Chapter 72

Dol. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not backe: I am too high-borne to be proportied To be a secondary at controll, Or vsefull seruing-man, and Instrument To any Soueraigne State throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coale of warres, Betweene this chastiz'd kingdome and my selfe, And brought in matter that should feed this fire; And now 'tis farre too huge to be blowne out With that same weake winde, which enkindled it: You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this Land, Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart, And come ye now to tell me Iohn hath made His peace with Rome? what is that peace to me? I (by the honour of my marriage bed) After yong Arthur, claime this Land for mine, And now it is halfe conquer'd, must I backe, Because that Iohn hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Romes slaue? What penny hath Rome borne? What men prouided? What munition sent To vnder-prop this Action? Is't not I That vnder-goe this charge? Who else but I, And such as to my claime are liable, Sweat in this businesse, and maintaine this warre? Haue I not heard these Islanders shout out Viue le Roy, as I haue bank'd their Townes? Haue I not heere the best Cards for the game To winne this easie match, plaid for a Crowne? And shall I now giue ore the yeelded Set? No, no, on my soule it neuer shall be said

Pand. You looke but on the out-side of this worke

Dol. Out-side or in-side, I will not returne Till my attempt so much be glorified, As to my ample hope was promised, Before I drew this gallant head of warre, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world To out-looke Conquest, and to winne renowne Euen in the iawes of danger, and of death: What lusty Trumpet thus doth summon vs? Enter Bastard.

Bast. According to the faire-play of the world, Let me haue audience: I am sent to speake: My holy Lord of Millane, from the King I come to learne how you haue dealt for him: And, as you answer, I doe know the scope And warrant limited vnto my tongue

Pand. The Dolphin is too wilfull opposite And will not temporize with my intreaties: He flatly saies, hee'll not lay downe his Armes

Bast. By all the bloud that euer fury breath'd, The youth saies well. Now heare our English King, For thus his Royaltie doth speake in me: He is prepar'd, and reason to he should, This apish and vnmannerly approach, This harness'd Maske, and vnaduised Reuell, This vn-heard sawcinesse and boyish Troopes, The King doth smile at, and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish warre, this Pigmy Armes From out the circle of his Territories. That hand which had the strength, euen at your dore, To cudgell you, and make you take the hatch, To diue like Buckets in concealed Welles, To crowch in litter of your stable plankes, To lye like pawnes, lock'd vp in chests and truncks, To hug with swine, to seeke sweet safety out In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake, Euen at the crying of your Nations crow, Thinking this voyce an armed Englishman. Shall that victorious hand be feebled heere, That in your Chambers gaue you chasticement? No: know the gallant Monarch is in Armes, And like an Eagle, o're his ayerie towres, To sowsse annoyance that comes neere his Nest; And you degenerate, you ingrate Reuolts, You bloudy Nero's, ripping vp the wombe Of your deere Mother-England: blush for shame: For your owne Ladies, and pale-visag'd Maides, Like Amazons, come tripping after drummes: Their thimbles into armed Gantlets change, Their Needl's to Lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination

Dol. There end thy braue, and turn thy face in peace, We grant thou canst out-scold vs: Far thee well, We hold our time too precious to be spent with such a brabler

Pan. Giue me leaue to speake

Bast. No, I will speake

Dol. We will attend to neyther: Strike vp the drummes, and let the tongue of warre Pleade for our interest, and our being heere

Bast. Indeede your drums being beaten, wil cry out; And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start An eccho with the clamor of thy drumme, And euen at hand, a drumme is readie brac'd, That shall reuerberate all, as lowd as thine. Sound but another, and another shall (As lowd as thine) rattle the Welkins eare, And mocke the deepe mouth'd Thunder: for at hand (Not trusting to this halting Legate heere, Whom he hath vs'd rather for sport, then neede) Is warlike Iohn: and in his fore-head sits A bare-rib'd death, whose office is this day To feast vpon whole thousands of the French

Dol. Strike vp our drummes, to finde this danger out

Bast. And thou shalt finde it (Dolphin) do not doubt

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Alarums. Enter Iohn and Hubert.

Iohn. How goes the day with vs? oh tell me Hubert

Hub. Badly I feare; how fares your Maiesty? Iohn. This Feauer that hath troubled me so long, Lyes heauie on me: oh, my heart is sicke. Enter a Messenger.

Mes. My Lord: your valiant kinsman Falconbridge, Desires your Maiestie to leaue the field, And send him word by me, which way you go

Iohn. Tell him toward Swinsted, to the Abbey there

Mes. Be of good comfort: for the great supply That was expected by the Dolphin heere, Are wrack'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. This newes was brought to Richard but euen now, The French fight coldly, and retyre themselues

Iohn. Aye me, this tyrant Feauer burnes mee vp, And will not let me welcome this good newes. Set on toward Swinsted: to my Litter straight, Weaknesse possesseth me, and I am faint.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot.

Sal. I did not thinke the King so stor'd with friends

Pem. Vp once againe: put spirit in the French, If they miscarry: we miscarry too

Sal. That misbegotten diuell Falconbridge, In spight of spight, alone vpholds the day

Pem. They say King Iohn sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Meloon wounded.

Mel. Lead me to the Reuolts of England heere

Sal. When we were happie, we had other names

Pem. It is the Count Meloone

Sal. Wounded to death

Mel. Fly Noble English, you are bought and sold, Vnthred the rude eye of Rebellion, And welcome home againe discarded faith, Seeke out King Iohn, and fall before his feete: For if the French be Lords of this loud day, He meanes to recompence the paines you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworne, And I with him, and many moe with mee, Vpon the Altar at S[aint]. Edmondsbury, Euen on that Altar, where we swore to you Deere Amity, and euerlasting loue

Sal. May this be possible? May this be true? Mel. Haue I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life, Which bleeds away, euen as a forme of waxe Resolueth from his figure 'gainst the fire? What in the world should make me now deceiue, Since I must loose the vse of all deceite? Why should I then be false, since it is true That I must dye heere, and liue hence, by Truth? I say againe, if Lewis do win the day, He is forsworne, if ere those eyes of yours Behold another day breake in the East: But euen this night, whose blacke contagious breath Already smoakes about the burning Crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied Sunne, Euen this ill night, your breathing shall expire, Paying the fine of rated Treachery, Euen with a treacherous fine of all your liues: If Lewis, by your assistance win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; The loue of him, and this respect besides (For that my Grandsire was an Englishman) Awakes my Conscience to confesse all this. In lieu whereof, I pray you beare me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the Field; Where I may thinke the remnant of my thoughts In peace: and part this bodie and my soule With contemplation, and deuout desires

Sal. We do beleeue thee, and beshrew my soule, But I do loue the fauour, and the forme Of this most faire occasion, by the which We will vntread the steps of damned flight, And like a bated and retired Flood, Leauing our ranknesse and irregular course, Stoope lowe within those bounds we haue ore-look'd, And calmely run on in obedience Euen to our Ocean, to our great King Iohn. My arme shall giue thee helpe to beare thee hence, For I do see the cruell pangs of death Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight, And happie newnesse, that intends old right.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Dolphin, and his Traine.

Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set; But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush, When English measure backward their owne ground In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off, When with a volley of our needlesse shot, After such bloody toile, we bid good night, And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp, Last in the field, and almost Lords of it. Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin? Dol. Heere: what newes? Mes. The Count Meloone is slaine: The English Lords By his perswasion, are againe falne off, And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands

Dol. Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart: I did not thinke to be so sad to night As this hath made me. Who was he that said King Iohn did flie an houre or two before The stumbling night did part our wearie powres? Mes. Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord

Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night, The day shall not be vp so soone as I, To try the faire aduenture of to morrow.

Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Bastard and Hubert, seuerally.

Hub. Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, or I shoote

Bast. A Friend. What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England

Bast. Whether doest thou go? Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand of thine affaires, As well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I thinke

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will vpon all hazards well beleeue Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou please Thou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinke I come one way of the Plantagenets

Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night, Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me, That any accent breaking from thy tongue, Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare

Bast. Come, come: sans complement, What newes abroad? Hub. Why heere walke I in the black brow of night To finde you out

Bast. Breefe then: and what's the newes? Hub. O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night, Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible

Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes, I am no woman, Ile not swound at it

Hub. The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke, I left him almost speechlesse, and broke out To acquaint you with this euill, that you might The better arme you to the sodaine time, Then if you had at leisure knowne of this

Bast. How did he take it? Who did taste to him? Hub. A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaine Whose Bowels sodainly burst out: The King Yet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer

Bast. Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty? Hub. Why know you not? The Lords are all come backe, And brought Prince Henry in their companie, At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his Maiestie

Bast. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen, And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power. Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this night Passing these Flats, are taken by the Tide, These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them, My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd. Away before: Conduct me to the king, I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come.

Exeunt.

Scena Septima.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisburie, and Bigot.

Hen. It is too late, the life of all his blood Is touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine (Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house) Doth by the idle Comments that it makes, Fore-tell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke.

Pem. His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe, That being brought into the open ayre, It would allay the burning qualitie Of that fell poison which assayleth him

Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard heere: Doth he still rage? Pem. He is more patient Then when you left him; euen now he sung

Hen. Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreames In their continuance, will not feele themselues. Death hauing praide vpon the outward parts Leaues them inuisible, and his seige is now Against the winde, the which he prickes and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies, Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold, Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange y death shold sing: I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan, Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death, And from the organ-pipe of frailety sings His soule and body to their lasting rest

Sal. Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borne To set a forme vpon that indigest Which he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude.

Iohn brought in.

Iohn. I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome, It would not out at windowes, nor at doores, There is so hot a summer in my bosome, That all my bowels crumble vp to dust: I am a scribled forme drawne with a pen Vpon a Parchment, and against this fire Do I shrinke vp

Hen. How fares your Maiesty? Ioh. Poyson'd, ill fare: dead, forsooke, cast off, And none of you will bid the winter come To thrust his ycie fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdomes Riuers take their course Through my burn'd bosome: nor intreat the North To make his bleake windes kisse my parched lips, And comfort me with cold. I do not aske you much, I begge cold comfort: and you are so straight And so ingratefull, you deny me that

Hen. Oh that there were some vertue in my teares, That might releeue you

Iohn. The salt in them is hot. Within me is a hell, and there the poyson Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize, On vnrepreeuable condemned blood. Enter Bastard.

Bast. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion And spleene of speede, to see your Maiesty

Iohn. Oh Cozen, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart, is crack'd and burnt, And all the shrowds wherewith my life should saile, Are turned to one thred, one little haire: My heart hath one poore string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy newes be vttered, And then all this thou seest, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty

Bast. The Dolphin is preparing hither-ward, Where heauen he knowes how we shall answer him. For in a night the best part of my powre, As I vpon aduantage did remoue, Were in the Washes all vnwarily, Deuoured by the vnexpected flood

Sal. You breath these dead newes in as dead an eare My Liege, my Lord: but now a King, now thus

Hen. Euen so must I run on, and euen so stop. 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 behinde, To do the office for thee, of reuenge, And then my soule shall waite on thee to heauen, As it on earth hath bene thy seruant still. Now, now you Starres, that moue in your right spheres, Where be your powres? Shew now your mended faiths, And instantly returne with me againe. To push destruction, and perpetuall shame Out of the weake doore of our fainting Land: Straight let vs seeke, or straight we shall be sought, The Dolphine rages at our verie heeles

Sal. It seemes you know not then so much as we, The Cardinall Pandulph is within at rest, Who halfe an houre since came from the Dolphin, And brings from him such offers of our peace, As we with honor and respect may take, With purpose presently to leaue this warre

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees Our selues well sinew'd to our defence

Sal. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already, For many carriages hee hath dispatch'd To the sea side, and put his cause and quarrell To the disposing of the Cardinall, With whom your selfe, my selfe, and other Lords, If you thinke meete, this afternoone will poast To consummate this businesse happily

Bast. Let it be so, and you my noble Prince, With other Princes that may best be spar'd, Shall waite vpon your Fathers Funerall

Hen. At Worster must his bodie be interr'd, For so he will'd it

Bast. Thither shall it then, And happily may your sweet selfe put on The lineall state, and glorie of the Land, To whom with all submission on my knee, I do bequeath my faithfull seruices And true subiection euerlastingly

Sal. And the like tender of our loue wee make To rest without a spot for euermore

Hen. I haue a kinde soule, that would giue thankes, And knowes not how to do it, but with teares

Bast. Oh let vs pay the time: but needfull woe, Since it hath beene before hand with our greefes. This England neuer did, nor neuer shall Lye at the proud foote of a Conqueror, But when it first did helpe to wound it selfe. Now, these her Princes are come home againe, Come the three corners of the world in Armes, And we shall shocke them: Naught shall make vs rue, If England to it selfe, do rest but true.

Exeunt.

The life and death of King Iohn.

The life and death of King Richard the Second

Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants.

King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou according to thy oath and band Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son: Heere to make good y boistrous late appeale, Which then our leysure would not let vs heare, Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I haue my Liege

King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him, If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice, Or worthily as a good subiect should On some knowne ground of treacherie in him

Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparant danger seene in him, Aym'd at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice

Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face, And frowning brow to brow, our selues will heare Th' accuser, and the accused, freely speake; High stomack'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire. Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray.

Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall My gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege

Mow. Each day still better others happinesse, Vntill the heauens enuying earths good hap, Adde an immortall title to your Crowne

King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs, As well appeareth by the cause you come, Namely, to appeale each other of high treason. Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech, In the deuotion of a subiects loue, Tendering the precious safetie of my Prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appealant to this Princely presence. Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee, And marke my greeting well: for what I speake, My body shall make good vpon this earth, Or my diuine soule answer it in heauen. Thou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to liue, Since the more faire and christall is the skie, The vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye: Once more, the more to aggrauate the note, With a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte, And wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue, What my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale: 'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine: The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this. Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be husht, and nought at all to say. First the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee, From giuing reines and spurres to my free speech, Which else would post, vntill it had return'd These tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat. Setting aside his high bloods royalty, And let him be no Kinsman to my Liege, I do defie him, and I spit at him, Call him a slanderous Coward, and a Villaine: Which to maintaine, I would allow him oddes, And meete him, were I tide to runne afoote, Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where euer Englishman durst set his foote. Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie, By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie

Bul. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming heere the kindred of a King, And lay aside my high bloods Royalty, Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except. If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take vp mine Honors pawne, then stoope. By that, and all the rites of Knight-hood else, Will I make good against thee arme to arme, What I haue spoken, or thou canst deuise

Mow. I take it vp, and by that sword I sweare, Which gently laid my Knight-hood on my shoulder, Ile answer thee in any faire degree, Or Chiualrous designe of knightly triall: And when I mount, aliue may I not light, If I be Traitor, or vniustly fight

King. What doth our Cosin lay to Mowbraies charge? It must be great that can inherite vs, So much as of a thought of ill in him

Bul. Looke what I said, my life shall proue it true, That Mowbray hath receiu'd eight thousand Nobles, In name of lendings for your Highnesse Soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false Traitor, and iniurious Villaine. Besides I say, and will in battaile proue, Or heere, or elsewhere to the furthest Verge That euer was suruey'd by English eye, That all the Treasons for these eighteene yeeres Complotted, and contriued in this Land, Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintaine Vpon his bad life, to make all this good. That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death, Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries, And consequently, like a Traitor Coward, Sluc'd out his innocent soule through streames of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries, (Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth) To me for iustice, and rough chasticement: And by the glorious worth of my discent, This arme shall do it, or this life be spent

King. How high a pitch his resolution soares: Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this? Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face, And bid his eares a little while be deafe, Till I haue told this slander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar

King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares, Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre, As he is but my fathers brothers sonne; Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour-neerenesse to our sacred blood, Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize The vn-stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule. He is our subiect (Mowbray) so art thou, Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow

Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest: Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice, Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers; The other part reseru'd I by consent, For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt, Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt, Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene: Now swallow downe that Lye. For Glousters death, I slew him not; but (to mine owne disgrace) Neglected my sworne duty in that case: For you my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable Father to my foe, Once I did lay an ambush for your life, A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule: But ere I last receiu'd the Sacrament, I did confesse it, and exactly begg'd Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd, It issues from the rancour of a Villaine, A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor, Which in my selfe I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurle downe my gage Vpon this ouer-weening Traitors foote, To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman, Euen in the best blood chamber'd in his bosome. In hast whereof, most heartily I pray Your Highnesse to assigne our Triall day

King. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me: Let's purge this choller without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no Physition, Deepe malice makes too deepe incision. Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed, Our Doctors say, This is no time to bleed. Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun, Wee'l calme the Duke of Norfolke; you, your son