prompt:
Chapter: ACT II. SCENE 1.

France. Before the walls of Angiers.

[Enter, on one side, the ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA and Forces; on the
other, PHILIP, King of France, LOUIS, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and
Forces.]

KING PHILIP.
Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.--
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart,
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave duke came early to his grave:
And, for amends to his posterity,
At our importance hither is he come
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John:
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

ARTHUR.
God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
The rather that you give his offspring life,
Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
But with a heart full of unstained love,--
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

LOUIS.
A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

AUSTRIA.
Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love,--
That to my home I will no more return,
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders,--
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,--
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

CONSTANCE.
O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
To make a more requital to your love!

AUSTRIA.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.

KING PHILIP.
Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town.--
Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
To cull the plots of best advantages:
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE.
Stay for an answer to your embassy,
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood:
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

KING PHILIP.
A wonder, lady!--lo, upon thy wish,
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.

[Enter CHATILLON.]

What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

CHATILLON.
Then turn your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I;
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen,
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
With her her neice, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd:
And all the unsettled humours of the land,--
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,--
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
Did never float upon the swelling tide
To do offence and scathe in Christendom.

[Drums beat within.]

The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;
To parley or to fight: therefore prepare.

KING PHILIP.
How much unlook'd-for is this expedition!

AUSTRIA.
By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occasion:
Let them be welcome, then; we are prepar'd.

[Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
PEMBROKE, Lords, and Forces.]

KING JOHN.
Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
Our just and lineal entrance to our own!
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heaven!

KING PHILIP.
Peace be to England, if that war return
From France to England, there to live in peace!
England we love; and for that England's sake
With burden of our armour here we sweat.
This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
But thou from loving England art so far
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,
Cut off the sequence of posterity,
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face:--
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
This little abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
And this his son; England was Geffrey's right,
And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God,
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?

KING JOHN.
From whom hast thou this great commission, France,
To draw my answer from thy articles?

KING PHILIP.
From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority,
To look into the blots and stains of right.
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy:
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong;
And by whose help I mean to chastise it.

KING JOHN.
Alack, thou dost usurp authority.

KING PHILIP.
Excus,--it is to beat usurping down.

ELINOR.
Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?

CONSTANCE.
Let me make answer;--thy usurping son.

ELINOR.
Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king,
That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world!

CONSTANCE.
My bed was ever to thy son as true
As thine was to thy husband; and this boy
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey
Than thou and John in manners,--being as like
As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think
His father never was so true begot:
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.

ELINOR.
There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.

CONSTANCE.
There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

AUSTRIA.
Peace!

BASTARD.
Hear the crier.

AUSTRIA.
What the devil art thou?

BASTARD.
One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard:
I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;
Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.

BLANCH.
O, well did he become that lion's robe
That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

BASTARD.
It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides' shows upon an ass:--
But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back,
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

AUSTRIA.
What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?

KING PHILIP.
Louis, determine what we shall do straight.

LOUIS.
Women and fools, break off your conference.--
King John, this is the very sum of all,--
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee:
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms?

KING JOHN.
My life as soon:--I do defy thee, France.
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand;
And out of my dear love, I'll give thee more
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
Submit thee, boy.

ELINOR.
Come to thy grandam, child.

CONSTANCE.
Do, child, go to it' grandam, child;
Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
There's a good grandam!

ARTHUR.
Good my mother, peace!
I would that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that's made for me.

ELINOR.
His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.

CONSTANCE.
Now, shame upon you, whe'er she does or no!
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee:
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd
To do him justice, and revenge on you.

ELINOR.
Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!

CONSTANCE.
Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!
Call not me slanderer: thou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights,
Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eldest son's son,
Infortunate in nothing but in thee:
Thy sins are visited in this poor child;
The canon of the law is laid on him,
Being but the second generation
Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.

KING JOHN.
Bedlam, have done.

CONSTANCE.
I have but this to say,--
That he is not only plagued for her sin,
But God hath made her sin and her the plague
On this removed issue, plagu'd for her
And with her plague, her sin; his injury
Her injury,--the beadle to her sin;
All punish'd in the person of this child,
And all for her: a plague upon her!

ELINOR.
Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son.

CONSTANCE.
Ay, who doubts that? a will, a wicked will;
A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will!

KING PHILIP.
Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate:
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
To these ill-tuned repetitions.--
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

[Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls.]

FIRST CITIZEN.
Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?

KING PHILIP.
 'Tis France, for England.

KING JOHN.
England for itself:--
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,--

KING PHILIP.
You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects,
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.

KING JOHN.
For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of your town,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement;

The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:
All preparation for a bloody siege
And merciless proceeding by these French
Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates;
And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones
That as a waist doth girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,--
Who, painfully, with much expedient march,
Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
To save unscratch'd your city's threatn'd cheeks,--
Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle;
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,
To make a faithless error in your ears:
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,
And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits,
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Craves harbourage within your city-walls.

KING PHILIP.
When I have said, make answer to us both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son to the elder brother of this man,
And king o'er him and all that he enjoys:
For this down-trodden equity we tread
In war-like march these greens before your town;
Being no further enemy to you
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressed child
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that duty which you truly owe
To him that owes it, namely, this young prince:
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up;
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire,
With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd,
We will bear home that lusty blood again
Which here we came to spout against your town,
And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war,
Though all these English, and their discipline,
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord
In that behalf which we have challeng'd it?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
And stalk in blood to our possession?

FIRST CITIZEN.
In brief: we are the King of England's subjects:
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

KING JOHN.
Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

CITIZEN.
That can we not; but he that proves the king,
To him will we prove loyal: till that time
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

KING JOHN.
Doth not the crown of England prove the king?
And if not that, I bring you witnesses,
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,--

BASTARD.
Bastards, and else.

KING JOHN.
To verify our title with their lives.

KING PHILIP.
As many and as well-born bloods as those,--

BASTARD.
Some bastards too.

KING PHILIP.
Stand in his face, to contradict his claim.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

KING JOHN.
Then God forgive the sin of all those souls
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

KING PHILIP.
Amen, Amen!--Mount, chevaliers; to arms!

BASTARD.
Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
Sits on his horse' back at mine hostess' door,
Teach us some fence!--Sirrah [To AUSTRIA.], were I at home,
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,
I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
And make a monster of you.

AUSTRIA.
Peace! no more.

BASTARD.
O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar.

KING JOHN.
Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth
In best appointment all our regiments.

BASTARD.
Speed, then, to take advantage of the field.

KING PHILIP.
It shall be so;--[To LOUIS.] and at the other hill
Command the rest to stand.--God and our right!

[Exeunt severally.]

[After excursions, enter a French Herald, with trumpets, to the
gates.]

FRENCH HERALD.
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates
And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground;
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French,
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours.

[Enter an ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpets.]

ENGLISH HERALD.
Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day:
Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
There stuck no plume in any English crest
That is removed by a staff of France,
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd forth;
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes:
Open your gates and give the victors way.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Heralds, from off our towers, we might behold,
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured:
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows;
Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power:
Both are alike, and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
We hold our town for neither; yet for both.

[Enter, on one side, KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, and
Forces; at the other, KING PHILIP, LOUIS, AUSTRIA, and Forces.]

KING JOHN.
France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
Say, shall the current of our right run on?
Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell
With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean.

KING PHILIP.
England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood
In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: and by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead,
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

BASTARD.
Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
In undetermin'd differences of kings.--
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace: till then, blows, blood, and death!

KING JOHN.
Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

KING PHILIP.
Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king?

FIRST CITIZEN.
The King of England, when we know the king.

KING PHILIP.
Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

KING JOHN.
In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

FIRST CITIZEN.
A greater power than we denies all this;
And till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd,
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.

BASTARD.
By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul'd by me:--
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours once again:
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion,
To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks it not something of the policy?

KING JOHN.
Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well.--France, shall we knit our powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground;
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

BASTARD.
An if thou hast the mettle of a king,--
Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town,--
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
Why then defy each other, and, pell-mell,
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell!

KING PHILIP.
Let it be so.--Say, where will you assault?

KING JOHN.
We from the west will send destruction
Into this city's bosom.

AUSTRIA.
I from the north.

KING PHILIP.
Our thunder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

BASTARD.
O prudent discipline! From north to south,--
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:
I'll stir them to it.[Aside.]--Come, away, away!

FIRST CITIZEN.
Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,
And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league;
Win you this city without stroke or wound;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds
That here come sacrifices for the field:
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

KING JOHN.
Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.

FIRST CITIZEN.
That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,
Is niece to England:--look upon the years
Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid:
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in search of virtue,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,
Is the young Dauphin every way complete,--
If not complete of, say he is not she;
And she again wants nothing, to name want,
If want it be not, that she is not he:
He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such a she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
O, two such silver currents, when they join
Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates; for at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance; but without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion; no, not Death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory
As we to keep this city.

BASTARD.
Here's a stay
That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death
Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon,--fire and smoke and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.

ELINOR.
Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough;
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France;
Mark how they whisper: urge them while their souls
Are capable of this ambition,
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

KING PHILIP.
Speak England first, that hath been forward first
To speak unto this city: what say you?

KING JOHN.
If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea,--
Except this city now by us besieg'd,--
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,
As she in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hand with any princess of the world.

KING PHILIP.
What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face.

LOUIS.
I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;
Which, being but the shadow of your son,
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow:
I do protest I never lov'd myself
Till now infixed I beheld myself
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Whispers with BLANCH.]

BASTARD.
[Aside.] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!--
  Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,
And quarter'd in her heart!--he doth espy
  Himself love's traitor! This is pity now,
That, hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be
In such a love so vile a lout as he.

BLANCH.
My uncle's will in this respect is mine.
If he see aught in you that makes him like,
That anything he sees, which moves his liking
I can with ease translate it to my will;
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further, I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love,
Than this,--that nothing do I see in you,
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge,--
That I can find should merit any hate.

KING JOHN.
What say these young ones?--What say you, my niece?

BLANCH.
That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

KING JOHN.
Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?

LOUIS.
Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.

KING JOHN.
Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
With her to thee; and this addition more,
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.--
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

KING PHILIP.
It likes us well.--Young princes, close your hands.

AUSTRIA.
And your lips too; for I am well assur'd
That I did so when I was first assur'd.

KING PHILIP.
Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made;
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.--
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
I know she is not; for this match made up
Her presence would have interrupted much:
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

LOUIS.
She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent.

KING PHILIP.
And, by my faith, this league that we have made
Will give her sadness very little cure.--
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady? In her right we came;
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.

KING JOHN.
We will heal up all;
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of.--Call the Lady Constance:
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity:--I trust we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us,
To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.

[Exeunt all but the BASTARD. The Citizens retire from the Walls.]

BASTARD.
Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;
And France,--whose armour conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own soldier,--rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil;
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith;
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,--
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,--
Commodity, the bias of the world;
The world, who of itself is peised well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this same bias, this commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.--
And why rail I on this commodity?
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute my palm;
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail,
And say, There is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, There is no vice but beggary:
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord!--for I will worship thee.

[Exit.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The second act of the play starts in France, in front of the city of Angers. At this point in history, Angers was the property of the King of England. An army led by King Philip of France is getting ready to storm Angers and take it by force. The following people are also ready to rumble: Austria , Louis , Arthur , Arthur's mom Constance, and the soldiers under their command. By the way, the Duke of Austria is wearing the dead King Richard I's lion-skin coat. More on this in a minute. King Philip starts off by saying something like this to young Arthur: "Listen, kid. We all know that Austria killed your uncle, Richard the Lionheart. But you need to forgive him and give him a hug because we're all on the same side now." Brain Snack: In real life, Austria didn't kill Richard. The King was shot by some dude with a crossbow during the siege of a castle in France. Arthur forgives Austria and says that God forgives him, too, especially now that he's agreed to devote all his time and energy to making Arthur the king of England. Austria adds that heaven is totally on their side in this "just and charitable war." Hmm. We wonder what the people of Angers think of this theory. Constance, Arthur's mom, thanks Austria for sticking up for her little boy, who doesn't have the "strength" to stick up for himself. King Philip is about to let his soldiers open fire on Angers, but Constance stops him and asks him to wait and see if King John will give up the city peacefully. At that very moment, in walks Chatillon. He tells everyone that he had trouble leaving England because of bad weather. By the time he was able to set sail, King John had his whole army in gear. In fact, says Chatillon, King John and his army are in France already, and headed for Angers. Uh-oh! Just then, lo and behold, in walks the whole English crew: King John, Queen Eleanor, Blanche of Spain, the Bastard, and the English army. Some very formal and polite trash talk ensues. King John is all, "Peace to France... if they back the heck off and don't make any claims to my land or my crown." King Philip is all, "Hey, I totally love England. That's why I brought all these soldiers here with me. By the way, John, you don't love England, because you stole the crown from its rightful king--little Arthur." Gee. It doesn't look like anyone's going to be signing a peace treaty in the near future, does it? Then a nasty little fight breaks out between Queen Eleanor and Constance. The sight of his mom and grandma fighting makes Arthur cry. Eleanor and Constance both accuse the other of cheating on their husbands and giving birth to "bastards." Things get all Jerry Springer when the Bastard jumps into the fray, and starts insulting Austria, who's running around in the lion-skin coat that used to belong to the Bastard's biological dad. The Bastard threatens to kill Austria. Get your highlighters out, because this is important. At this point, King Philip repeats his demand to King John. Now he is speaking as if he wants to take control of England, on Arthur's behalf. King John refuses and tells Arthur to swear allegiance to him. This prompts another war of words between Queen Eleanor and Constance, who are all, "Your son is a bastard," and "No, your son is a bastard." Psst. Go to "Symbols: Mothers" if you want to know what this is all about. Finally, King Philip says that the people of Angers should get to decide who should be their king: Arthur or John. One of the citizens of Angers, a guy named Hubert, comes out onto the wall to hear each king's case. King John speaks first. He tells Hubert that, unlike the French, who really want to destroy Angers and are only pretending to like it, he, John, wants to save it. Therefore, Angers should let him and his army inside the city ASAP. King Philip speaks next. He says that his cause is legitimate, because he is fighting on behalf of the rightful king, Arthur. King Philip also says that, if Angers doesn't accept Arthur as their king, the French army will completely destroy the city--even if the whole English army is inside it. At the end of the two speeches, Hubert says that Angers will always be loyal to the King of England. The problem is, they don't know who the King of England is right now: John or Arthur. The good people of Angers are just going to hang out and see what happens. They'll swear allegiance to whoever wins the battle. The two kings are up for this. After trading some more insults, they head back to their armies. Soon, the English and the French are going toe-to-toe. When the battle quiets down, the French herald appears in front of the walls and is all, "We just kicked the English army's butt. Time for you to surrender to Arthur." About two seconds later, the English herald shows up and tells the citizens of Angers to surrender to King John, because England has won the battle. Hubert reappears on the city's battlements. He says something like, "Yeah, we can't figure out who just won the battle, so we're not declaring our loyalty to anybody just yet." At this point, King John and King Philip each come back onstage, surrounded by their cronies. Now the two kings start arguing over who won. As you might expect, they don't come to an agreement. Hubert continues to refuse to open the city gates. The Bastard now speaks up and suggests a solution. "Hey, King John! Hey, King Philip! Why don't you guys join forces and destroy this annoying city. Then, once you've done that, you can fight with each other and settle this once and for all." The two kings think this is an awesome idea and are about to go rearrange their armies, when they suddenly hear Hubert calling out to them from the walls. Hubert's got an even better idea. He thinks that Blanche of Spain, King John's niece, should marry Louis, King Philip's son. According to the old custom of political marriages, this would create an alliance between France and England. Queen Eleanor encourages King John to go for the deal. She hints that, if King Philip's son stands to benefit from the marriage, he won't be that interested in helping young Arthur pick a fight with King John. After some more prodding from Hubert, King John speaks up. He tells King Philip that he is willing to offer Blanche's hand in marriage. To sweeten the deal, he offers to throw in, as dowry, some territories he owns: Anjou, Touraine, Maine, and Poitiers--the very same territories that King Philip was demanding for Arthur. King Philip seems interested; he asks Louis to take a look at Blanche and sum her up. Louis takes a look and likes what he sees--himself, reflected in Blanche's eyes. As for Blanche, she says that, even if Louis doesn't knock her socks off, she doesn't see any reason hate him. With some prodding from King John, Louis and Blanche agree to the match. King Philip commands the citizens of Angers to open their gates to let in the wedding party. Just as they are about to go in, King Philip realizes that Constance has disappeared. Louis tells him that she is off crying. King Philip figures that it must be because he broke his promise to young Arthur. Hearing this, King John offers to patch things up: he will make Arthur Duke of Britain , and Earl of Richmond, and he will give him Angers. After these words, everybody heads inside the town. The only one left onstage in the Bastard. The Bastard makes a cynical speech--he can't believe these scumbag politicians. The Bastard goes off about how King John was willing to give away part of his kingdom in order to keep Arthur from getting all of it--and how King Philip was willing to stop helping Arthur in order to secure a good deal for his son. The Bastard argues that these acts of betrayal go to show that "commodity" is what makes the world go round. By "commodity," the Bastard means self-interest, the desire for personal gain. The Bastard rounds off his speech by saying that he is only complaining about the corrupt ways of the world because he hasn't gotten rich yet. Once he's rich, he'll think the worst people are the poor. The Bastard ends his speech by praying to become rich.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT III. SCENE 1.

France. The FRENCH KING'S tent.

[Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY.]

CONSTANCE.
Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood join'd! gone to be friends!
Shall Louis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces?
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:
It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;
I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man:
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick and capable of fears;
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again,--not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

SALISBURY.
As true as I believe you think them false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.

CONSTANCE.
O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which in the very meeting fall and die!--
Louis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?
France friend with England! what becomes of me?--
Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

SALISBURY.
What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?

CONSTANCE.
Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

ARTHUR.
I do beseech you, madam, be content.

CONSTANCE.
If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy,
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great:
Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to Fortune and king John--
That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!--
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.

SALISBURY.
Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the kings.

CONSTANCE.
Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee:
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

[Seats herself on the ground.]

[Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LOUIS, BLANCH, ELINOR, BASTARD,
AUSTRIA, and attendants.]

KING PHILIP.
 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day
Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day the glorious sun
Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course that brings this day about
Shall never see it but a holiday.

CONSTANCE.
[Rising.] A wicked day, and not a holy day!
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done
That it in golden letters should be set
Among the high tides in the calendar?
Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd:
But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;
No bargains break that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end,--
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

KING PHILIP.
By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day.
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?

CONSTANCE.
You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried,
Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn:
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league.--
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings!
A widow cries: be husband to me, heavens!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
Hear me, O, hear me!

AUSTRIA.
Lady Constance, peace!

CONSTANCE.
War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.
O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
Thou little valiant, great in villainy!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety!--thou art perjur'd too,
And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp. and swear
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs!

AUSTRIA.
O that a man should speak those words to me!

BASTARD.
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA.
Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.

BASTARD.
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

KING JOHN.
We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.

KING PHILIP.
Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.

[Enter PANDULPH.]

PANDULPH.
Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!--
To thee, King John, my holy errand is.
I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
Do in his name religiously demand
Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
This, in our foresaid holy father's name,
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

KING JOHN.
What earthly name to interrogatories
Can task the free breath of a sacred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,
To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England
Add thus much more,--that no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions:
But as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
So tell the pope, all reverence set apart
To him and his usurp'd authority.

KING PHILIP.
Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.

KING JOHN.
Though you and all the kings of Christendom
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
Who in that sale sells pardon from himself;
Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.

PANDULPH.
Then by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate:
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,
That takes away by any secret course
Thy hateful life.

CONSTANCE.
O, lawful let it be
That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!
Good father Cardinal, cry thou amen
To my keen curses: for without my wrong
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

PANDULPH.
There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.

CONSTANCE.
And for mine too: when law can do no right,
Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here;
For he that holds his kingdom holds the law:
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?

PANDULPH.
Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,
And raise the power of France upon his head,
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

ELINOR.
Look'st thou pale, France; do not let go thy hand.

CONSTANCE
Look to that, devil; lest that France repent
And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.

AUSTRIA.
King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

BASTARD.
And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.

AUSTRIA.
Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,
Because--

BASTARD.
Your breeches best may carry them.

KING JOHN.
Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

CONSTANCE.
What should he say, but as the cardinal?

LOUIS.
Bethink you, father; for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend:
Forgo the easier.

BLANCH.
That's the curse of Rome.

CONSTANCE.
O Louis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here
In likeness of a new uptrimmed bride.

BLANCH.
The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,
But from her need.

CONSTANCE.
O, if thou grant my need,
Which only lives but by the death of faith,
That need must needs infer this principle,--
That faith would live again by death of need!
O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up;
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!

KING JOHN.
The king is mov'd, and answers not to this.

CONSTANCE.
O be remov'd from him, and answer well!

AUSTRIA.
Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

BASTARD.
Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP.
I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

PANDULPH.
What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more,
If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?

KING PHILIP.
Good reverend father, make my person yours,
And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and link'd together
With all religious strength of sacred vows;
The latest breath that gave the sound of words
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;
And even before this truce, but new before,--
No longer than we well could wash our hands,
To clap this royal bargain up of peace,--
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd
With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings:
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,
Make such unconstant children of ourselves,
As now again to snatch our palm from palm;
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage-bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity? O, holy sir.
My reverend father, let it not be so!
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose,
Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.

PANDULPH.
All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church,
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,--
A mother's curse,--on her revolting son.
France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP.
I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

PANDULPH.
So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath,
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,--
That is, to be the champion of our church.
What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself
And may not be performed by thyself:
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
Is not amiss when it is truly done;
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then most done not doing it:
The better act of purposes mistook
Is to mistake again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
It is religion that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion,
By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st;
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: the truth thou art unsure
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn;
Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore thy latter vows against thy first
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
And better conquest never canst thou make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them; but if not, then know
The peril of our curses fight on thee,
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
But in despair die under the black weight.

AUSTRIA.
Rebellion, flat rebellion!

BASTARD.
Will't not be?
Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?

LOUIS.
Father, to arms!

BLANCH.
Upon thy wedding-day?
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,--
Clamours of hell,--be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me!--ay, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth!--even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.

CONSTANCE.
O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven.

BLANCH.
Now shall I see thy love: what motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

CONSTANCE.
That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour:--O, thine honour, Louis, thine honour!

LOUIS.
I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.

PANDULPH.
I will denounce a curse upon his head.

KING PHILIP.
Thou shalt not need.--England, I will fall from thee.

CONSTANCE.
O fair return of banish'd majesty!

ELINOR.
O foul revolt of French inconstancy!

KING JOHN.
France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.

BASTARD.
Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
Is it as he will? well, then, France shall rue.

BLANCH.
The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!
Which is the side that I must go withal?
I am with both: each army hath a hand;
And in their rage, I having hold of both,
They whirl asunder and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive:
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss before the match be play'd.

LOUIS.
Lady, with me: with me thy fortune lies.

BLANCH.
There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.

KING JOHN.
Cousin, go draw our puissance together.--

[Exit BASTARD.]

France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath;
A rage whose heat hath this condition,
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,--
The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France.

KING PHILIP.
Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.

KING JOHN.
No more than he that threats.--To arms let's hie!

[Exeunt severally.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In walk all the shiny, happy people, holding hands: King John and King Philip, accompanied by Louis, Blanche, Queen Eleanor, the Bastard, Austria, and all their attendants. The Kings are so tickled with the arranged marriage they've, well...arranged, that they are, quite literally, holding hands. King Philip makes a toast about what a wonderful, holy day it is. That gets Constance off her tuffet. She stands up and tells everybody within shouting distance that it's actually a "wicked day," not a "holy day." Major party faux pas. King Philip tells her to pipe down. After all, they gave Arthur a bunch of land so he could be Duke of One Place and Earl of Something Else. But Constance won't have it. Next she starts in on Austria, accusing him of being a coward. Austria is miffed, especially when the Bastard starts rubbing it in. King John steps in to keep the peace--but that ends up being unnecessary. Just then, in walks somebody who makes everyone shut up: Cardinal Pandolf, an ambassador from the Pope. Pandolf asks King John why he refuses to support the Pope's choice for the next Archbishop of Canterbury. Time for a history snack to go with that wedding cake. In 1207, King John had an argument with Pope Innocent III. The problem was that the Pope wanted a friend of his, Stephen Langton, to become Archbishop of Canterbury, but John wanted another guy, John de Gray, Bishop of Norwich. Now, back to the play. So, being an obedient monarch who does whatever the Church says, King John is now going to back down and tell the Pope he's sorry, right? WRONG. Instead, King John makes a speech about how the Pope has absolutely no right to meddle in any king's affairs, because a king is appointed by God to rule over his kingdom. By this line of reasoning, everybody else--including the Pope--should just butt out. Brain Snack: Here, King John refers to a political theory called "divine right." The theory just says that kings have a god-given right to rule because God has hand-picked them to be monarchs. Shakespeare's kings are always running around citing this theory so other people won't try to boss them around or bump them off the throne. King John says he's not going to let some lame "Italian priest" meddle in English affairs. King Philip goes, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, King John! You can't talk smack about the Pope!" But King John doesn't listen. He says the Church is corrupt, and he couldn't care less if he's booted out of the Church. In response, Pandolf goes, "Fine. King John, you're excommunicated." Not only that, but Pandolf says that the Church will be super pleased with anybody who kills John. Brain Snack: This probably reminded the play's original audience of Shakespeare's monarch, Queen Elizabeth I. In 1570, Elizabeth was excommunicated by Pope Pius V, who wanted a Catholic monarch on England's throne. Then, in 1580, Pope Gregory XIII made a big announcement that if someone wanted to go ahead and kill Elizabeth, it wouldn't be a sin. Constance takes this as an opportunity to curse King John a bit more. Now Pandolf tells King Philip to break up his alliance with King John. There is some confusing back and forth, as different sides try to pull King Philip one way or the other. Louis, Austria, and Constance are trying to get him to break up his alliance with King John. Blanche, Eleanor, and King John want him to keep it. Philip has a hard time making up his mind. And so, he turns to Pandolf again, and makes a big speech about how his family and John's have just become one through the marriage of Louis and Blanche. Not to mention the fact that they were at war with each other until, oh, maybe an hour ago? Is Pandolf really asking them to give this all up and break the peace? Pandolf says, "You bet I am." Then he tells King Philip that, if he doesn't make war against King John ASAP, he's going to end up on the Church's list of enemies. When Philip protests, Pandolf beats him over the head with an extremely long and complicated speech. This speech basically boils down to saying: you swore loyalty to the Church first; you can't be loyal to King John without being disloyal to the Church; therefore, you should honor your original agreement and break your ties with John. This same basic idea gets repeated several times in the speech, only in different language. When Pandolf is done talking, Austria and Louis encourage Philip to make war against King John. Blanche is shocked at Louis's attitude: is he really going to make war against his bride's family on their wedding day? Meanwhile, Constance tries to persuade Philip to go for it. Finally, King Philip announces that, fine, he won't be friends with King John anymore. Blanche is pretty bummed-- her divided loyalties mean that she will be grieving no matter how the battle turns out. After King John and King Philip spout some horrible threats at each other, each king heads back with his posse to his own army in order to get ready for battle.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

The same. Plains near Angiers

[Alarums. Excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA'S head.]

BASTARD.
Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;
Some airy devil hovers in the sky
And pours down mischief.--Austria's head lie there,
While Philip breathes.

[Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT.]

KING JOHN.
Hubert, keep this boy.--Philip, make up:
My mother is assailed in our tent,
And ta'en, I fear.

BASTARD.
My lord, I rescu'd her;
Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
But on, my liege; for very little pains
Will bring this labour to an happy end.

[Exeunt.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: When this scene begins, King John's army is going toe-to-toe with King Philip's forces near Angers, France. Then the Bastard strolls in, casually holding Austria's head, which he has just lopped off. The Bastard complains that it's kind of hot outside and then puts Austria's head on the ground and tells us it's a shame that King Philip is still alive. Then, in walk King John, Hubert, and Arthur. John has taken little Arthur prisoner. King John tells Hubert to look after the little brat because he's got other things to worry about. The Bastard goes, "Don't worry, I rescued her." Everyone leaves the stage and the battle continues.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

The same.

[Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR,
the BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS.]

KING JOHN.
[To ELINOR] So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind,
So strongly guarded.--
[To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad;
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.

ARTHUR.
O, this will make my mother die with grief!

KING JOHN.
Cousin [To the BASTARD], away for England; haste before:
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; imprison'd angels
Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
Use our commission in his utmost force.

BASTARD.
Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness.--Grandam, I will pray,--
If ever I remember to be holy,--
For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.

ELINOR.
Farewell, gentle cousin.

KING JOHN.
Coz, farewell.

[Exit BASTARD.]

ELINOR.
Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

[She takes Arthur aside.]

KING JOHN.
Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,--
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.

HUBERT.
I am much bounden to your majesty.

KING JOHN.
Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet:
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say,--but let it go:
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds
To give me audience:--if the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment--
A passion hateful to my purposes;--
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words,--
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But, ah, I will not!--yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

HUBERT.
So well that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.

KING JOHN.
Do not I know thou wouldst?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me: dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

HUBERT.
And I'll keep him so
That he shall not offend your majesty.

KING JOHN.
Death.

HUBERT.
My lord?

KING JOHN.
A grave.

HUBERT.
He shall not live.

KING JOHN.
Enough!--
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.--Madam, fare you well:
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

ELINOR.
My blessing go with thee!

KING JOHN.
For England, cousin, go:
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.--On toward Calais, ho!

[Exeunt.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: King John and his posse come back on stage. Now Eleanor is with them. Arthur is still being held prisoner by King John's men. King John tells Arthur not to worry: he'll take good care of him. Next, King John tells the Bastard to go to England and plunder the riches of all the monasteries. The Bastard leaves to do his job. At this point, Eleanor calls Arthur over to her side to have a chat with him. This leaves King John free to have a private chat with Hubert. King John starts off by telling Hubert that he owes him one. Hubert says, "Hey, no problem." Then King John starts acting weird. He says he wants to say something to Hubert, but he can't, because the time isn't right. If it were a dark, gloomy night, and they were standing in a graveyard, then the atmosphere would be right. Hubert is all, "You can trust me, King John. I'm your loyal subject." King John says something like "You see that little brat over there? He's like a little snake that's always in my way. You know what I'm sayin', Hubert? I sure wish someone would take care of him for me." Hubert gets the hint, but then King John can't resist stating the obvious: he tells Hubert that he wants the kid dead and buried ASAP. Hubert says, "No problem." With that out of the way, King John announces that now he can be "merry," and he gets ready to leave. King John says goodbye to his mom and tells Arthur not to worry: Uncle Hubert's going to take really good care of him. Then they all leave the stage. History Snack: Shakespeare's Queen Elizabeth I signed the death warrant of her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots in 1587, just a few short years before Shakespeare wrote King John. Mary was involved in a plot to kill Elizabeth, who was standing between her and the English throne.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

The same. The FRENCH KING's tent.

[Enter KING PHILIP, LOUIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.]

KING PHILIP.
So, by a roaring tempest on the flood
A whole armado of convicted sail
Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship.

PANDULPH.
Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.

KING PHILIP.
What can go well, when we have run so ill.
Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

LOUIS.
What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example: who hath read or heard
Of any kindred action like to this?

KING PHILIP.
Well could I bear that England had this praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame.--
Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath.

[Enter CONSTANCE.]

I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

CONSTANCE.
Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!

KING PHILIP.
Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!

CONSTANCE.
No, I defy all counsel, all redress,
But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death:--O amiable lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy detestable bones;
And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,
And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,
O, come to me!

KING PHILIP.
O fair affliction, peace!

CONSTANCE.
No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:--
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation.

PANDULPH.
Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

CONSTANCE.
Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
I am not mad:--I would to heaven I were!
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!--
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
If I were mad I should forget my son,
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

KING PHILIP.
Bind up those tresses.--O, what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

CONSTANCE.
To England, if you will.

KING PHILIP.
Bind up your hairs.

CONSTANCE.
Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?
I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud,
'O that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!'
But now I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.--
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more!

PANDULPH.
You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE.
He talks to me that never had a son.

KING PHILIP.
You are as fond of grief as of your child.

CONSTANCE.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.--
I will not keep this form upon my head,

[Tearing off her head-dress.]

When there is such disorder in my wit.
O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

[Exit.]

KING PHILIP.
I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.]

LOUIS.
There's nothing in this world can make me joy:
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

PANDULPH.
Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave
On their departure most of all show evil;
What have you lost by losing of this day?

LOUIS.
All days of glory, joy, and happiness.

PANDULPH.
If you had won it, certainly you had.
No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won.
Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?

LouIS.
As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

PANDULPH.
Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd:
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall:
So be it, for it cannot be but so.

LOUIS.
But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

PANDULPH.
You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

LOUIS.
And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

PANDULPH.
How green you are, and fresh in this old world!
John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal,
That none so small advantage shall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the sky,
No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

LOUIS.
May be he will not touch young Arthur's life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

PANDULPH.
O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john.
Methinks I see this hurly all on foot:
And, O, what better matter breeds for you
Than I have nam'd!--The bastard Falconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity: if but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side:
Or as a little snow, tumbled about
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the king:--'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent,
Now that their souls are topful of offence:
For England go:--I will whet on the king.

LOUIS.
Strong reasons makes strong actions: let us go:
If you say ay, the king will not say no.

[Exeunt.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: At the beginning of this scene, King Philip, Louis, and Pandolf walk out onto the stage. King Philip is ticked off because his entire naval fleet has just been destroyed by a crazy storm. Brain Snack: This is a not-so-subtle shout-out to the Spanish Armada. You know, that giant naval fleet that tried to attack England in 1588 but got scattered by strong winds. More on Shakespeare's political shout-outs in "Themes: Memory and the Past." Pandolf tells King Philip to cheer up. King Philip thinks Pandolf is nuts. "Can't you see that everything's going bad for us? We lost the battle, we lost the city of Angers, and Arthur's been taken prisoner!" Louis the Dauphin agrees with his dad. Things aren't looking so great for the French. Just when things couldn't get any more depressing, in walks the most depressing sight of all: Constance, frantic and tearing out her hair because she's lost her little boy, Arthur. Ignoring everyone who tries to calm her down, Constance calls on Death to come for her. Constance offers to kiss Death's "detestable bones" and imagines placing her "eyeballs" in the skull of Death's corpse. Brain Snack: Some critics think Constance's famous speech was inspired by the death of Shakespeare's 11 year-old-son, Hamnet . But that's debatable, especially since the play may have been written as early as 1594. Pandolf tells Constance she's crazy. Constance lights up Pandolf for being insensitive and then threatens to kill herself. King Philip tells her that she loves her grief just as much as she loves her child. Constance replies that her grief is all she has left. Then she lets her hair down and says she's going crazy with grief. When Constance leaves the room, King Philip worries that she'll hurt herself, so he runs after her. That leaves Louis and Pandolf onstage. Louis is pretty bummed, but Pandolf tells him not to worry, because King John is definitely going to kill Arthur. Then, thanks to Louis's marriage to Blanche, Louis will be next in line to the English throne. Louis is worried that King John will come after him next, but Pandolf tells him not to worry, because 1) the English people aren't going to tolerate a guy who runs around snuffing out little kids, and 2) the English people aren't going to like the fact that King John has got the Bastard running around robbing all the churches. Pandolf encourages Louis to slap together some forces and invade England. Then Pandolf and Louis run off to get permission from Louis's dad to invade England.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT IV. SCENE 1.

Northampton. A Room in the Castle.

[Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.]

HUBERT.
Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

FIRST ATTENDANT.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

HUBERT.
Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to't.--

[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.]

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

[Enter ARTHUR.]

ARTHUR.
Good morrow, Hubert.

HUBERT.
Good morrow, little prince.

ARTHUR.
As little prince, having so great a tide
To be more prince, as may be.--You are sad.

HUBERT.
Indeed I have been merrier.

ARTHUR.
Mercy on me!
Methinks no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUBERT.
[Aside.] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden and despatch.

ARTHUR.
Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me.

HUBERT.
[Aside.] His words do take possession of my bosom.--
Read here, young Arthur.

[Showing a paper.]

[Aside.]  How now, foolish rheum!
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.--
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

ARTHUR.
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

HUBERT.
Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR.
And will you?

HUBERT.
And I will.

ARTHUR.
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,--
The best I had, a princess wrought it me,--
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
Many a poor man's son would have lien still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning.--do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must.--Will you put out mine eyes,
These eyes that never did nor never shall
So much as frown on you?

HUBERT.
I have sworn to do it!
And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR.
Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation,
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd him,--no tongue but Hubert's.

HUBERT.
[Stamps.]  Come forth.

[Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, &c.]

Do as I bid you do.

ARTHUR.
O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

HUBERT.
Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

ARTHUR.
Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert!--drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.

HUBERT.
Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

FIRST ATTENDANT.
I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.

[Exeunt Attendants.]

ARTHUR.
Alas, I then have chid away my friend!
He hath a stern look but a gentle heart:--
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

HUBERT.
Come, boy, prepare yourself.

ARTHUR.
Is there no remedy?

HUBERT.
None, but to lose your eyes.

ARTHUR.
O heaven!--that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

HUBERT.
Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

ARTHUR.
Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue,--let me not, Hubert;
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes,
Though to no use but still to look on you!--
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold
And would not harm me.

HUBERT.
I can heat it, boy.

ARTHUR.
No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd
In undeserv'd extremes: see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.

HUBERT.
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

ARTHUR.
An if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
Nay, it, perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office: only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

HUBERT.
Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.

ARTHUR.
O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
You were disguised.

HUBERT.
Peace; no more. Adieu!
Your uncle must not know but you are dead;
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

ARTHUR.
O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUBERT.
 Silence; no more: go closely in with me:
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

[Exeunt.]

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Act IV opens in a castle prison in England. Onstage is a brazier with some hot coals smoldering in it. Hubert comes on stage, along with some scary-looking executioners who are holding some rope and irons. Hubert tells the executioners to heat up the irons in the hot coals but he wants them to do this out of sight, behind the arras . You'd think this would be a fire hazard, but Hubert doesn't seem to mind. He just tells them to wait until they hear him stamp his foot; that will be their signal to run out and tie Arthur to a chair. One of the executioners says, "I sure hope you have the authority to do this." Hubert says, "Quit your whining. I've got it under control." The executioners go hide. Hubert calls out to Arthur. Arthur comes out on stage. As Arthur and Hubert chit chat, it becomes obvious that Hubert has sort of grown attached to little Arthur. In an aside , Hubert says that he'd better act quickly--otherwise his sense of pity will get the better of him. Arthur sees that Hubert's upset, and asks him what the matter is. Hubert shows Arthur a piece of paper: it is a warrant from the king, commanding Hubert to burn out Arthur's eyes. Arthur can't believe what he has just read. Hubert tells him the truth. Now Arthur says he can't believe Hubert would do it. Hubert says he will. Then Arthur reminds Hubert of how he took care of him when he was sick. But Hubert tries to act hard; he says he has sworn to blind Arthur, and therefore has to do it. Arthur can't believe that he will--he says that he doesn't even think the iron itself could do it , so how could Hubert do it? At that, Hubert stamps his foot, and the executioners come forward. He tells them to do what they agreed on. Arthur begs the executioners not to be so rough. Finally, Hubert tells the executioners to go away and leave him alone with Arthur. One of the executioners says he's glad to do so. Arthur begs Hubert to spare him. Hubert keeps saying that he won't. Arthur notices that the iron has gone cold and Hubert says he can heat it up. Arthur uses the iron as a metaphor for Hubert's own emotions; he claims that Hubert has lost his momentum, and doesn't have it in him any more to do the deed. Finally, without warning, Hubert says that he won't do it; he won't burn out Arthur's eyes. Hubert tells Arthur that he'll have to lie low for a while: no one can know that he's still alive.