.
Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?
KING PHILIP.
Alright then. So, where are you planning to attack?
KING JOHN.
We from the west will send destruction
Into this city’s bosom.
KING JOHN.
We will bring ruin
To the heart of this city.
AUSTRIA.
I from the north.
AUSTRIA.
I’m from the north.
KING PHILIP.
Our thunder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
KING PHILIP.
Our thunder from the south
Will shower their bullets on this town.
BASTARD.
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!
BASTARD.
Oh, wise discipline! From north to south,
Austria and France are firing at each other:
I’ll push them into it.—Let’s go, let’s go!
FIRST CITIZEN.
Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
And I shall show you peace and fair-fac’d 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.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Listen to us, great kings: please take a moment to stay,
And I will show you a peaceful and fair agreement;
You can win this city without a fight or injury;
Save those lives that are meant to die in their beds
Instead of as sacrifices on the battlefield:
Don't hesitate, just listen to me, powerful kings.
KING JOHN.
Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.
KING JOHN.
Speak freely; we're ready to listen.
FIRST CITIZEN.
That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanche,
Is niece 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,
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 blessed man,
Left to be finished by such a she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness 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-closed 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 enraged 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.
FIRST CITIZEN.
That daughter from Spain, Lady Blanche,
Is England’s niece. Look at the ages
Of Louis the Dauphin and that beautiful girl.
If passionate love should seek out beauty,
Where could he find it more beautiful than in Blanche?
If fervent love should look for virtue,
Where could he find it purer than in Blanche?
If ambitious love sought a connection of status,
Whose blood runs richer than Lady Blanche’s?
As she is, in beauty, virtue, and background,
The young Dauphin is perfectly matched in every way.
If he isn’t complete, say he isn’t her equal;
And she, again, lacks nothing, to name what she lacks,
If it’s not that she’s not him:
He is the other half of a blessed man,
Left to be completed by someone like her;
And she is a beautifully divided talent,
Whose full perfection lies in him.
Oh, two such silver streams, when they come together,
Glorify the banks that hold them;
And two such shores brought together into one,
You will be, kings,
The two controlling borders needed for these two princes if you marry them.
This union will do more than force can
To our tightly-closed gates; for with this match,
With swifter fury than gunpowder can unleash,
The entrance will fly wide open,
And give you entry. But without this match,
The raging sea isn’t half as deaf,
Lions more sure of themselves, mountains and rocks
More still; no, not even Death himself
In his furious state is as determined
As we are to keep this city.
BASTARD.
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!
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 cudgell’d; not a word of his
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump’d with words
Since I first call’d my brother’s father dad.
BASTARD.
Here’s a stay
That shakes the rotten corpse of old Death
Out of his rags! Here’s a big mouth indeed,
That spews out death and mountains, rocks, and seas;
Talks as easily about roaring lions
As thirteen-year-old girls do about puppies!
What cannoneer fathered this lively blood?
He talks straight-up cannon, fire, and smoke, and noise;
He gives a beating with his words;
Our ears are battered; not a word he says
Hits harder than a punch from France.
Damn! I’ve never been so hit with words
Since I first called my brother’s father dad.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
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 unsur’d 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.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Son, listen to this opportunity, make this alliance.
Provide our niece with a dowry big enough,
Because through this union, you will firmly secure
Your currently uncertain claim to the crown,
So that this inexperienced youth won’t have a chance to mature
The promise of a great outcome.
I see a willingness in the expressions of France;
Notice how they’re whispering. Push them while their spirits
Are open to this ambition,
Before enthusiasm, now softened by persuasive words,
Compassion, and regret,
Cools down and hardens back to what it was.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten’d town?
FIRST CITIZEN.
Why do you not respond to the two powers
This friendly agreement regarding our endangered town?
KING PHILIP.
Speak England first, that hath been forward first
To speak unto this city. What say you?
KING PHILIP.
Speak, England, since you were the first to reach out
To this city. What do you say?
KING JOHN.
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 besieg’d—
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,
As she in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hand with any princess of the world.
KING JOHN.
If the Dauphin, your royal son, can read “I love” in this book of beauty,
Her dowry will be as valuable as a queen’s.
For Anjou, and beautiful Touraine, Maine, Poitiers,
And everything we possess on this side of the sea—
Except for this city that we are currently besieging—
Will be suitable for our crown and dignity,
And will adorn her wedding bed, making her wealthy
In titles, honors, and promotions,
As she is in beauty, education, and lineage,
Compares with any princess in the world.
KING PHILIP.
What say’st thou, boy? Look in the lady’s face.
KING PHILIP.
What do you say, boy? Look at the lady’s face.
LOUIS.
I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
The shadow of myself form’d 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 lov’d myself
Till now infixed I beheld myself
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
LOUIS.
I do, my lord, and in her eye I see
A wonder, or a miraculous sight,
The reflection of myself formed in her gaze;
Which, being just the reflection of your son,
Turns into a light and makes your son a shadow.
I truly never loved myself
Until now, as I see myself
Captured in the flattering image of her eye.
[Whispers with Blanche.]
[Whispers with Blanche.]
BASTARD.
[Aside.] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!
Hang’d in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,
And quarter’d in her heart! He doth espy
Himself love’s traitor. This is pity now,
That, hang’d and drawn and quarter’d, there should be
In such a love so vile a lout as he.
BASTARD.
[Aside.] Captivated by the flattering gaze of her eyes!
Stuck in the disapproving furrow of her brow,
And torn apart in her heart! He sees
Himself as love's betrayer. It's truly a shame now,
That, hanged, drawn, and quartered, there should be
In such a love such a despicable guy as him.
BLANCHE.
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,
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,
That I can find should merit any hate.
BLANCHE.
My uncle’s will regarding this is also mine.
If he sees anything in you that he likes,
Whatever he finds appealing,
I can easily turn it to my advantage;
Or if you prefer, to put it more clearly,
I’ll effortlessly channel it into my affection.
I won’t flatter you, my lord,
By saying everything I see in you deserves love,
Except for this: I see nothing in you,
Even if unpleasant thoughts were your judges,
That could justify any hatred.
KING JOHN.
What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?
KING JOHN.
What do these young ones say? What do you say, my niece?
BLANCHE.
That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
BLANCHE.
That she is still obligated to honor
What you wisely continue to say.
KING JOHN.
Speak then, Prince Dauphin. Can you love this lady?
KING JOHN.
Go ahead, Prince Dauphin. Can you love this lady?
LOUIS.
Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.
LOUIS.
No, ask me if I can hold back from love;
Because I truly love her with all my heart.
KING JOHN.
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 pleas’d withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
KING JOHN.
Then I give you Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
Poitiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
Along with her; and one more thing,
A full thirty thousand marks of English money.—
Philip of France, if that pleases you,
Tell your son and daughter to join hands.
KING PHILIP.
It likes us well.—Young princes, close your hands.
KING PHILIP.
We appreciate it. — Young princes, keep your hands together.
AUSTRIA.
And your lips too; for I am well assur’d
That I did so when I was first assur’d.
AUSTRIA.
And your lips too; because I’m sure
I did that when I was first convinced.
KING PHILIP.
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 solemniz’d.
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.
KING PHILIP.
Now, citizens of Angiers, open your gates,
Let in the friendship you have created;
For at Saint Mary’s chapel right now
The wedding ceremony will take place.
Is the Lady Constance not part of this group?
I know she isn’t, because her presence
Would have disrupted this arrangement a lot.
Where is she and her son? Who knows?
LOUIS.
She is sad and passionate at your highness’ tent.
LOUIS.
She feels sad and passionate in your highness's tent.
KING PHILIP.
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 turn’d another way,
To our own vantage.
KING PHILIP.
And honestly, this alliance we've formed
Will hardly ease her sadness.—
Brother of England, how can we satisfy
This widow lady? We came here in her name;
Yet we've, as God knows, turned it to our own advantage.
KING JOHN.
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. 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 unlook’d-for, unprepared pomp.
KING JOHN.
We'll fix everything;
We're going to make young Arthur Duke of Brittany,
And Earl of Richmond; and this beautiful town
We'll make him the lord of. Call Lady Constance.
Have a fast messenger tell her to come
To our ceremony. I hope we can,
If not fully meet her wishes,
At least satisfy her enough
To quiet her complaints.
Let's go, as quickly as we can,
To this unexpected, unplanned celebration.
[Exeunt all but the Bastard. The Citizens retire from the walls.]
[Everyone leaves except for the Jerk. The Citizens move away from the walls.]
BASTARD.
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 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,
That smooth-fac’d gentleman, tickling commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world,
The world, who of itself is peised 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,
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.
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee!
BASTARD.
Crazy world! crazy kings! crazy situation!
John, to stop Arthur from claiming everything,
Has willingly given up a part;
And France, whose guilty conscience equipped him,
Whom passion and charity brought to the battlefield
As God’s own soldier, whispered in the ear
By that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That middleman, who constantly shatters faith,
That daily vow-breaker, he who takes from everyone,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who, having nothing to lose but the title “maid,”
Cheats the poor maid of that,
That smooth-talking gentleman, tempting opportunity,
Opportunity, the bias of the world,
The world, which is naturally balanced,
Made to run straight on even ground,
Until this advantage, this vile bias,
This sway of motion, this opportunity,
Makes it veer away from all fairness,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent.
And this same bias, this opportunity,
This pimp, this broker, this all-changing term,
Clamped on the fickle eye of France,
Has pulled him from his own determined support,
From a resolved and honorable war,
To a most base and vile peace.
And why do I rant about this opportunity?
Only because it hasn’t courted me yet.
Not that I have the power to grasp my hand
When his beautiful angels would greet my palm;
But because my hand, as yet untouched,
Like a poor beggar, rants about the rich.
Well, as long as I’m a beggar, I will rant
And say there’s no sin except being rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be
To say there’s no vice except poverty.
Since kings break faith for gain,
Wealth, be my master, for I will worship you!
[Exit.]
[Log out.]
ACT III
SCENE I. France. The French King’s tent.
Enter Constance, Arthur and Salisbury.
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury.
CONSTANCE.
Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?
False blood to false blood join’d? Gone to be friends?
Shall Louis have Blanche, and Blanche those provinces?
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis’d, 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 punish’d for thus frighting me,
For I am sick and capable of fears,
Oppress’d 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 vex’d 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?
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.
CONSTANCE.
Gone to get married? Gone to make peace?
False blood joining false blood? Gone to be friends?
Will Louis have Blanche, and Blanche those territories?
It’s not true; you've misspoken, misheard;
Think carefully, tell your story again.
It can't be; you’re just saying it is.
I can't trust you, because your word
Is just the empty talk of an ordinary man.
Believe me, I don’t believe you, man.
I have a king’s oath to prove otherwise.
You’ll be punished for scaring me like this,
Because I’m sick and easily afraid,
Burdened with wrongs, and therefore full of fears,
A widow, without a husband, subject to fears,
A woman, naturally inclined to fears,
And even if you’re now admitting you were joking,
With my troubled spirit, I can’t find peace,
But it will tremble and shake all day long.
What do you mean by shaking your head?
Why do you look so sadly at my son?
What does that hand on your chest mean?
Why are your eyes filled with so much sorrow,
Like a proud river overflowing its banks?
Are these sad signs confirming your words?
Then speak again—not the whole story,
But just this one word, whether your tale is true.
SALISBURY.
As true as I believe you think them false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
SALISBURY.
As much as I believe you think they're false
That gives you reason to prove my statement true.
CONSTANCE.
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.
CONSTANCE.
Oh, if you can teach me to believe this sorrow,
Then teach this sorrow how to make me die,
And let belief and life meet,
Just like the rage of two desperate men
Who fall and die when they confront each other.
Louis marrying Blanche? Oh boy, where are you?
France friends with England? What happens to me?
Get out of here. I can't stand the sight of you.
This news has made you a really ugly man.
SALISBURY.
What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?
SALISBURY.
What other damage have I caused, good lady,
Except to mention the harm done by others?
CONSTANCE.
Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
CONSTANCE.
The harm it carries is so terrible,
That it makes everyone who talks about it suffer.
ARTHUR.
I do beseech you, madam, be content.
ARTHUR.
I really urge you, ma'am, to be satisfied.
CONSTANCE.
If thou, that bid’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,
Patch’d 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
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,
Nature and Fortune join’d 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, 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,
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.
CONSTANCE.
If you, who tell me to be satisfied, were grim,
Ugly, and a disgrace to your mother's womb,
Full of unpleasant flaws and unseen stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, dark, monstrous,
Covered in ugly moles and eye-sore marks,
I wouldn’t care; I would then be content,
Because then I wouldn’t love you; no, nor would you
Be worthy of your noble birth or deserve a crown.
But you are handsome, and at your birth, dear boy,
Nature and Fortune teamed up to make you great.
You can boast of Nature’s gifts, like lilies,
And the half-bloomed rose. But Fortune, oh,
She is corrupted, changed, and won from you;
She’s cheating on you with your uncle John,
And with her golden hand has pulled France down
To trample on the fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his majesty a pimp for theirs.
France is a pimp for Fortune and King John,
That promiscuous Fortune, that usurping John!
Tell me, you there, is not France forsworn?
Poison him with words, or get lost,
And leave those troubles alone which I alone
Am forced to bear.
SALISBURY.
Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the Kings.
SALISBURY.
Excuse me, ma'am,
I can’t go to the King without you.
CONSTANCE.
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.
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.
CONSTANCE.
You may, you shall; I won't go with you.
I will teach my sorrows to be proud,
Because grief is proud and makes its owner bow down.
Let kings gather for me and my deep sorrow,
For my grief is so immense
That only the solid ground
Can support it. Here I sit with my sorrows;
This is my throne, tell kings to come bow to it.
[Seats herself on the ground.]
Sits on the ground.
Enter King John, King Philip, Louis, Blanche, Eleanor, Bastard, Austria and attendants.
Enter King John, King Philip, Louis, Blanche, Eleanor, the Bastard, Austria and attendants.
KING PHILIP.
’Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
Ever in France shall be kept festival.
To solemnize this day the glorious sun
Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
Turning with splendour of his precious eye
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.
The yearly course that brings this day about
Shall never see it but a holy day.
KING PHILIP.
It's true, dear daughter; and this blessed day
Will always be celebrated in France.
To honor this day, the glorious sun
Pauses in its path and plays the alchemist,
Transforming the dull, lifeless earth
Into shining gold with its radiant gaze.
The yearly cycle that brings this day around
Will never see it as anything but a holy day.
CONSTANCE.
[Rising.] A wicked day, and not a holy day!
What hath this day deserv’d? 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 cross’d.
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!
CONSTANCE.
[Rising.] What a terrible day this is, not a day of celebration at all!
What has this day done to deserve this? What has it accomplished
That it should be marked in gold
Among the important dates in the calendar?
No, let’s erase this day from the week,
This day of shame, oppression, and lies.
Or, if it can't be removed, let pregnant women
Pray that their labor doesn't happen today,
Or else their hopes might be tragically crushed.
But on this day, sailors should fear no wreck;
No deals made today should fall apart;
This day, everything started will end badly,
Yes, even faith turns to hollow deceit!
KING PHILIP.
By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
Have I not pawn’d to you my majesty?
KING PHILIP.
By heaven, lady, you won't have any reason
To curse the good things that happened today.
Have I not given you my royal word?
CONSTANCE.
You have beguil’d me with a counterfeit
Resembling majesty, which, being touch’d 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 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, O, hear me!
CONSTANCE.
You’ve deceived me with a fake kind of royalty,
Which, when it’s examined, turns out to be worthless. You are a liar, a liar.
You came here ready to fight my enemies’ battles,
But now, in your armor, you’re strengthening them with your presence.
The fierce energy and grim face of war
Are cold in friendship and false peace,
And our suffering has created this alliance.
Arise, heavens, against these lying kings!
A widow pleads; be my husband, heavens!
Don’t let the hours of this wicked day
Pass by in peace; but, before sunset,
Bring armed conflict between these lying kings!
Hear me, oh, hear me!
AUSTRIA.
Lady Constance, peace!
AUSTRIA.
Lady Constance, calm down!
CONSTANCE.
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 is by
To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur’d 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 calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs.
CONSTANCE.
War! war! no peace! To me, peace feels like war.
Oh Limoges, oh Austria, you disgrace
That bloody plunder. You slave, you wretch, you coward!
You little brave, great in wickedness!
You always strong on the side of the stronger!
You’re Fortune’s champion, who only fights
When her fickle highness is around
To ensure your safety! You’re a liar too,
And just fill your own ego. What a fool you are,
An arrogant fool, to brag, and stomp, and swear
On my side! You cold-hearted slave,
Haven't you thundered on my behalf?
Been sworn to be my soldier, asking me to trust
In your luck, your fortune, and your strength?
And now you betray me to my enemies?
You wear a lion’s skin! Take it off, for shame,
And put on a calf’s skin on those cowardly limbs.
AUSTRIA.
O that a man should speak those words to me!
AUSTRIA.
Oh, that someone would say those words to me!
BASTARD.
And hang a calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs.
BASTARD.
And drape a calf’s skin over those cowardly limbs.
AUSTRIA.
Thou dar’st not say so, villain, for thy life.
AUSTRIA.
You wouldn't dare say that, villain, if you value your life.
BASTARD.
And hang a calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs.
BASTARD.
And drape a calfskin over those cowardly limbs.
KING JOHN.
We like not this. Thou dost forget thyself.
KING JOHN.
We don't like this. You're losing your perspective.
KING PHILIP.
Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.
KING PHILIP.
Here comes the Pope’s holy legate.
Enter Pandulph.
Enter Pandulph.
PANDULPH.
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.
PANDULPH.
Greetings, you appointed representatives of heaven!
To you, King John, I bring my sacred mission.
I am Pandulph, cardinal from beautiful Milan,
And I'm here as the legate from Pope Innocent,
To firmly request, in his name,
Why do you so stubbornly oppose the church, our holy mother,
And forcibly keep Stephen Langton, the chosen Archbishop
Of Canterbury, away from that holy position?
This I ask of you in the name of our aforementioned holy father,
Pope Innocent.
KING JOHN.
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 usurp’d authority.
KING JOHN.
What earthly name can challenge the voice
Of a sacred king?
You can't, cardinal, come up with a name
So trivial, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To force me to answer like the pope.
Tell him this story; and from the voice of England
Add this much more: no Italian priest
Will collect tithes or taxes in our lands;
Just as we, under God, are the supreme leader,
So, under Him, that great authority,
Where we reign, we will maintain
Without the help of any mortal hand.
So tell the pope, all respect aside
For him and his usurped power.
KING PHILIP.
Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.
KING PHILIP.
Brother of England, you’re cursing with this.
KING 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.
KING JOHN.
Even though you and all the kings of Christendom
Are being so openly manipulated by this meddling priest,
Fearing the curse that money can buy off;
And through the worth of worthless gold, trash, dirt,
Buying a corrupted pardon from a man,
Who in that deal sells pardon from himself;
Even though you and everyone else, so foolishly led,
Support this trickery with revenue,
I stand alone, opposing
The pope, and I consider his allies my enemies.
PANDULPH.
Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curs’d and excommunicate;
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be call’d,
Canonized and worshipp’d as a saint,
That takes away by any secret course
Thy hateful life.
PANDULPH.
Then, with the legal authority I possess,
You will be cursed and excommunicated;
And blessed will be the one who turns away
From their loyalty to a heretic;
And that hand will be regarded as virtuous,
Recognized and honored as a saint,
That secretly ends your hateful life.
CONSTANCE.
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.
CONSTANCE.
Oh, let it be permissible
That I have space to curse in Rome for a bit!
Good Father Cardinal, say amen
To my sharp curses; for without my pain
No one has the power to curse him properly.
PANDULPH.
There’s law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
PANDULPH.
There's legal reason, ma'am, for my curse.
CONSTANCE.
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?
CONSTANCE.
And for mine as well. When the law can’t do any good,
Let it be legal that the law prevents no wrong.
The law can’t give my child his kingdom here,
Because the one who holds the kingdom holds the law;
So, since the law itself is truly wrong,
How can the law stop me from cursing?
PANDULPH.
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.
PANDULPH.
Philip of France, under threat of a curse,
Release the grip on that arch-heretic,
And bring the strength of France down upon him,
Unless he submits himself to Rome.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Look’st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Are you feeling pale, France? Don’t let go of your hand.
CONSTANCE
Look to that, devil, lest that France repent
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.
CONSTANCE
Watch out for that, devil, or France might regret it
And by breaking apart, hell could lose a soul.
AUSTRIA.
King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
AUSTRIA.
King Philip, pay attention to the cardinal.
BASTARD.
And hang a calf’s-skin on his recreant limbs.
BASTARD.
And drape a calfskin over his cowardly body.
AUSTRIA.
Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,
Because—
AUSTRIA.
Well, you troublemaker, I have to shove these grievances aside,
Because—
BASTARD.
Your breeches best may carry them.
BASTARD.
Your pants might hold them best.
KING JOHN.
Philip, what say’st thou to the cardinal?
KING JOHN.
Philip, what do you think about the cardinal?
CONSTANCE.
What should he say, but as the cardinal?
CONSTANCE.
What could he say, other than what the cardinal would say?
LOUIS.
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.
LOUIS.
Think about it, father; because the difference
Is taking on a serious curse from Rome,
Or the small price of losing England for a friend.
Choose the harder option.
BLANCHE.
That’s the curse of Rome.
BLANCHE.
That’s the curse of Rome.
CONSTANCE.
O Louis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.
CONSTANCE.
Oh Louis, be strong! The devil is tempting you here
In the form of a new, unadorned bride.
BLANCHE.
The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
But from her need.
BLANCHE.
Lady Constance doesn’t speak from her beliefs,
But from her needs.
CONSTANCE.
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!
CONSTANCE.
Oh, if you fulfill my need,
Which only survives through the loss of faith,
Then this need must imply this principle:
That faith would revive through the death of need.
Oh then crush my need, and faith rises up;
Support my need, and faith is brought low!
KING JOHN.
The King is mov’d, and answers not to this.
KING JOHN.
The King is upset and doesn't respond to this.
CONSTANCE.
O, be remov’d from him, and answer well!
CONSTANCE.
Oh, stay away from him, and respond properly!
AUSTRIA.
Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.
AUSTRIA.
Go ahead, King Philip; stop hesitating.
BASTARD.
Hang nothing but a calf’s-skin, most sweet lout.
BASTARD.
Hang nothing but a calfskin, you sweet fool.
KING PHILIP.
I am perplex’d, and know not what to say.
KING PHILIP.
I’m confused and don’t know what to say.
PANDULPH.
What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,
If thou stand excommunicate and curs’d?
PANDULPH.
What can you say that won't confuse you even more,
If you're left excommunicated and cursed?
KING PHILIP.
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 link’d 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,
Heaven knows, they were besmear’d and overstain’d
With slaughter’s pencil, where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings.
And shall these hands, so lately purg’d of blood,
So newly join’d 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,
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.
KING PHILIP.
Good, respected father, make yourself my own,
And tell me how you would like to act.
This royal hand and mine are newly joined,
And the union of our inner selves
Is married in alliance, coupled and linked together
With all the sacred strength of holy vows;
The latest breath that formed spoken words
Was deep-rooted faith, peace, friendship, true love
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;
And even before this truce, just recently,
No longer than we could wash our hands
To seal this royal agreement of peace,
Heaven knows, they were stained and marked
With the blood of battles, where revenge depicted
The fearful conflict between angry kings.
And shall these hands, so recently cleansed of blood,
So newly united in love, so strong in both,
Break this pact and this kind reunion?
Play tricks with our faith? So joke with heaven,
Make such fickle children of ourselves,
As to again pull our hands away from each other,
Renounce sworn faith, and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace lead a bloody army,
And create chaos on the gentle face
Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,
My respected father, let it not be so!
Out of your grace, devise, arrange, impose
Some gentle order, and then we shall be blessed
To fulfill your wishes and remain friends.
PANDULPH.
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 chafed lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
PANDULPH.
Everything is shapeless, nothing has order,
Except for what goes against England’s love.
So let’s take up arms! Be a champion for our church,
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
A mother’s curse on her rebellious son.
France, you might handle a snake by its tongue,
A furious lion by its deadly paw,
A hungry tiger more safely by its tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which you are holding.
KING PHILIP.
I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.
KING PHILIP.
I can let go of my hand, but not my faith.
PANDULPH.
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 heaven, first be to heaven perform’d,
That is, to be the champion of our church.
What since thou swor’st is sworn against thyself
And may not be performed 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,
And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn’d.
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 latter 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 the black weight.
PANDULPH.
You make faith turn against faith,
And like a civil war you set oath against oath,
Your tongue against your own words. Oh, let your vow
First made to heaven, first be performed to heaven,
That is, to be the champion of our church.
What you swore is now against yourself
And cannot be fulfilled by you,
For that which you’ve sworn to do wrong
Is not wrong when it is truly done;
And by not doing it, when it leads to harm,
The truth is then most proven by not doing it.
The better act of mistaken intentions
Is to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet that misleading actually becomes direct,
And falsehood can correct falsehood, just as fire cools fire
Within the burned veins of someone newly scorched.
It is religion that makes vows kept,
But you have sworn against religion
By what you swear against the thing you swear,
And make an oath the guarantee for your truth
Against another oath. The truth you are unsure
To swear, swears only to avoid being false,
Otherwise, what a mockery it would be to swear?
But you swear only to be false,
And most false, to keep what you swear.
Therefore your later vows against your first
Are in rebellion against yourself;
And you can achieve no greater victory
Than to arm your strong and nobler instincts
Against these dizzy, loose suggestions,
Upon which our prayers depend,
If you would grant them. But if not, then know
The weight of our curses will fall on you,
So heavy that you won't be able to shake them off,
But in despair, you will die under the dark burden.
AUSTRIA.
Rebellion, flat rebellion!
AUSTRIA.
Rebellion, straight-up rebellion!
BASTARD.
Will’t not be?
Will not a calf’s-skin stop that mouth of thine?
BASTARD.
Will you not?
Will a calfskin patch really stop that mouth of yours?
LOUIS.
Father, to arms!
LOUIS.
Dad, to arms!
BLANCHE.
Upon thy wedding-day?
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter’d men?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me! Ay, alack, how new
Is “husband” in my mouth! Even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne’er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
BLANCHE.
On your wedding day?
Against the family you’ve married into?
What, are we going to celebrate with slaughtered men?
Will loud trumpets and harsh drums,
Screams of hell, be the soundtrack to our celebration?
Oh, husband, listen to me! Oh, how strange
It feels to say “husband”! Just for that title,
Which until now I’ve never said,
On my knees, I plead, don’t go to war
Against my uncle.
CONSTANCE.
O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven!
CONSTANCE.
Oh, on my knees,
Made sore from kneeling, I pray to you,
You noble Dauphin, do not change the fate
Planned by heaven!
BLANCHE.
Now shall I see thy love. What motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
BLANCHE.
Now I will see your love. What reason could
Be stronger for you than the title of wife?
CONSTANCE.
That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour. O, thine honour, Louis, thine honour!
CONSTANCE.
What supports the one who supports you,
Is his honor. Oh, your honor, Louis, your honor!
LOUIS.
I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.
LOUIS.
I think Your Majesty seems so cold,
When such deep respect is drawing you in.
PANDULPH.
I will denounce a curse upon his head.
PANDULPH.
I'm going to put a curse on him.
KING PHILIP.
Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.
KING PHILIP.
You won't need to. England, I will turn away from you.
CONSTANCE.
O fair return of banish’d majesty!
CONSTANCE.
Oh, wonderful return of exiled royalty!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
O foul revolt of French inconstancy!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Oh, the terrible betrayal of French inconsistency!
KING JOHN.
France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.
KING JOHN.
France, you will regret this hour before it's even over.
BASTARD.
Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
Is it as he will? Well, then, France shall rue.
BASTARD.
Old Time, the clock-setter, that bald gravekeeper Time,
Is it as he wants? Well, then, France will regret it.
BLANCHE.
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;
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;
Assured loss before the match be play’d.
BLANCHE.
The sun is covered with blood. Goodbye, fair day!
Which way should I go?
I'm caught between both sides; each army has a grip on me;
And in their rage, holding onto both,
They tear me apart and destroy me.
Husband, I can’t wish for you to win;
Uncle, I have to hope you lose;
Father, I can’t desire your good fortune;
Grandma, I won’t wish for your wishes to succeed.
Whoever wins, I’ll be the one who loses;
Guaranteed loss before the game even starts.
LOUIS.
Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.
LOUIS.
Lady, your fortune lies with me.
BLANCHE.
There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.
BLANCHE.
Where my fortune is, that's where my life ends.
KING JOHN.
Cousin, go draw our puissance together.
KING JOHN.
Cousin, go gather our forces together.
[Exit Bastard.]
[Exit Bastard.]
France, I am burn’d up with inflaming wrath;
A rage whose heat hath this condition,
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
The blood, and dearest-valu’d blood, of France.
France, I'm consumed with burning anger;
A rage so intense that nothing can calm it,
Nothing but blood,
The blood, and the most precious blood, of France.
KING PHILIP.
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.
KING PHILIP.
Your anger will consume you, and you will turn
To ashes before our blood can put out that fire.
Watch yourself, you are in danger.
KING JOHN.
No more than he that threats. To arms let’s hie!
KING JOHN.
No different from the one who makes threats. Let’s grab our weapons and go!
[Exeunt severally.]
[They exit individually.]
SCENE II. The same. Plains near Angiers
Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Bastard with Austria’s head.
Alarms. Adventures. Enter the Bastard with Austria’s head.
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
Now, I swear, it's getting really hot today;
Some mischievous spirit is floating in the sky
And causing trouble. Austria’s head is there,
While Philip is alive.
Enter King John, Arthur and Hubert.
Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert.
KING JOHN.
Hubert, keep this boy.—Philip, make up.
My mother is assailed in our tent,
And ta’en, I fear.
KING JOHN.
Hubert, hold onto this boy.—Philip, get ready.
My mother is being attacked in our tent,
And I’m afraid she’s been taken.
BASTARD.
My lord, I rescu’d her;
Her highness is in safety, fear you not.
But on, my liege; for very little pains
Will bring this labour to an happy end.
BASTARD.
My lord, I saved her;
Her highness is safe, don’t worry.
But come on, my liege; for just a little effort
Will bring this task to a happy conclusion.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE III. The same.
Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter King John, Eleanor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert and Lords.
Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter King John, Eleanor, Arthur, the Jerk, Hubert and Nobles.
KING JOHN.
[To 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.
KING JOHN.
[To Eleanor] That’s how it will be; you’ll stay back
Well-guarded.
[To Arthur] Cousin, don’t look so down.
Your grandmother cares for you, and your uncle will
Be as dear to you as your father was.
ARTHUR.
O, this will make my mother die with grief!
ARTHUR.
Oh, this will make my mom die of grief!
KING JOHN.
[To the Bastard] Cousin, away for England! Haste before,
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; imprison’d angels
Set at liberty. The fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon.
Use our commission in his utmost force.
KING JOHN.
[To the Bastard] Cousin, get going to England! Hurry up,
And, before we arrive, make sure to shake down
The greedy abbots; free the imprisoned angels.
The greedy now must feast on the rich ribs of peace.
Use our authority with full strength.
BASTARD.
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,
If ever I remember to be holy,
For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.
BASTARD.
No bells, books, or candles will push me away
When gold and silver are calling me to move forward.
I'm leaving, your highness. Grandmother, I’ll pray,
If I ever think to be holy,
For your well-being; so, I kiss your hand.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Farewell, gentle cousin.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Goodbye, dear cousin.
KING JOHN.
Coz, farewell.
KING JOHN.
Cousin, goodbye.
[Exit Bastard.]
[Exit Bastard.]
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Come here, little cousin; listen, I need to talk to you.
[She takes Arthur aside.]
She pulls Arthur aside.
KING JOHN.
Come hither, Hubert. 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 cherished.
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 asham’d
To say what good respect I have of thee.
KING JOHN.
Come here, Hubert. Oh my dear Hubert,
We owe you a lot! Inside this body
There’s a soul that considers you her benefactor,
And with good reason, she plans to repay your love.
And, my good friend, your voluntary promise
Lives in this heart, treasured deeply.
Give me your hand. I had something to say,
But I’ll dress it up in a better way.
By heaven, Hubert, I’m almost embarrassed
To express how much I value you.
HUBERT.
I am much bounden to your majesty.
HUBERT.
I am very grateful to your majesty.
KING JOHN.
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 possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak’d 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.
KING JOHN.
Good friend, you have no reason to say that yet,
But you will; and even if time crawls along,
It will come when I do something good for you.
I had something to say, but I’ll forget it.
The sun is up in the sky, and the proud day,
Filled with the pleasures of the world,
Is too flashy and overwhelming
To listen to me. If the midnight bell
Were to sound with its heavy clang,
Echoing into the sleepy night;
If this place we stand were a graveyard,
And you filled with a thousand grievances;
Or if that gloomy spirit, melancholy,
Had thickened your blood and weighed you down,
Which normally flows lightly through the veins,
Making that fool, laughter, brighten people’s eyes
And stretch their cheeks into pointless joy,
A feeling I can’t stand;
Or if you could see me without eyes,
Hear me without ears, and respond
Without using your tongue, just with your mind,
Without sight, sound, or harmful words;
Then, despite the watchful daylight,
I would pour my thoughts into your heart.
But, ah, I won’t! Still, I care for you;
And I swear, I believe you care for me too.
HUBERT.
So well that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.
HUBERT.
So well that what you asked me to do,
Even if it meant my death was part of the action,
I swear, I would do it.
KING JOHN.
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.
KING JOHN.
Don't I know you would?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, take a look
At that young boy over there. I’ll tell you something, my friend,
He’s like a snake in my path;
And wherever I step,
He’s right in front of me. Do you get what I mean?
You are his guardian.
HUBERT.
And I’ll keep him so
That he shall not offend your majesty.
HUBERT.
And I’ll make sure he doesn't
So that he won't upset your majesty.
KING JOHN.
Death.
KING JOHN.
Death.
HUBERT.
My lord?
HUBERT.
My lord?
KING JOHN.
A grave.
KING JOHN.
A tomb.
HUBERT.
He shall not live.
HUBERT.
He won't survive.
KING JOHN.
Enough.
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.
Well, I’ll not say what I intend for thee.
Remember. Madam, fare you well.
I’ll send those powers o’er to your majesty.
KING JOHN.
That's enough.
I could be happy right now. Hubert, I care about you.
Well, I won’t reveal my plans for you.
Take care. Madam, goodbye.
I’ll send those forces over to your majesty.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
My blessing go with thee!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
My blessings are with you!
KING JOHN.
For England, cousin, go.
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!
KING JOHN.
For England, cousin, let’s go.
Hubert will be your man, looking out for you
With complete loyalty. Off to Calais, let’s move!
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. The same. The French King’s tent.
Enter King Philip, Louis, Pandulph and Attendants.
Enter King Philip, Louis, Pandulph and Attendants.
KING PHILIP.
So, by a roaring tempest on the flood
A whole armado of convicted sail
Is scattered and disjoin’d from fellowship.
KING PHILIP.
So, by a raging storm on the water
A whole fleet of condemned ships
Is scattered and separated from each other.
PANDULPH.
Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.
PANDULPH.
Stay strong and find comfort! Everything will be okay.
KING PHILIP.
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?
KING PHILIP.
What can go right when we've done so poorly?
Aren't we defeated? Isn't Angiers lost?
Isn't Arthur captured? Several close friends killed?
And bloody England invading us,
Overcoming us despite what France can do?
LOUIS.
What he hath won, that hath he fortified.
So hot a speed with such advice dispos’d,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example. Who hath read or heard
Of any kindred action like to this?
LOUIS.
What he has gained, he has strengthened.
Such rapid progress with such careful planning,
Such calm organization in such a fierce situation,
Lacks any comparison. Who has read or heard
Of any similar action like this?
KING PHILIP.
Well could I bear that England had this praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
KING PHILIP.
I could accept that England deserves this praise,
If we could find some example of our own shame.
Enter Constance.
Enter Constance.
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.
Look who’s coming! A grave for a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the terrible prison of troubled breath.
I ask you, lady, come away with me.
CONSTANCE.
Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace!
CONSTANCE.
Look, now, see the result of your peace!
KING PHILIP.
Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!
KING PHILIP.
Hang in there, good lady! Stay strong, gentle Constance!
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!
CONSTANCE.
No, I reject all advice, all solutions,
Except for the one that ends all advice, true solutions,
Death, death, O charming, beautiful death!
You fragrant stench, sound decay!
Rise up from the couch of eternal night,
You bane and terror of success,
And I will kiss your horrible bones
And place my eyes in your hollow sockets,
And adorn these fingers with your household worms,
And fill this gap of breath with disgusting dust,
And become a corpse like you.
Come, smile at me, and I will think you’re grinning,
And kiss you as your wife. Love of misery,
O, come to me!
KING PHILIP.
O fair affliction, peace!
KING PHILIP.
Oh beautiful suffering, peace!
CONSTANCE.
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.
CONSTANCE.
No, no, I won’t, as long as I can still cry out.
Oh, if only my voice were in the thunder’s mouth!
Then with a passion I would shake the world;
And wake from sleep that lifeless body
That can’t hear a lady’s soft voice,
And ignores a modern call.
PANDULPH.
Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
PANDULPH.
Lady, you're speaking insanity, not sadness.
CONSTANCE.
Thou art not holy to belie me so.
I am not mad. This hair I tear is mine;
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 canoniz’d, cardinal;
For, being not mad but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver’d 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.
CONSTANCE.
You are not holy to betray me like this.
I am not mad. This hair I’m tearing out is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geoffrey’s wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.
I am not mad; I wish to heaven I were!
Because then I could forget myself.
Oh, if I could, what grief would I forget!
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And you’ll be canonized, cardinal;
For, not being mad but aware of my grief,
My rational mind is trying to find a way
To escape these woes,
And it teaches me to kill myself or hang myself.
If I were mad, I would forget my son,
Or foolishly think a baby in rags was him.
I am not mad; I know too well, too well I feel
The different weight of each catastrophe.
KING PHILIP.
Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by a 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.
KING PHILIP.
Tie up those locks. Oh, how much love I see
In the beautiful mass of her hair!
Where just by chance a silver tear has fallen,
Even to that tear ten thousand wiry strands
Stick together in shared sorrow,
Like true, unbreakable, loyal loves,
Sticking together in hardship.
CONSTANCE.
To England, if you will.
CONSTANCE.
To England, if you want.
KING PHILIP.
Bind up your hairs.
KING PHILIP.
Tie up your hair.
CONSTANCE.
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.
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 meagre 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.
CONSTANCE.
Yes, I will; but why will I do it?
I tore them from their bindings and cried out,
“O that these hands could redeem my son,
As they have given these strands their freedom!”
But now I envy their freedom,
And will once again tie them down,
Because my poor child is a captive.
And, father cardinal, I’ve heard you say
That we will see and know our friends in heaven.
If that's true, I will see my boy again;
For since the birth of Cain, the firstborn,
To him who just yesterday took his last breath,
There has not been a more gracious creature born.
But now will sorrow eat away at my hope
And chase the natural beauty from his face,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As pale and thin as someone sick with fever,
And then he’ll die; and, when rising again,
When I meet him in the court of heaven
I won’t even recognize him. So never, never
Must I see my sweet Arthur again.
PANDULPH.
You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
PANDULPH.
You have too intense a respect for grief.
CONSTANCE.
He talks to me that never had a son.
CONSTANCE.
He talks to me as if he never had a son.
KING PHILIP.
You are as fond of grief as of your child.
KING PHILIP.
You love your sorrow just as much as you love your child.
CONSTANCE.
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.
I will not keep this form upon my head,
CONSTANCE.
Grief fills the room where my child used to be,
Lies in his bed, walks around with me,
Wears his charming looks, repeats his words,
Reminds me of all his wonderful traits,
Fills his empty clothes with his presence;
So, should I really cling to this grief?
Farewell. If you had lost someone like I did,
I could offer you better comfort than you do.
I won’t keep this mask on my head,
[She unbinds her hair.]
She lets her hair down.
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!
When my mind is so chaotic.
Oh Lord! My son, my Arthur, my beautiful boy!
My life, my happiness, my everything!
My comfort in widowhood, and the remedy for my sorrows!
[Exit.]
[Leave.]
KING PHILIP.
I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her.
KING PHILIP.
I’m worried something bad will happen, so I’ll go after her.
[Exit.]
[Log out.]
LOUIS.
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 spoil’d the sweet world’s taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
LOUIS.
Nothing in this world can bring me joy.
Life is as boring as a story that’s been told twice
Bothering the tired ears of a sleepy person;
And bitter shame has ruined the sweet flavor of the world,
So it only offers shame and bitterness.
PANDULPH.
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?
PANDULPH.
Before recovering from a serious illness,
Even at the moment of healing and health,
The sickness feels the strongest; the problems that arise
When they're leaving show their worst as they go.
What have you lost by letting this day slip away?
LOUIS.
All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
LOUIS.
All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
PANDULPH.
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 griev’d that Arthur is his prisoner?
PANDULPH.
If you had won it, you definitely would have.
No, no; when Fortune intends to bring men the most good,
She regards them with a threatening gaze.
It’s odd to think how much King John has lost
In what he sees as clearly a victory.
Aren't you upset that Arthur is his prisoner?
LOUIS.
As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
LOUIS.
He is just as happy to have him.
PANDULPH.
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 seiz’d Arthur; and it cannot be
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant’s veins,
The misplac’d John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A sceptre snatch’d with an unruly hand
Must be boisterously maintain’d as gain’d.
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.
PANDULPH.
Your mind is as youthful as your blood.
Now listen to me speak with a prophetic voice;
Because even the breath of what I’m about to say
Will clear away every speck, every obstacle,
From the path that will lead your foot
Directly to England’s throne; so pay attention.
John has taken Arthur, and it can’t be
That while warm life flows in that child's veins,
The misplaced John should have even an hour,
Not even a minute, nor a breath of peace.
A scepter grabbed with a reckless hand
Must be forcefully held onto as if it were gained.
And he who stands on shaky ground
Will grab onto anything to keep himself up.
So if John is to remain, Arthur must fall.
So be it, for it must be this way.
LOUIS.
But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall?
LOUIS.
But what will I gain from young Arthur's downfall?
PANDULPH.
You, in the right of Lady Blanche your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
PANDULPH.
You, as the rightful husband of Lady Blanche,
Can make all the claims that Arthur did.
LOUIS.
And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
LOUIS.
And lose everything, life included, just like Arthur did.
PANDULPH.
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 distemper’d day,
No common wind, no customed 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.
PANDULPH.
You’re so naive and fresh in this old world!
John sets you up; the times are on your side;
For anyone who puts their safety in genuine blood
Will only find bloody safety and betrayal.
This act, born of such evil, will cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze their passion,
So that even the smallest advantage won't be taken
To challenge his reign; instead, they will embrace it;
No natural phenomenon in the sky,
No natural occurrence, no troubled day,
No common wind, no usual event,
But they will strip away his natural support
And label them meteors, omens, and signs,
Miscarriages, warnings, and voices from heaven,
Clearly announcing vengeance upon John.
LOUIS.
Maybe he will not touch young Arthur’s life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
LOUIS.
Maybe he won't affect young Arthur’s life,
But will keep himself safe in his confinement.
PANDULPH.
O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
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 nam’d! 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 offence.
For England go. I will whet on the King.
PANDULPH.
Oh, sir, when he hears you’re coming,
If that young Arthur isn’t gone already,
Just the news alone could kill him; and then the hearts
Of all his people will turn against him,
And embrace unfamiliar change,
And find plenty of reasons for rebellion and anger
From John’s bloody hands.
I feel like I see this chaos starting;
And, oh, what better opportunities are there for you
Than what I’ve mentioned! The illegitimate Faulconbridge
Is now in England looting the church,
Dishonoring charity. If just a dozen French
Were there armed, it would rally ten thousand English to their side,
Or like a small snowflake gathering, soon becomes a mountain. Oh, noble Dauphin,
Come with me to the King. It’s amazing
What could come from their discontent,
Now that their hearts are filled with resentment.
For England, let’s go. I will urge the King.
LOUIS.
Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go.
If you say ay, the King will not say no.
LOUIS.
Good reasons lead to strong actions. Let’s go.
If you say yes, the King won’t say no.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Northampton. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Hubert and two Executioners.
Enter Hubert and two executioners.
HUBERT.
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.
HUBERT.
Heat these irons up; and make sure you're hidden
behind the tapestry. When I stomp my foot
on the ground, come in a hurry
and tie the boy you find with me
tight to the chair. Be careful. Now go, and keep an eye out.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
I hope your warrant will support the action.
HUBERT.
Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to’t.
HUBERT.
Unclean thoughts! Don’t be afraid; pay attention to it.
[Exeunt Executioners.]
[Exit Executioners.]
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Young man, come here; I need to talk to you.
Enter Arthur.
Enter Arthur.
ARTHUR.
Good morrow, Hubert.
ARTHUR.
Good morning, Hubert.
HUBERT.
Good morrow, little prince.
HUBERT.
Good morning, little prince.
ARTHUR.
As little prince, having so great a title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
ARTHUR.
As a little prince, with such a significant title
To be as much of a prince as possible. You seem down.
HUBERT.
Indeed, I have been merrier.
HUBERT.
I have been happier.
ARTHUR.
Mercy on me!
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 practises 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.
ARTHUR.
Oh my!
It feels like I’m the only one who should be sad.
But I remember when I was in France,
The young men would be just as gloomy,
And it was only for fun. Honestly,
If I were out of prison and tending sheep,
I’d be as happy as the day is long;
And I would be here too, except I worry
My uncle is planning something against me.
He’s afraid of me, and I’m afraid of him.
Is it my fault I’m Geoffrey’s son?
No, it’s not; and I wish to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
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.
HUBERT.
[Aside.] If I speak to him, with his naive chatter
He will stir my compassion, which is dormant.
So, I will be quick and get it done.
ARTHUR.
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.
ARTHUR.
Are you feeling unwell, Hubert? You look really pale today.
Honestly, I wish you were a bit sick,
So I could sit with you all night and keep you company.
I bet I love you more than you love me.
HUBERT.
[Aside.] His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur.
HUBERT.
[Aside.] His words really resonate with me.
Take a look at this, young Arthur.
[Showing a paper.]
[Presenting a document.]
[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?
[Aside.] What now, foolish emotion!
Pushing painful torment away!
I must be quick, or my resolve will escape
Through my eyes in soft, womanly tears.—
Can you not read it? Is it not well written?
ARTHUR.
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
ARTHUR.
That's too cruel, Hubert, for such a terrible outcome.
Do you really have to burn out both my eyes with hot irons?
HUBERT.
Young boy, I must.
HUBERT.
Kid, I have to.
ARTHUR.
And will you?
ARTHUR.
Will you?
HUBERT.
And I will.
HUBERT.
And I will.
ARTHUR.
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 cheer’d 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 pleas’d 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?
ARTHUR.
Do you have the heart? When your head was hurting,
I wrapped my handkerchief around your forehead,
The best one I had, a princess made it for me,
And I never asked for it back;
And in the middle of the night, I held your head,
Just like the minutes watch the hour,
Comforting you again and again through the heavy time,
Asking, “What do you need?” and “What’s bothering you?”
Or “What can I do for you out of love?”
Many a poor man’s son would have just stayed silent
And never said a loving word to you;
But you had a prince at your service while you were sick.
You might think my love was manipulative,
And call it sneaky. Go ahead, if you want.
If heaven decides you must treat me badly,
Then I guess that’s how it is. Will you take away my sight?
These eyes that have never frowned at you and never will?
HUBERT.
I have sworn to do it.
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
HUBERT.
I’ve sworn to do it.
And I have to burn them out with hot irons.
ARTHUR.
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 his 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 hammer’d iron?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ’d him. No tongue but Hubert’s.
ARTHUR.
Ah, only in this iron age would someone do this!
The iron itself, even when glowing red-hot,
If it got close to my eyes, would absorb my tears
And cool its fiery anger
Even concerning my innocence;
No, after that, it would just rust away,
But only because it has the power to hurt my eyes.
Are you tougher than hammered iron?
If an angel had come to me
And said that Hubert would blind me,
I wouldn’t have believed it. No voice but Hubert’s.
HUBERT.
[Stamps.] Come forth.
HUBERT.
[Stamps.] Step forward.
Enter Executioners with cords, irons, &c.
Enter Executioners with ropes, tools, etc.
Do as I bid you do.
Do what I ask you to do.
ARTHUR.
O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
ARTHUR.
Oh, help me, Hubert, help me! I can't take
The fierce glares of these bloody men.
HUBERT.
Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
HUBERT.
Give me the iron, I said, and tie him up here.
ARTHUR.
Alas, what need you be so boist’rous-rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven 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.
ARTHUR.
Why do you have to be so forceful?
I won’t fight back; I’ll stand completely still.
For heaven’s sake, Hubert, please don’t tie me up!
No, listen to me, Hubert! Get these guys away,
And I’ll sit as quietly as a lamb;
I won’t move, flinch, or say a word,
Nor look at the iron angrily.
Just move these men away, and I’ll forgive you,
No matter what torture you put me through.
HUBERT.
Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
HUBERT.
Go, stand inside; leave me alone with him.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
I am best pleas’d to be from such a deed.
FIRST EXECUTIONER.
I'm glad to be away from such an act.
[Exeunt Executioners.]
[Exit Executioners.]
ARTHUR.
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.
ARTHUR.
Oh no, I've just driven away my friend!
He has a tough exterior but a kind heart.
Let him come back so his compassion can
Revive yours.
HUBERT.
Come, boy, prepare yourself.
HUBERT.
Come on, kid, get ready.
ARTHUR.
Is there no remedy?
ARTHUR.
Is there no solution?
HUBERT.
None, but to lose your eyes.
HUBERT.
Nothing, except for losing your eyes.
ARTHUR.
O heaven, 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.
ARTHUR.
Oh, how I wish there were just a speck in your eyes,
A grain, a bit of dust, a gnat, a stray hair,
Any irritation in that precious sense!
Then, experiencing how small things can be bothersome there,
Your disgusting intent would surely seem terrible.
HUBERT.
Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.
HUBERT.
Is this your promise? Come on, be quiet.
ARTHUR.
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!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold
And would not harm me.
ARTHUR.
Hubert, speaking with two voices
Must surely want to plead for a pair of eyes.
Let me speak up. Let me not, Hubert,
Or, Hubert, if you prefer, cut out my tongue,
So I can keep my eyes. Oh, spare my eyes,
Even if they don’t serve a purpose, just to look at you!
Look, I swear, the instrument is cold
And wouldn’t hurt me.
HUBERT.
I can heat it, boy.
HUBERT.
I can warm it up, kid.
ARTHUR.
No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us’d
In undeserv’d extremes. See else yourself.
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out
And strew’d repentant ashes on his head.
ARTHUR.
No, truly; the fire is out due to sorrow,
Made for warmth, meant to be used
In unearned hardships. Just look at yourself.
There’s no anger in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven has blown its spirit out
And scattered regretful ashes on its head.
HUBERT.
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
HUBERT.
But I can bring it back to life with my breath, kid.
ARTHUR.
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;
And, like a dog that is compell’d to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre 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.
ARTHUR.
And if you do, you'll only make it blush
And glow with shame over your actions, Hubert.
No, it might even sparkle in your eyes;
And like a dog forced to fight,
Snap at the master who goads him on.
Everything you should use to wrong me
Refuses to do so. You only lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron show,
Creatures known for their lack of mercy.
HUBERT.
Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
HUBERT.
Listen, I won’t hurt you; I won’t lay a finger on your eye
For all the treasure your uncle owes.
But I swear, I had planned, kid,
To use this very iron to take them out.
ARTHUR.
O, now you look like Hubert! All this while
You were disguised.
ARTHUR.
Oh, now you look like Hubert! All this time
You were pretending.
HUBERT.
Peace; no more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead.
I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
HUBERT.
Calm down; that's it. Goodbye.
Your uncle must not find out that you’re dead.
I’ll feed these stubborn spies with lies.
And, sweet child, you can sleep peacefully and safely
Knowing that Hubert, for all the riches in the world,
Will not harm you.
ARTHUR.
O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
ARTHUR.
Oh wow! Thanks, Hubert.
HUBERT.
Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.
Much danger do I undergo for thee.
HUBERT.
Silence; no more. Come closer with me.
I face a lot of danger for you.
[Exeunt.]
[They exit.]
SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.
Enter King John, crowned, Pembroke, Salisbury and other Lords. The King takes his State.
Enter King John, crowned, Pembroke, Salisbury and other Nobles. The King takes his position.
KING JOHN.
Here once again we sit, once again crown’d,
And look’d upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
KING JOHN.
Here we are again, crowned once more,
And I hope we are looked upon with happy eyes.
PEMBROKE.
This “once again,” but that your highness pleas’d,
Was once superfluous. You were crown’d before,
And that high royalty was ne’er pluck’d off,
The faiths of men ne’er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land
With any long’d-for change or better state.
PEMBROKE.
This “once again,” but if it pleases your highness,
Was once unnecessary. You were crowned before,
And that high royalty was never taken away,
The loyalty of people never tainted with rebellion;
New hope didn’t disturb the land
With any desired change or improved condition.
SALISBURY.
Therefore, to be possess’d with double pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refined 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.
SALISBURY.
So, to be filled with extra grandeur,
To protect a title that was already valuable,
To cover pure gold, to color a lily,
To add fragrance to a violet,
To polish ice, or to add another color
To the rainbow, or with candlelight
To try to decorate the beautiful eye of heaven,
Is just wasteful and absurd excess.
PEMBROKE.
But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.
PEMBROKE.
But your royal wishes must be fulfilled,
This act is like an old story retold,
And, after all is said, it becomes a hassle,
Especially when it’s brought up at an inconvenient time.
SALISBURY.
In this the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured;
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 fashion’d robe.
SALISBURY.
In this, the old and familiar face
Of simple form is greatly altered;
And like a changed wind to a sail,
It causes the direction of thoughts to turn,
Surprises and frightens reflection,
Makes sound judgment feel unwell and truth questioned,
For putting on such a newly styled robe.
PEMBROKE.
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 the excuse,
As patches set upon a little breach
Discredit more in hiding of the fault
Than did the fault before it was so patch’d.
PEMBROKE.
When workers try to do better than just okay,
They mess up their skills by being too greedy;
And often, trying to excuse a mistake
Ends up making the mistake worse by the excuse,
Just like patches put on a small tear
Make the hiding of the mistake look worse
Than the mistake did before it was patched.
SALISBURY.
To this effect, before you were new-crown’d,
We breath’d our counsel; but it pleas’d your highness
To overbear it, and we are all well pleas’d,
Since all and every part of what we would
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.
SALISBURY.
For this reason, before you were crowned,
We shared our advice; however, it pleased your highness
To ignore it, and we are all fine with that,
Since everything we suggested
Is in accordance with what your highness wants.
KING JOHN.
Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possess’d you with, and think them strong;
And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,
I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask
What you would have reform’d that is not well,
And well shall you perceive how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
KING JOHN.
I've given you some reasons for this double coronation, and I think they're solid; and even stronger, when I'm less afraid, I’ll share more with you. In the meantime, just ask what you’d like to have fixed that isn’t right, and you’ll see how eager I am to listen and fulfill your requests.
PEMBROKE.
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.
PEMBROKE.
So, as the voice for all these people,
To express the intentions of their hearts,
Both for myself and them, but most of all,
Your safety, for which both I and they
Put in our best efforts, sincerely ask
For the release of Arthur, whose imprisonment
Has sparked the restless whispers of discontent
To lead to this risky debate:
If what you hold in peace is rightfully yours,
Then why should your fears, which supposedly follow
The path of wrongdoing, lead you to keep
Your vulnerable relative locked away,
And suffocate his days
With cruel ignorance, denying his youth
The valuable opportunities for growth?
So that the enemies of this time can’t use this
To seize their chances, let us request
That you have instructed us to seek his freedom;
Which for our benefit we ask no further
Than based on our well-being, relying on you,
It’s in your interests that he gains his freedom.
KING JOHN.
Let it be so. I do commit his youth
To your direction.
KING JOHN.
Alright, I trust you will guide him in his youth.
Enter Hubert.
Enter Hubert.
Hubert, what news with you?
Hubert, what's up with you?
[Taking him apart.]
Disassembling him.
PEMBROKE.
This is the man should do the bloody deed.
He show’d 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 fear’d he had a charge to do.
PEMBROKE.
This is the guy who should carry out the bloody act.
He showed his warrant to a friend of mine.
The look of a terrible, wicked crime
Is in his eye; that intense gaze of his
Reveals the turmoil of a deeply troubled heart;
And I really fear that it’s already done
What we were so afraid he was ordered to do.
SALISBURY.
The colour 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.
SALISBURY.
The King's mood shifts back and forth
Between his intentions and his conscience,
Like messengers caught between two fierce battles.
His emotions are so intense they’re bound to explode.
PEMBROKE.
And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child’s death.
PEMBROKE.
And when it breaks, I fear it will release
The ugly corruption from a sweet child’s death.
KING JOHN.
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 deceas’d tonight.
KING JOHN.
We can't fight against death.
Good lords, even though I still want to give,
What you’re asking for is lost and gone.
He tells us Arthur has died tonight.
SALISBURY.
Indeed, we fear’d his sickness was past cure.
SALISBURY.
Honestly, we were afraid his illness was beyond help.
PEMBROKE.
Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was sick.
This must be answer’d either here or hence.
PEMBROKE.
Indeed, we heard how close he was to death,
Before the child himself realized he was sick.
This must be answered either here or from there.
KING JOHN.
Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
KING JOHN.
Why do you look at me so seriously?
Do you think I control fate?
Do I have power over life and death?
SALISBURY.
It is apparent foul-play; and ’tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it.
So thrive it in your game, and so, farewell.
SALISBURY.
It's clear that something shady is going on; and it's a shame
That those in power would behave so poorly.
May you succeed in your efforts, and goodbye.
PEMBROKE.
Stay yet, Lord Salisbury. I’ll go with thee
And find th’ inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood which ow’d 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.
Wait, Lord Salisbury. I’ll go with you
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
His tiny kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood which owned the expanse of this isle
Only holds three feet of it. What a terrible world!
This can’t be accepted; it’s going to explode
Into all our sorrows, and soon, I fear.
[Exeunt Lords.]
[Exit Lords.]
KING JOHN.
They burn in indignation. I repent.
There is no sure foundation set on blood,
No certain life achiev’d by others’ death.
KING JOHN.
They are filled with anger. I regret.
There’s no solid foundation built on blood,
No secure life gained by someone else's death.
Enter a Messenger.
Enter a 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?
A fearful look you have. Where is that blood
That I’ve seen on those cheeks?
Such a dark sky doesn’t clear without a storm.
Let it pour: what’s happening in France?
MESSENGER.
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 learn’d by them;
For when you should be told they do prepare,
The tidings comes that they are all arriv’d.
MESSENGER.
From France to England. There’s never been such strength
For any foreign invasion
Raised in the heart of a nation.
They’ve heard about your speed;
For just when you’re told they’re getting ready,
The news arrives that they’ve all come.
KING JOHN.
O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
Where hath it slept? Where is my mother’s care,
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it?
KING JOHN.
Oh, where has our information been wasted?
Where has it been sleeping? Where is my mother’s concern,
That such a large army could gather in France,
And she not hear about it?
MESSENGER.
My liege, her ear
Is stopp’d 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 rumour’s tongue
I idly heard; if true or false I know not.
MESSENGER.
My lord, she can’t hear
Because of the dust. Your noble mother died
On the first of April; and as I’ve heard, my lord,
The Lady Constance passed away in a rage
Three days before that. But this is just what I heard
From gossip; I don’t know if it’s true or not.
KING JOHN.
Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas’d
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?
KING JOHN.
Hold on, terrible situation!
Oh, form an alliance with me until I can satisfy
My unhappy allies! What! Is my mother dead?
How crazily my situation in France is spinning out of control!
Under whose leadership did those French forces
That you claim are here arrive?
MESSENGER.
Under the Dauphin.
MESSENGER.
Under the Crown Prince.
KING JOHN.
Thou hast made me giddy
With these in tidings.
KING JOHN.
You have made me dizzy
With this news.
Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
Now, what says the world
To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
Now, what does the world
Think of what you're doing? Don't try to fill
My head with more bad news, because it's already full.
BASTARD.
But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
BASTARD.
But if you’re afraid to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on you.
KING JOHN.
Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz’d
Under the tide, but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood, and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
KING JOHN.
Bear with me, cousin, because I was shocked
Under the pressure, but now I can breathe again
Above the water, and I can listen
To anyone, no matter what they want to say.
BASTARD.
How I have sped among the clergymen
The sums I have collected shall express.
But as I travaill’d hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied;
Possess’d with rumours, 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.
BASTARD.
Look at how I've moved among the clergymen
The amounts I've collected will show.
But as I traveled through the land,
I see the people are strangely fanciful;
Filled with rumors, full of idle dreams,
Not knowing what they're afraid of, but full of fear.
And here's a prophet I brought with me
From the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With hundreds following him;
To whom he sang, in rough, harsh-sounding rhymes,
That, before the next Ascension Day at noon,
Your highness should give up your crown.
KING JOHN.
Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?
KING JOHN.
You lazy dreamer, why did you do that?
PETER OF POMFRET.
Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
PETER OF POMFRET.
Knowing that the truth will turn out that way.
KING JOHN.
Hubert, away with him; imprison him.
And on that day at noon, whereon he says
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang’d.
Deliver him to safety, and return,
For I must use thee.
KING JOHN.
Hubert, take him away; lock him up.
And on that day at noon, when he says
I will give up my crown, let him be hanged.
Ensure his safety, and then come back,
Because I need you.
[Exit Hubert with Peter.]
[Leave with Peter.]
O my gentle cousin,
Hear’st thou the news abroad, who are arriv’d?
O my dear cousin,
Have you heard the news about who has arrived?
BASTARD.
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 kill’d tonight
On your suggestion.
BASTARD.
The French, my lord. Everyone's talking about it.
Besides, I ran into Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
With eyes as red as freshly lit flames,
And a few others, heading to find the grave
Of Arthur, who they say was killed tonight
Because of your suggestion.
KING JOHN.
Gentle kinsman, go
And thrust thyself into their companies.
I have a way to will their loves again.
Bring them before me.
KING JOHN.
Hey, dear cousin, go
And join their group.
I have a way to win back their affection.
Bring them to me.
BASTARD.
I will seek them out.
Bastard.
I will find them.
KING JOHN.
Nay, but make haste, the better foot before!
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.
KING JOHN.
No, but hurry up, put your best foot forward!
Oh, let me not have any enemies among my people
When foreign invaders threaten my towns
With their terrifying display of a strong attack!
Be like Mercury, add wings to your feet,
And fly back to me as swiftly as thought.
BASTARD.
The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
BASTARD.
The mood of the era will show me how to move quickly.
[Exit Bastard.]
[Exit Bastard.]
KING JOHN.
Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman!
Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.
KING JOHN.
Spoke like an lively nobleman!
Go after him; he might need
Some messenger between me and the nobles;
And you should be that person.
MESSENGER.
With all my heart, my liege.
MESSENGER.
Sure thing, my lord.
[Exit.]
[Log out.]
KING JOHN.
My mother dead!
KING JOHN.
My mom's dead!
Enter Hubert.
Enter Hubert.
HUBERT.
My lord, they say five moons were seen tonight—
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.
HUBERT.
My lord, they say five moons were seen tonight—
Four stationary, and the fifth spun around
The other four in an incredible dance.
KING JOHN.
Five moons!
KING JOHN.
Five months!
HUBERT.
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 gripe 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,
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 embattailed and rank’d in Kent.
Another lean unwash’d artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur’s death.
HUBERT.
Old men and old women in the streets
Are dangerously predicting things about it.
Young Arthur’s death is on everyone's lips.
And when they talk about him, they shake their heads
And whisper to each other;
The one who speaks grabs the listener's wrist,
While the listener reacts in fear
With furrowed brows, nods, and wide eyes.
I saw a blacksmith standing with his hammer, like this,
While his iron cooled on the anvil;
With his mouth wide open, he was gulping down a tailor’s gossip;
The tailor, with his shears and measuring tape in hand,
Standing in slippers, which in his rush
He had mistakenly put on the wrong feet,
Spoke of many thousands of warlike French
That were assembled and lined up in Kent.
Another thin, unwashed worker
Cuts off his story and starts talking about Arthur’s death.
KING JOHN.
Why seek’st thou to possess me with these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur’s death?
Thy hand hath murder’d him. I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
KING JOHN.
Why are you trying to fill me with these fears?
Why do you keep bringing up young Arthur’s death?
Your hand has killed him. I had a strong reason
to want him dead, but you had no reason to kill him.
HUBERT.
No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?
HUBERT.
No, my lord! Why did you provoke me?
KING JOHN.
It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their humours 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 humour than advis’d respect.
KING JOHN.
It’s the curse of kings to be surrounded
By followers who take their moods as permission
To intrude into the harsh realities of life,
And, at the nod of authority
To interpret a law, to grasp the meaning
Of dangerous power, when it happens to frown
More on feelings than on thoughtful respect.
HUBERT.
Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
HUBERT.
Here’s your hand and seal for what I did.
KING JOHN.
O, when the last account ’twixt heaven and 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 mark’d,
Quoted and sign’d to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind.
But taking note of thy abhorr’d aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,
Apt, liable to be employ’d in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur’s death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
KING JOHN.
Oh, when the final judgment between heaven and earth
Is to be made, then this hand and seal
Will stand as evidence against us to our damnation!
How often does the mere sight of the means to commit evil
Lead to evil deeds being done! If you hadn't been here,
A guy marked by nature,
Destined and signed to carry out an act of shame,
This murder wouldn’t have even crossed my mind.
But seeing your loathsome face,
Recognizing you as someone suited for bloody crimes,
Ready and able to be put in harm's way,
I hesitantly brought up Arthur’s death with you;
And you, wanting to gain favor with a king,
Had no guilt in destroying a prince.
HUBERT.
My lord—
HUBERT.
My lord—
KING JOHN.
Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause
When I spake darkly what I purpos’d,
Or turn’d 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 brav’d,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers.
Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin’s death.
KING JOHN.
If you had just shaken your head or hesitated
When I spoke cryptically about my intentions,
Or looked at me with doubt,
As if to ask me to tell my story clearly,
I would have been too ashamed to continue, and I might have stopped,
And your fears could have sparked fears in me.
But you understood me through my gestures
And responded in kind, engaging in wrongdoing;
Yes, without pause, you let your heart agree,
And as a result, your rough hand acted
On the deed that we both found too vile to name.
Get out of my sight, and don't ever see me again!
My nobles abandon me, and my position is challenged,
Right at my gates, with forces from foreign lands.
No, even in this physical realm,
This kingdom, this boundary of life and breath,
Conflict and civil unrest thrive
Between my conscience and my cousin’s death.
HUBERT.
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 enter’d yet
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
And you have slander’d nature in my form,
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
HUBERT.
Prepare yourself for your other enemies,
I’ll create a truce between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is still alive. This hand of mine
Is still pure and innocent,
Not stained with the blood of the guilty.
In this heart, there has never been
The terrifying urge to kill;
And you have insulted my nature,
Which, no matter how rough it looks on the outside,
Hides a better mind
Than to slaughter an innocent child.
KING JOHN.
Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
Throw this report on their incensed 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.
KING JOHN.
Is Arthur still alive? Oh, hurry to the nobles,
Spread this news to calm their furious anger,
And make them submit to their duty!
Forgive the way my emotions affected
Your appearance; my anger was blinding,
And my twisted imagination made you look
More monstrous than you really are.
Oh, don’t respond, just bring
The furious lords to my private chambers quickly.
I’m not asking you to take your time; run faster.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE III. The same. Before the castle.
Enter Arthur on the walls.
Enter Arthur on the walls.
ARTHUR.
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 ship-boy’s semblance hath disguis’d 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.
ARTHUR.
The wall is high, but I will jump down anyway.
Good ground, please be gentle and don’t hurt me!
Few people know me, and if they did,
This ship-boy disguise has completely hidden my identity.
I’m scared, but I’ll take the risk.
If I land safely and don’t break any bones,
I’ll come up with a thousand ways to escape.
It’s better to die trying to leave than to die stuck here.
[Leaps down.]
[Jumps down.]
O me, my uncle’s spirit is in these stones.
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
Oh me, my uncle’s spirit is in these stones.
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!
[Dies.]
[Death.]
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and Bigot.
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and Bigot.
SALISBURY.
Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.
SALISBURY.
Lords, I’ll meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;
It’s our safety, and we have to accept
This kind proposal during this dangerous time.
PEMBROKE.
Who brought that letter from the cardinal?
PEMBROKE.
Who delivered that letter from the cardinal?
SALISBURY.
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.
SALISBURY.
The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
Whose private matters with me about the Dauphin’s love
Are much more extensive than these lines suggest.
BIGOT.
Tomorrow morning let us meet him then.
BIGOT.
Let’s meet him tomorrow morning.
SALISBURY.
Or rather then set forward; for ’twill be
Two long days’ journey, lords, or ere we meet.
SALISBURY.
Or rather, let’s get going; it will be
A long two days' journey, lords, before we meet.
Enter the Bastard.
Enter the Bastard.
BASTARD.
Once more today well met, distemper’d lords!
The King by me requests your presence straight.
BASTARD.
Once again today, good to see you, troubled lords!
The King asks for your presence immediately.
SALISBURY.
The King hath dispossess’d himself of us.
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where’er it walks.
Return and tell him so. We know the worst.
SALISBURY.
The King has taken us for granted.
We won’t dirty our clean reputation
By supporting him, nor follow the path
That leaves a trail of blood wherever it goes.
Go back and tell him that. We already know the worst.
BASTARD.
Whate’er you think, good words, I think, were best.
BASTARD.
Whatever you think, I believe good words are the way to go.
SALISBURY.
Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
SALISBURY.
Right now, it’s our sorrows, not our behavior, that dictate our thoughts.
BASTARD.
But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore ’twere reason you had manners now.
BASTARD.
But there's not much sense in your sadness;
So it would be reasonable for you to show some manners now.
PEMBROKE.
Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
PEMBROKE.
Sir, sir, impatience has its privilege.
BASTARD.
’Tis true, to hurt his master, no man’s else.
BASTARD.
It’s true, no one else can hurt his master.
SALISBURY.
This is the prison. What is he lies here?
SALISBURY.
This is the prison. Who is lying here?
[Seeing Arthur.]
[Meeting Arthur.]
PEMBROKE.
O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
PEMBROKE.
O death, so arrogant with pure and royal beauty!
The earth had no place to conceal this act.
SALISBURY.
Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.
SALISBURY.
Murder, hating what he's done,
Exposes himself to provoke revenge.
BIGOT.
Or, when he doom’d this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
BIGOT.
Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious and royal for a grave.
SALISBURY.
Sir Richard, what think you? Have you 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-ey’d wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.
SALISBURY.
Sir Richard, what do you think? Have you seen,
Or have you read or heard about, or can you imagine,
Or do you almost think, even though you see,
That you really do see? Could thought, without this sight,
Create something similar? This is the very peak,
The height, the top, or the pinnacle of murder’s power.
This is the bloodiest disgrace,
The wildest brutality, the most despicable blow,
That ever angry fury or glaring rage
Displayed before the tears of gentle remorse.
PEMBROKE.
All murders past do stand excus’d 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.
PEMBROKE.
All past murders are justified in this.
And this, so unique and unmatched,
Will confer a holiness, a purity,
To the still unborn sins of the ages;
And show that deadly violence was just a joke,
As demonstrated by this horrific spectacle.
BASTARD.
It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.
BASTARD.
It's a cursed and bloody task;
The reckless act of a heavy hand,
If it truly is the work of any hand.
SALISBURY.
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,
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.
SALISBURY.
Is this really the work of someone’s hands?
We had a sense of what would happen.
It’s the disgraceful work of Hubert’s hands,
The actions and intentions of the King,
From whose authority I deny my soul,
Kneeling before this destruction of sweet life,
And offering to his lifeless greatness
The incense of a vow, a sacred vow,
Never to indulge in the pleasures of the world,
Never to be tainted by joy,
Nor engaging in comfort and laziness,
Until I have brought glory to this hand,
By dedicating it to the worship of revenge.
PEMBROKE and BIGOT.
Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
PEMBROKE and BIGOT.
We wholeheartedly affirm your words.
Enter Hubert.
Enter Hubert.
HUBERT.
Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.
Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.
HUBERT.
Lords, I'm in a rush to find you.
Arthur is alive; the King has called for you.
SALISBURY.
O, he is bold and blushes not at death.
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
SALISBURY.
Oh, he's brave and doesn't flinch at death.
Go away, you despicable villain!
HUBERT.
I am no villain.
HUBERT.
I'm not a villain.
SALISBURY.
Must I rob the law?
SALISBURY.
Do I have to break the law?
[Drawing his sword.]
Drawing his sword.
BASTARD.
Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.
BASTARD.
Your sword is shiny, sir; sheathe it again.
SALISBURY.
Not till I sheathe it in a murderer’s skin.
SALISBURY.
Not until I wrap it in a murderer’s skin.
HUBERT.
Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
By heaven, I think my sword’s as sharp as yours.
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
HUBERT.
Step back, Lord Salisbury, step back, I say;
Honestly, I believe my sword is just as sharp as yours.
I don’t want you, my lord, to lose your composure,
Or put yourself at risk with my real defense;
Lest I, by noticing your anger, forget
Your value, your greatness, and nobility.
BIGOT.
Out, dunghill! Dar’st thou brave a nobleman?
BIGOT.
Get out, you filthy lowlife! Do you dare challenge a nobleman?
HUBERT.
Not for my life. But yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
HUBERT.
Not a chance. But I still dare to defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
SALISBURY.
Thou art a murderer.
SALISBURY.
You are a murderer.
HUBERT.
Do not prove me so.
Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe’er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
HUBERT.
Don't prove me wrong.
Yet I am none. Whoever's tongue speaks falsely,
Does not truly speak; whoever does not speak truthfully, lies.
PEMBROKE.
Cut him to pieces.
PEMBROKE.
Dismember him.
BASTARD.
Keep the peace, I say.
BASTARD.
Let's keep the peace.
SALISBURY.
Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
SALISBURY.
Hold on, or I’ll give you a hard time, Faulconbridge.
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
You'd be better off pissing off the devil, Salisbury.
If you so much as frown at me or move your foot,
Or let your temper make me feel ashamed,
I’ll kill you. Sheathe your sword quickly,
Or I’ll hurt you and your weapon so badly
That you’ll think the devil has come from hell.
BIGOT.
What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain and a murderer?
BIGOT.
What are you going to do, famous Faulconbridge?
Support a villain and a murderer?
HUBERT.
Lord Bigot, I am none.
HUBERT.
Lord Bigot, I'm nobody.
BIGOT.
Who kill’d this prince?
BIGOT.
Who killed this prince?
HUBERT.
’Tis not an hour since I left him well.
I honour’d him, I lov’d him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life’s loss.
HUBERT.
It hasn't been an hour since I left him fine.
I respected him, I loved him, and I will cry
The rest of my life for the loss of his sweet life.
SALISBURY.
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 savours of a slaughterhouse;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
SALISBURY.
Don't trust those deceptive waters in his eyes,
For evil isn't without such tears;
And he, who has long dealt in it, makes it look
Like rivers of regret and innocence.
Go away from me, all you whose hearts detest
The filthy stench of a slaughterhouse;
For I am suffocated by this smell of sin.
BIGOT.
Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
BIGOT.
Let’s head over to Bury, to the Dauphin there!
PEMBROKE.
There tell the King he may inquire us out.
PEMBROKE.
Tell the King he can look for us.
[Exeunt Lords.]
[Exit Lords.]
BASTARD.
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 damn’d, Hubert.
BASTARD.
What a great world! Did you know about this good deed?
Beyond the endless and limitless reach
Of mercy, if you did this act of death,
You are doomed, Hubert.
HUBERT.
Do but hear me, sir.
HUBERT.
Just listen to me, sir.
BASTARD.
Ha! I’ll tell thee what;
Thou’rt damn’d as black—nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn’d than Prince Lucifer.
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
BASTARD.
Ha! Let me tell you something;
You’re damned as dark—no, nothing is that dark;
You’re more deeply damned than Prince Lucifer.
There isn’t a more repulsive demon from hell
As you will be, if you killed this child.
HUBERT.
Upon my soul—
HUBERT.
I swear—
BASTARD.
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.
BASTARD.
If you only agreed
To this most cruel act, just despair;
And if you want a rope, the smallest thread
That any spider spun from her body
Will do to strangle you; a rush will be a beam
To hang you on; or if you want to drown yourself,
Just put a little water in a spoon
And it will be like the whole ocean,
Enough to suffocate such a villain.
I suspect you very seriously.
HUBERT.
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.
HUBERT.
If I, in my actions, agreement, or sinful thoughts,
Am guilty of stealing that sweet breath
That was contained in this beautiful body,
May hell have enough pain to torture me!
I left him well.
BASTARD.
Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amaz’d, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
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 unow’d interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-pick’d bone of majesty
Doth dogged 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.
BASTARD.
Go, carry him in your arms.
I’m amazed, it seems, and I’m losing my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
You easily take on all of England!
From this small piece of dead royalty,
The life, the rights, and truth of this realm
Have fled to heaven; and now England is left
To struggle and fight, to tear apart
The untitled claims of proud, swelling power.
Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty,
War angrily bristles its fierce crest
And snarls in the gentle eyes of peace.
Now forces from home and discontent at home
Meet in one line; and vast confusion awaits,
Like a raven on a sick, fallen beast,
The inevitable decay of usurped glory.
Now, happy is he whose cloak and belt can
Withstand this storm. Take that child away,
And follow me quickly. I’m going to the King.
A thousand urgent tasks are at hand,
And heaven itself is frowning upon the land.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
ACT V
SCENE I. Northampton. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown, and Attendants.
Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown and attendants.
KING JOHN.
Thus have I yielded up into your hand
The circle of my glory.
KING JOHN.
I have given you my crown.
PANDULPH.
[Giving King John the crown.]
Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.
PANDULPH.
[Giving King John the crown.]
Take back
From my hand, as it's given by the pope,
Your royal power and authority.
KING JOHN.
Now keep your holy word. Go meet the French,
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches ’fore we are inflam’d.
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 mistemper’d humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not; for the present time’s so sick
That present med’cine must be minist’red
Or overthrow incurable ensues.
KING JOHN.
Now keep your promise. Go meet the French,
And use all your influence from the Church
To stop their advance before we get heated.
Our dissatisfied counties are revolting;
Our people are refusing to obey,
Pledging loyalty and devotion
To strangers, to foreign royalty.
This flood of bad feelings
Depends entirely on you to fix.
So don't hesitate; the situation is so dire
That immediate action is needed
Or we face an irreversible defeat.
PANDULPH.
It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope;
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.
PANDULPH.
It was my breath that stirred up this storm,
Because of your stubborn attitude towards the pope;
But since you’ve become cooperative,
I’ll quiet this war storm
And bring peace to your troubled land.
On this Ascension Day, remember,
With your promise to serve the pope,
I go to persuade the French to lay down their arms.
[Exit.]
[Log out.]
KING JOHN.
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, heaven be thank’d, it is but voluntary.
KING JOHN.
Is today Ascension Day? Didn't the prophet
Say that before noon on Ascension Day
I should give up my crown? And I've done just that.
I thought it would be forced;
But, thank heaven, it's just my choice.
Enter the Bastard.
Enter the Bastard.
BASTARD.
All Kent hath yielded. Nothing there holds out
But Dover Castle. London hath receiv’d,
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.
BASTARD.
All of Kent has surrendered. Nothing is left
But Dover Castle. London has welcomed,
Like a generous host, the Dauphin and his troops.
Your nobles won't listen to you; they've left
To pledge their loyalty to your enemy;
And wild confusion rushes around
The small number of your uncertain allies.
KING JOHN.
Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
KING JOHN.
Wouldn't my lords come back to me again
After they found out 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.
BASTARD.
They found him dead and thrown into the streets,
An empty shell, where the treasure of life
By some damned hand was stolen and taken away.
KING JOHN.
That villain Hubert told me he did live.
KING JOHN.
That villain Hubert told me he was alive.
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 threat’ner, 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.
BASTARD.
Honestly, he did, for all he knew.
But why are you downcast? Why do you look sad?
Act boldly, as you have thought boldly;
Don’t let the world see fear and doubt
Control the gaze of a king.
Be active like the times; be fierce with fierceness;
Confront the threat, and face the intimidating
With defiance. This way, those lesser beings,
Who mimic the great,
Will grow strong by your example and adopt
The fearless spirit of determination.
Go on, and shine like the god of war
When he's ready to take the battlefield.
Show courage and confident ambition.
What, will they look for the lion in his den,
And scare him there? And make him shake there?
Oh, let that not be said! Go out, and run
To face danger far from the doors,
And take him on before he gets too close.
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.
KING JOHN.
The pope's legate has been with me,
And I've made a good deal with him;
He has promised to send away the forces
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.
BASTARD.
Oh, disreputable alliance!
Should we, based on our territory,
Issue fair-play commands and settle for compromise,
Manipulation, discussions, and dishonorable truces
Against invading forces? Should a young boy,
A pampered, delicate fool, challenge our lands,
And gain strength in a warrior's environment,
Mocking the sky with colors carelessly displayed,
And face no opposition? Let us, my lord, prepare for battle!
Perhaps the cardinal can't negotiate peace for you;
But if he does, let it at least be acknowledged
That they saw we were ready to defend ourselves.
KING JOHN.
Have thou the ordering of this present time.
KING JOHN.
Take charge of this moment.
BASTARD.
Away, then, with good courage! Yet, I know
Our party may well meet a prouder foe.
BASTARD.
Go away, then, with confidence! Still, I know
Our side might very well face a more arrogant enemy.
[Exeunt.]
[Scene ends.]
SCENE II. Near Saint Edmundsbury. The French Camp.
Enter, in arms, Louis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, Bigot and soldiers.
Enter, armed, 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.
LOUIS.
My Lord Melun, please have this copied,
And keep it safe for us to remember.
Return the original to these lords;
So that, with our proper order documented,
Both they and we, reviewing these notes,
May understand why we took the sacrament,
And keep our faith strong and unbreakable.
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 enforced 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!
SALISBURY.
It will never be broken on our side.
And, noble Dauphin, even though we swear
A sincere dedication and a committed faith
To your cause; still, believe me, prince,
I’m not happy that such a painful moment
Should seek a remedy through rejected rebellion,
And heal the deep-rooted infection of one wound
By creating many more. Oh, it pains my soul
That I must draw this sword from my side
To be a maker of widows! Oh, and there
Where honorable rescue and defense
Calls out for the name of Salisbury!
But this is the infection of our times,
That, for the health and remedy of our rights,
We can only act with the brutal hand
Of harsh injustice and mixed wrong.
And isn't it a shame, oh my sorrowful friends,
That we, the sons and daughters of this isle,
Were born to witness such a sad moment as this;
Where we follow a stranger, march
Upon her gentle land, and fill up
The ranks of her enemies? I must step back and weep
For the sake of this forced cause,
To honor the nobility of a distant land,
And follow unfamiliar banners here.
What, here? Oh nation, how I wish you could escape!
That Neptune’s arms, which wrap around you,
Would carry you away from the knowledge of yourself
And tie you to a pagan shore,
Where these two Christian armies might unite
Their bitter blood in a bond of peace,
And not waste it so unneighborly!
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 spake.
LOUIS.
You show a noble spirit in this;
And the strong emotions battling in your heart
Create an upheaval of nobility.
Oh, what a noble struggle you've faced
Between obligation and courageous respect!
Let me wipe away this honorable dew
That glistens on your cheeks.
My heart has melted at a lady’s tears,
Which is a common flood;
But this outpouring of such manly tears,
This shower, stirred up by a storm of the soul,
Surprises me and leaves me more amazed
Than if I had seen the vast sky above
Adorned completely with blazing meteors.
Lift your brow, esteemed Salisbury,
And with a courageous heart, push through this storm.
Tell these tears to those innocent eyes
That have never seen the giant world enraged,
Nor experienced fortune outside of feasts,
Full of warm blood, joy, and chatter.
Come, come; for you will reach as deeply
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself.—So, nobles, you all shall,
That bind your strength to mine.
And right there, I think, an angel spoke.
Enter Pandulph.
Enter Pandulph.
Look, where 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.
Look, here comes the holy delegate quickly,
To give us approval from the hand of heaven,
And to mark our actions with the name of justice
With sacred words.
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 threat’ning 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.
PANDULPH.
Hello, noble prince of France!
The next thing is this: King John has made peace
With Rome; his spirit has returned,
After resisting the holy church,
The great city and center of Rome.
So now, put away your threatening colors,
And calm the fierce spirit of wild war,
So that, like a lion raised in hand,
It may peacefully rest at the feet of peace
And do no more harm than just by appearance.
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 serving-man 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 win 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.
LOUIS.
You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not backing down.
I’m too high-born to be treated as property,
To be a subordinate in control,
Or a useful servant and tool
For any sovereign state in the world.
Your words first ignited the smoldering conflict
Between this punished kingdom and me,
And brought in the fuel that should feed this fire;
And now it’s far too big to be extinguished
With that same weak breath that started it.
You taught me to recognize what’s right,
Introduced me to the interests of this land,
Yes, you drove this ambition into my heart;
And now you come to tell me John has made
His peace with Rome? What does that peace mean to me?
By the honor of my marriage bed,
After young Arthur, I claim this land as mine;
And now that it’s half-conquered, must I turn back
Just because John has made peace with Rome?
Am I a slave to Rome? What resources has Rome provided,
What men, what weapons sent,
To support this effort? Is it not I
Who takes on this responsibility? Who else but I,
And those who owe me allegiance,
Sweat in this endeavor and uphold this war?
Haven’t I heard these islanders shout
Vive le Roi! as I’ve occupied their towns?
Do I not have the best cards for this game
To win this easy match for a crown?
And should I now give up the advantage?
No, no, on my soul, it will never be said.
PANDULPH.
You look but on the outside of this work.
PANDULPH.
You're only seeing the surface 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 win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
LOUIS.
Whether I'm outside or inside, I won't return
Until my efforts are celebrated
As much as my big hopes promised
Before I took on this brave battle,
And gathered these fierce warriors from the world,
To face victory and achieve fame
Even in the face of danger and death.
[Trumpet sounds.]
[Trumpet plays.]
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?
What bold trumpet is calling us?
Enter the Bastard, attended.
Enter the Bastard, showed up.
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.
BASTARD.
According to the fair play of the world,
Please let me speak; I've been sent to talk,
To my holy lord of Milan, from the King.
I come to find out how you've represented him;
And, based on your response, I understand the limits
And constraints set on what I can say.
PANDULPH.
The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he’ll not lay down his arms.
PANDULPH.
The Dauphin is too stubborn and defiant,
And refuses to consider my requests;
He outright says he won’t surrender his weapons.
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 change,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
BASTARD.
By all the blood that ever had fury,
The young man speaks truth. Now listen to our English king,
For this is what his royalty says through me:
He is ready, and he has good reason to be.
This silly and rude approach,
This armored mask and reckless partying,
This unkempt boldness and childish crowd,
The King smiles at; and is well-prepared
To drive this childish war, these tiny arms,
Out of the boundaries of his lands.
That hand which had the power, even at your door,
To beat you and make you leave,
To dive like buckets in hidden wells,
To hide in the muck of your stable planks,
To be like pawns trapped in chests and trunks,
To cuddle with pigs, to seek safety
In vaults and prisons, and to tremble and shake
Even at the cry of your nation's crow,
Thinking this sound is an armed Englishman;
Shall that victorious hand be weakened here
That in your chambers punished you?
No! Know that the brave monarch is armed
And like an eagle over his high towers
To swoop down on any annoyance that gets near his nest.—
And you degenerate, you ungrateful rebels,
You bloody Neroes, tearing apart the womb
Of your beloved mother England, blush in shame!
For your own ladies and pale-faced maids
Like Amazons come running after drums,
Their thimbles turning into armed gauntlets,
Their needles turning into lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody intent.
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.
LOUIS.
That's enough of your bravado; turn your face away in peace;
We admit you can outtalk us. Goodbye;
We value our time too much to spend it
With someone who just argues.
PANDULPH.
Give me leave to speak.
PANDULPH.
Let me speak.
BASTARD.
No, I will speak.
BASTARD.
No, I will talk.
LOUIS.
We will attend to neither.
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
Plead for our interest and our being here.
LOUIS.
We won’t focus on either.
Start the drums; and let the sound of battle,
Advocate for our interests and our presence 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,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac’d
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-mouth’d thunder. For at hand,
Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath us’d rather for sport than need,
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb’d death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
BASTARD.
Yes, your drums will beat and cry out;
And so will you, once you're struck. Just start
And join in with the noise of your drum,
And right nearby, a drum is ready to play
That will echo just as loudly as yours.
Play one more, and another will join in,
Just as loud as yours, shaking the skies
And mocking the booming thunder. Because right here,
Not relying on this slow messenger,
Who he's used more for fun than out of necessity,
Is warlike John; and on his forehead rests
A stark reminder of death, whose job today
Is to feast on thousands of the French.
LOUIS.
Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
LOUIS.
Get our drums going, so we can figure out this danger.
BASTARD.
And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
BASTARD.
And you will find it, Dauphin, don't doubt it.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE III. The same. The Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert.
Alarms. Enter King John and Hubert.
KING JOHN.
How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.
KING JOHN.
How's the day going for us? Oh, tell me, Hubert.
HUBERT.
Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?
HUBERT.
Not well, I'm afraid. How are you, your majesty?
KING JOHN.
This fever that hath troubled me so long
Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!
KING JOHN.
This fever that has bothered me for so long
Weighs heavily on me. Oh, my heart is aching!
Enter a Messenger.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field
And send him word by me which way you go.
MESSENGER.
My lord, your brave relative, Faulconbridge,
Wants your majesty to leave the battlefield
And send him a message through me about which way you’re headed.
KING JOHN.
Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.
KING JOHN.
Tell him to head toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.
MESSENGER.
Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here
Are wrack’d three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now.
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
MESSENGER.
Stay hopeful; the huge shipment
That we were expecting from the Dauphin
Was wrecked three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This news just reached Richard.
The French are fighting half-heartedly and pulling back.
KING JOHN.
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.
KING JOHN.
Oh, this tyrant fever is burning me up
And won't let me enjoy this good news.
Head toward Swinstead. To my litter right away.
I feel weak, and I'm faint.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. The same. Another part of the same.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke and Bigot.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke and Bigot.
SALISBURY.
I did not think the King so stor’d with friends.
SALISBURY.
I didn't think the King had so many friends.
PEMBROKE.
Up once again; put spirit in the French.
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
PEMBROKE.
Up again; let's motivate the French.
If they fail, we fail too.
SALISBURY.
That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
SALISBURY.
That messed-up guy, Faulconbridge,
Despite all the hatred, stands strong on his own.
PEMBROKE.
They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
PEMBROKE.
They say King John, seriously ill, has left the battlefield.
Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers.
Enter Melun injured and escorted by soldiers.
MELUN.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.
MELUN.
Take me to the uprisings in England here.
SALISBURY.
When we were happy we had other names.
SALISBURY.
When we were happy, we went by different names.
PEMBROKE.
It is the Count Melun.
Pembroke.
It's Count Melun.
SALISBURY.
Wounded to death.
SALISBURY.
Fatally wounded.
MELUN.
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.
MELUN.
Run, noble English, you’re bought and sold;
Untangle the rough eye of rebellion
And welcome back the faith you’ve lost.
Find King John and fall at his feet;
For if the French are in charge today,
He plans to repay your efforts
By taking your heads. He has sworn it,
And I’m with him, and many others are with me,
On the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
Right on that altar where we promised you
True friendship and everlasting love.
SALISBURY.
May this be possible? May this be true?
SALISBURY.
Can this be real? Is this actually happening?
MELUN.
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?
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 day break 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 rumour 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.
MELUN.
Don't I have a terrible death in front of me,
Holding onto just a little bit of life,
Which fades away like wax
Melting from its shape in a fire?
What would make me lie now,
Since I have to give up all deceit?
Why should I be dishonest, when it’s true
That I have to die here and live on by the truth?
I’ll say it again, if Louis wins the day,
He’s lying if those eyes of yours
See another sunrise in the east.
But even tonight, whose dark, infectious breath
Is already hovering around the burnt-out,
Weak, and tired sun,
Even this bad night, your breathing will cease,
Paying the price for the betrayal
With a treacherous cost of all your lives,
If Louis wins the day with your help.
Send my regards to one Hubert, along with your king;
My love for him, and this respect too,
Because my grandfather was English,
Causes my conscience to confess all this.
In return, I ask you to take me away
From the noise and chaos of the battlefield,
Where I can think the rest of my thoughts
In peace, and separate this body from my soul
With reflection and sincere wishes.
SALISBURY.
We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight,
And like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlook’d,
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
Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.
SALISBURY.
We believe you, and honestly,
I truly appreciate the beauty and the purpose
Of this wonderful moment, where
We will take back the steps of our cursed retreat,
And like a tide that’s pulled back,
Leaving our messiness and chaotic path,
We’ll dip down into the boundaries we’ve ignored,
And flow smoothly in obedience
All the way to our ocean, to our great King John.
I’ll help you to get away from here;
I can see the cruel grip of death
Right in your eyes.—Come on, my friends! New direction,
And a fresh start that seeks to restore what’s right.
[Exeunt, leading off Melun.]
[Exit, taking Melun with them.]
SCENE V. The same. The French camp.
Enter Louis and his train.
Enter Louis and his train.
LOUIS.
The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
But stay’d, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measure 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 colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
LOUIS.
It seemed to me that the sun in the sky was reluctant to set,
But hung around, making the western sky blush,
When the English retreated in defeat,
Oh, we left the battlefield with pride,
After wasting a few shots,
Following such a bloody struggle, we said good night,
And proudly gathered up our nearly fallen colors,
Last to leave the field, and almost in control of it!
Enter a Messenger.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
MESSENGER.
Where's my prince, the Dauphin?
LOUIS.
Here. What news?
LOUIS.
Hey. What's the news?
MESSENGER.
The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
By his persuasion are again fall’n off,
And your supply, which you have wish’d so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
MESSENGER.
Count Melun is dead; the English lords
Have once again turned against us, thanks to his influence,
And the reinforcements you wanted for so long
Have been lost and sunk in Goodwin Sands.
LOUIS.
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?
LOUIS.
Ah, terrible news! Curse your very heart!
I didn’t expect to feel so sad tonight
As this has made me. Who was it that said
King John ran away an hour or two before
The stumbling night separated our tired forces?
MESSENGER.
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
MESSENGER.
Whoever said it, it's true, my lord.
LOUIS.
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.
LOUIS.
Well, take good care and stay alert tonight.
The day won’t come as soon as I will,
To pursue the exciting adventure of tomorrow.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE VI. An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting.
HUBERT.
Who’s there? Speak, ho! Speak quickly, or I shoot.
HUBERT.
Who's there? Speak up! Speak fast, or I'll shoot.
BASTARD.
A friend. What art thou?
BASTARD.
A friend. What are you?
HUBERT.
Of the part of England.
HUBERT.
From that part of England.
BASTARD.
Whither dost thou go?
BASTARD.
Where are you going?
HUBERT.
What’s that to thee? Why may I not demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
HUBERT.
What’s it to you? Why can’t I ask about your business, just like you ask about mine?
BASTARD.
Hubert, I think.
BASTARD. Hubert, I believe.
HUBERT.
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?
HUBERT.
You have a great idea.
I will, no matter the risks, truly believe
You are my friend, who understands my words so well.
Who are you?
BASTARD.
Who thou wilt. And if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
BASTARD.
Whoever you want. And if you like,
You can be nice enough to think
I come from the Plantagenets.
HUBERT.
Unkind remembrance! Thou and eyeless night
Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should ’scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
HUBERT.
Unkind memory! You and the blind night
Have brought me shame. Brave soldier, forgive me,
If any sound coming from your mouth
Should escape my true recognition.
BASTARD.
Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
BASTARD.
Come on, no pleasantries. What’s the news out there?
HUBERT.
Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
To find you out.
HUBERT.
Why, here I am walking in the dark of night,
To find you.
BASTARD.
Brief, then; and what’s the news?
BASTARD.
So, what's the story?
HUBERT.
O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
HUBERT.
Oh, my dear sir, news that fits the night,
Dark, frightening, distressing, and terrible.
BASTARD.
Show me the very wound of this ill news.
I am no woman, I’ll not swoon at it.
BASTARD.
Show me the raw impact of this bad news.
I’m not a woman; I won’t faint at it.
HUBERT.
The King, I fear, is poison’d 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.
HUBERT.
I'm afraid the King has been poisoned by a monk.
I left him nearly unable to speak, and I rushed out
To inform you of this bad news, so you could
Prepare yourself for what's about to happen,
Rather than finding out about it later.
BASTARD.
How did he take it? Who did taste to him?
BASTARD.
How did he handle it? Who experienced him?
HUBERT.
A monk, I tell you, a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King
Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
HUBERT.
A monk, I'm telling you, a determined villain,
Whose insides suddenly exploded. The King
Still talks, and maybe he can pull through.
BASTARD.
Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?
BASTARD.
Who did you leave to take care of his majesty?
HUBERT.
Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the King hath pardon’d them,
And they are all about his majesty.
HUBERT.
Don't you know? The lords have all returned,
And they brought Prince Henry with them;
At his request, the King has forgiven them,
And they are all around his majesty.
BASTARD.
Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
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 devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escap’d.
Away, before. Conduct me to the King;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.
BASTARD.
Hold back your anger, mighty heaven,
And don’t push us to take on more than we can handle!
I’ll tell you, Hubert, half my strength tonight,
Crossing these lowlands, is swept away by the tide;
These Lincoln marshes have swallowed them;
I, myself, well-mounted, barely made it out.
Let’s go, lead me to the King;
I fear he’ll be dead before I arrive.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
SCENE VII. The orchard of Swinstead Abbey.
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot.
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot.
PRINCE HENRY.
It is too late. The life of all his blood
Is touch’d 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.
PRINCE HENRY.
It's too late. The life of all his family
Is tainted, and his clear mind,
Which some believe is the fragile home of the soul,
Is, by the meaningless thoughts it generates,
Predicting the end of life.
Enter Pembroke.
Enter Pembroke.
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.
PEMBROKE.
His Highness still speaks and believes
That being brought into the open air,
It would ease the burning nature
Of that terrible poison that is attacking him.
PRINCE HENRY.
Let him be brought into the orchard here.
Doth he still rage?
PRINCE HENRY.
Bring him into the orchard here.
Is he still angry?
[Exit Bigot.]
[Exit Bigot.]
PEMBROKE.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.
PEMBROKE.
He's even more patient
Than when you left him; he’s singing even now.
PRINCE HENRY.
O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey’d 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,
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.
PRINCE HENRY.
Oh, the foolishness of illness! Intense extremes
In their duration won't recognize themselves.
Death, having devoured the outside,
Leaves them unseen, and his attack is now
On the mind, which he pricks and wounds
With countless strange thoughts,
That, in their crowding rush to that final bastion,
Confuse themselves. It’s odd that death should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale, weak swan,
Who sings a mournful song about his own death
And from the pipe of fragility, sings
His soul and body to their eternal rest.
SALISBURY.
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.
SALISBURY.
Stay strong, prince; you were born
To shape the chaos
That he has left so formless and rough.
Enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King John in a chair.
Enter Prejudice and Attendants, who bring in King John in a chair.
KING JOHN.
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.
KING JOHN.
Yeah, for sure, now I have some space to breathe
It wouldn’t come out through windows or doors.
There's such a hot summer in my chest
That all my insides are turning to dust.
I’m just a jumbled figure, sketched with a pen
On a piece of paper, and against this fire
I’m shrinking down.
PRINCE HENRY.
How fares your majesty?
PRINCE HENRY.
How is your majesty?
KING JOHN.
Poison’d, 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 burn’d bosom, nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched 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.
KING JOHN.
Poisoned, feeling terrible; dead, abandoned, rejected,
And none of you will welcome winter
To push its icy fingers into my mouth,
Or allow my kingdom’s rivers to flow
Through my burned chest, nor ask the north
To let its harsh winds touch my dry lips
And soothe me with cold. I’m not asking for much,
I just want some cold comfort; yet you are so harsh,
And so ungrateful, you refuse me even that.
PRINCE HENRY.
O, that there were some virtue in my tears
That might relieve you!
PRINCE HENRY.
Oh, if only my tears had the power
to ease your pain!
KING JOHN.
The salt in them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin’d to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.
KING JOHN.
The salt in them is hot.
Inside me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, like a demon, trapped to torment
On irreversibly doomed blood.
Enter the Bastard.
Enter the Bastard.
BASTARD.
O, I am scalded with my violent motion
And spleen of speed to see your majesty!
BASTARD.
Oh, I am burned up with my intense movement
And my eagerness to see your majesty!
KING JOHN.
O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye.
The tackle of my heart is crack’d and burn’d,
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
Are turned to one thread, one little hair.
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.
KING JOHN.
Oh cousin, you've come to catch my attention.
The cords of my heart are broken and burned,
And all the sails that should carry my life
Have turned into a single thread, just a little hair.
My heart has one weak string to hold it together,
Which lasts only until your news is revealed;
And then all you see here is just a lump
And a piece of shattered royalty.
BASTARD.
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
Devoured by the unexpected flood.
BASTARD.
The Dauphin is on his way here,
And God knows how we'll respond to him;
Because in one night, a good portion of my forces,
Which I had strategically moved,
Were caught off guard in the Washes
And swallowed up by the sudden flood.
[The King dies.]
The King passes away.
SALISBURY.
You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
My liege! My lord!—But now a king, now thus.
SALISBURY.
You take in this dead news with an equally dead expression.
My liege! My lord!—Now a king, now like this.
PRINCE HENRY.
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?
PRINCE HENRY.
Even so, I have to keep going, and then I have to stop.
What certainties are there in the world, what hope, what support,
When this was once a king, and now is just dust?
BASTARD.
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 hath been thy servant still.
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.
BASTARD.
Are you really gone? I’m just sticking around
To take care of revenge for you,
And then my soul will follow you to heaven,
Just like I’ve always served you on earth.
Now, now, you stars that move in your proper places,
Where are your powers? Show me your renewed faith,
And come back with me right away,
To drive destruction and lasting shame
Out of the weak door of our struggling land.
Let’s go look for it, or we’ll be found soon;
The Dauphin is right on our heels.
SALISBURY.
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 honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
SALISBURY.
It seems you don't know as much as we do.
Cardinal Pandulph is inside, resting,
He just came from the Dauphin half an hour ago,
And he brings offers of peace from him
That we can accept with honor and respect,
Planning to end this war right away.
BASTARD.
He will the rather do it when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
BASTARD.
He'll definitely do it when he sees
That we're well-prepared to defend ourselves.
SALISBURY.
Nay, ’tis in a manner done already,
For many carriages he hath dispatch’d
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.
SALISBURY.
No, it’s basically done already,
Because he’s sent out many carriages
To the seaside and handed over his case and dispute
To the cardinal,
With whom you, me, and the other lords,
If you think it’s a good idea, will head out this afternoon
To wrap this up successfully.
BASTARD.
Let it be so. And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar’d,
Shall wait upon your father’s funeral.
BASTARD.
Let it be. And you, my noble prince,
Along with other princes who should be spared,
Shall attend your father’s funeral.
PRINCE HENRY.
At Worcester must his body be interr’d;
For so he will’d it.
PRINCE HENRY.
At Worcester, his body must be buried;
That's what he wanted.
BASTARD.
Thither shall it, then,
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.
BASTARD.
Then it shall go there,
And hopefully you may embrace
The rightful dignity and honor of the land!
To whom, with all respect, on my knees,
I dedicate my loyal services
And true loyalty forever.
SALISBURY.
And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.
SALISBURY.
And with this gentle expression of our love, we offer,
To remain without a blemish forever.
PRINCE HENRY.
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
And knows not how to do it but with tears.
PRINCE HENRY.
I have a kind heart that wants to thank you
But doesn’t know how to express it except with tears.
BASTARD.
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. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.
BASTARD.
Oh, let’s just accept the pain we need to feel,
Since it has already come before our sorrows.
This England has never, and will never,
Bow down to a conqueror,
Except when it first hurt itself.
Now these princes have returned,
From the three corners of the world in arms,
And we will confront them. Nothing will make us regret,
If England stays true to itself.
[Exeunt.]
[Exit.]
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