Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Hub. Do not prove me so; Yet I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. Pem. Cut him to pieces.

Bast.

Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

Bast. 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.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon-
bridge?

Second a villain, and a murderer?

Who kill'd this prince?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Hub. '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. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villany 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 The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house, For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

out.

Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us [Exeunt Lords. Bast. 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.

Hub.

Do but bear me, sir.

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;

Thou art 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.

Hub. Upon my soul,
Bast.

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 would'st 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.

Hub. 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.

Bast.
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 the teeth
The unowed 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.
[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH with the Crown, and Attendants.

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory.

Pand.

Take again [Giving JOHN the Crown. From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. 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 medicine must be minister'd,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. 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 blustering 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.
[Exit.
K. 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.
Enter the Bastard.

Bast. 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.
K. John. Would not my lords return to me
again,

After they heard young Arthur was alive?
Bast. 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.

K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live.

Bast. 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 further from the doors;
And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh.
K. John. The legate of the pope hath been
with me,

And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.

Bast.

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. K.John. Have thou the ordering of this present time.

Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet, I

know,

Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, Melun, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Soldiers.

Lew. 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.

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
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; 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 physick 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