The Same. A Room of State in the Palace. |
| |
Enter KING JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords. The KING takes his state. |
| K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, |
| And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. |
| Pem. 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. |
| Sal. 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. |
| Pem. 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. |
| Sal. 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. |
| Pem. 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. |
| Sal. To this effect, before you were newcrown'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. |
| K. 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. |
| Pem. 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 |
| The 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. |
| |
Enter HUBERT. |
| K. John. Let it be so: I do commit his youth |
| To your direction. Hubert, what news with you? [Taking him apart. |
| Pem. 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 |
| Does 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. |
| Sal. 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. |
| Pem. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence |
| The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. |
| K. 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 to-night. |
| Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure. |
| Pem. 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. |
| K. 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? |
| Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame |
| That greatness should so grossly offer it: |
| So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell. |
| Pem. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee, |
| And find the 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. [Exeunt Lords. |
| K. John. They burn in indignation. I repent: |
| There is no sure foundation set on blood, |
| No certain life achiev'd by others' death. |
| |
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? |
| Mess. 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 come that they are all arriv'd. |
| K. 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? |
| Mess. 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. |
| K. 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? |
| Mess. Under the Dauphin. |
| K. John. Thou hast made me giddy |
| With these ill tidings. |
| |
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. |
| Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, |
| Then let the worst unheard fall on your head. |
| K. 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. |
| Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, |
| The sums I have collected shall express. |
| But as I travell'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 rimes, |
| That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, |
| Your highness should deliver up your crown. |
| K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? |
| Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. |
| K. 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. [Exit HUBERT, with PETER. |
| O my gentle cousin, |
| Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? |
| Bast. 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 to-night |
| On your suggestion. |
| K. John. Gentle kinsman, go, |
| And thrust thyself into their companies. |
| I have a way to win their loves again; |
| Bring them before me. |
| Bast. I will seek them out. |
| K. 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. |
| Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. |
| K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. [Exit BASTARD. |
| Go after him; for he perhaps shall need |
| Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; |
| And be thou he. |
| Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. |
| K. John. My mother dead! |
| |
Re-enter HUBERT. |
| Hub. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night: |
| Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about |
| The other four in wondrous motion. |
| K. John. Five moons! |
| Hub. 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. |
| K. 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. |
| Hub. No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me? |
| K. 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. |
| Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. |
| K. 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 |
| Makes ill deeds 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 villany, |
| 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. |
| Hub. My lord,— |
| K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause |
| When I spake darkly what I purposed, |
| 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 this fleshly land, |
| This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, |
| Hostility and civil tumult reigns |
| Between my conscience and my cousin's death. |
| Hub. 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. |
| K. 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. [Exeunt. |
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