And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand. The Dolphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize 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 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,

your

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 nation's crow,
Thinking his 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 needl's 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;

We hold our time too precious to be spent

With such a brabbler.

138 take the hatch jump the lower half of the door.

130

140

150

160

144 the crying of your nation's crow: a strange line; if we could, it would be well to read, "the crowing of your nation's cock; but here "crow" the note of the cock, and "crying" sound. In the next line "his voice" is a mere witness to the heedless facility with which the passage was written..

150 brave bravado, bragging.

Pand.

Give me leave to speak.

Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew.

We will attend to neither.

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war

Plead for our interest and our being here.

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start

An 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 used 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.

Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dolphin, do not doubt.

SCENE III. The field of battle.

Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.

170

180

[Exeunt.

K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long,

Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

Enter a Messenger.

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 Dolphin 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. 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.

10

[Exeunt.

"Goodwin Sands: were off the eastern coast of Kent. See Merchant of Venice, Act III. Sc. 1, line 4.

12 Richard

the Bastard, whom the king had made Sir Richard Plantagenet.

SCENE IV. Another part of the field.

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT.

Sal. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends.
Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French:
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,

In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pem. They say King John sore sick hath left the field.

Enter MELUN, wounded.

Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.

Sal. When we were happy we had other names.
Pem. It is the Count Melun.

Sal.

Wounded to death.

Mel. 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 moe with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true?
Mel. 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 Lewis 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

15 He means, etc.: that is, Lewis; he being here heedlessly used to mean the King of the French.

17 moe more.

18 Saint Edmundsbury: the abbey of Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk, about forty miles northeast of London; now in ruins.

If Lewis 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
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Sal. 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;

40

50

For I do see the cruel pangs of death

Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;

60

And happy newness, that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading off Melun.

SCENE V. The French camp.

Enter LEWIS and his train.

Lew. The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,

But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
When 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 tatt'ring colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dolphin?
Lew.

Here: what news?

Mess. 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.

Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be so sad to-night

44 In lieu in return.

a treacherous fine a treacherous end: a quibble on "fine," in S.'s manner.

10

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?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

Lew. Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night: The day shall not be up so soon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

20

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey. Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally.

Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. What art thou?

Bast. A friend.

Hub.

Bast. Whither dost thou go?

Hub. What 's that to thee?

Bast.

Of the part of England.

Why may not I demand

Thou hast a perfect thought:

Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

Hubert, I think?

Hub.

I will upon all hazards well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.

Who art thou?

Bast.

Who thou wilt: and if thou please,

Thou may'st befriend me so much as to think

I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. 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.

Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
Hub. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

Bast.
Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. 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.

12 Unkind remembrance: that is, forgetfulness.

ΙΟ

20

23 A monk. S. found this old story in the old play. It is mere fable. Nor did King John even die at Swinstead. Taken ill there, he was carried to Sleaford castle, and hence again to Newark castle, where he died. S. merely followed the old play.