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And, noble dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal, and 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;

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 enemis' 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!

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this,
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom,
Do 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 oth r than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity,

As Lewis himself:-so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
Enter PANDULPH, attended.

And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
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.

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.


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,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come you 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

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Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome

What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? Is't not I,
That undergo this charge? Who else but I?
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.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lew. 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.-
[Trumpet sounds.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. 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.

Pand. The dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporise with my entreaties;
He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

Bast. 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 unadvis'd 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.
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,
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 neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace :

We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well:

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not We hold our time too precious to be spent

I am too high-born to be propertied,

With such a babbler.

Give me leave to speak.

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Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,

Desires your majesty to leave the field,
And send him word by me which way you go.
K. John, Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the
abbey there.

Mess. 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.
K. John. Ah 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.

Enter LEWIS and his Train.


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SCENE.-The orchard of Swinstead Abbey. Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. P. Hen. 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 dwellinghouse)

Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.


Pem. 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.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.

Doth he still rage?


[Exit BIGOT.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. 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.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are


To set a form upon that indigest,
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in
King JOHN in a chair.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow


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.

P. Hen. How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare;-dead, forsook,
cast off:

And none of you will bid the winter come,
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you


And so ungrateful, you deny me that.
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,

P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in my tears, That might relieve you!

K. John. The salt in them is ho t. Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood.

Enter the Bastard.

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine


The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt;
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.

Bast. The dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, Heaven 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.

[The KING dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an


My liege! my lord! thus.

But now a king, - now

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so

What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay!

Bast. 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

Where be your powers? Show now your mended


And instantly return with me again,

To push destruction, and perpetual shame,

Out of the weak door of our fainting land:

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.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence,

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatch'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.

Bust. 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.

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be in-

For so he will'd it.


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.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give
you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. 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,

Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be But when it first did help to wound itself.


The dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seenis you know not then so much

as we;

The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,

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


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To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who thou art,

And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms:
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy

Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thine oath;
And so defend thee, Heaven, and thy valour!
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of

Who hither come engaged by my oath
(Which Heaven defend a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth

To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford, that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me Heaven!

[He takes his seat.

Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE in armour, preceded by a Herald.

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither, Thus plated in habiliments of war;

And formally according to our law

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

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I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here;
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison. My dear, dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times barr'd-up chest,
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast,
And [Rising.] howe'er Heaven, or fortune cast
my lot,

There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman :
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years;
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,
Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The KING and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance and God defend the right!

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st Sound, trumpets; and set forward combatants.

thou hither,

Before King Richard, in his royal lists ?
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy

quarrel ?

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee Heaven!
Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster,


Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by Heaven's grace, and my body's

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me Heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists,
Except the marshal, and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.

[A charge sounded.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and
their spears,

And both return now to their chairs again :
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound,
While we return these dukes what we decree.—
[A long flourish.
Draw near,
[To the Combatants.
And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth shall not be soil'd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours'

Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields,

Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sove- Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

reign's hand,

And bow my knee before his majesty ;
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave,
And loving farewell, of our several friends.
Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your

And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.
K. Rich. We will descend, and hold him in our


Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Boling. My noble cousin!

[Norfolk advances and kneels to Richard. Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot:

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done; This must my com-

fort be

That sun which warms you here, shall shine on me,
And those his golden beams, to you here lent,
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce;
The fly-slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;-
The hopeless word of, never to return,
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign

And all unlook'd-for from your highness' mouth :
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserv'd at your highness' hands.

The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego :
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstring'd viol, or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,
Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now;
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate;
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.


K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with

Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to Heaven,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves),
To keep the oath that we administer :-

You never shall (so help you truth and Heaven!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor ever look upon each other's face;
Nor ever write, regreet, or reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor ever by advised purport meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Boling. I swear.

Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Norfolk,-so far as to mine enemy ;-
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly this realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

Nor. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were a traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
But what thou art, Heaven, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege :-Now no way can I stray :
Save back to England; all the world's my way.


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Can change their moons, and bring their times about,

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give;

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death:
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower ?
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion


You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father:
(0, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild :
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.)
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.
K. Rich. Cousin, farewell :-and, uncle, bid
him so;

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.'

[Flourish. Exeunt K. RICHARD and Train. Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,

From where you do remain, let paper show.

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side.

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy

That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office shall be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Boling. Joy, absent, grief is present for that time.

Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

Boling. To men in joy: but grief makes one hour ten.

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return,

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make,

Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages; and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else

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