Chapter: ACT V. SCENE 1.

Northampton. A Room in the Palace.

[Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH with the crown, and Attendants.]

KING JOHN.
Thus have I yielded up into your hand
The circle of my glory.

PANDULPH.
[Give KING JOHN the crown.]
Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN.
Now keep your holy word: go meet the French;
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches 'fore we are inflam'd.
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our people quarrel with obedience;
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not; for the present time's so sick
That present medicine must be ministr'd
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

PANDULPH.
It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope:
But since you are a gentle convertite,
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

[Exit.]

KING JOHN.
Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
Say that before Ascension-day at noon
My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
I did suppose it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

[Enter the BASTARD.]

BASTARD.
All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
But Dover Castle: London hath receiv'd,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN.
Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?

BASTARD.
They found him dead, and cast into the streets;
An empty casket, where the jewel of life
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

KING JOHN.
That villain Hubert told me he did live.

BASTARD.
So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviours from the great,
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister like the god of war
When he intendeth to become the field:
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said!--Forage, and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

KING JOHN.
The legate of the pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.

BASTARD.
O inglorious league!
Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms;
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
Or, if he do, let it at least be said
They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN.
Have thou the ordering of this present time.

BASTARD.
Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know
Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

[Exeunt.]




SCENE 2.

Near Saint Edmunds-bury. The French Camp.

[Enter, in arms, LOUIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and
soldiers.]

LOUIS.
My Lord Melun, let this be copied out
And keep it safe for our remembrance:
Return the precedent to these lords again;
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the sacrament,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

SALISBURY.
Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith
To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
By making many. O, it grieves my soul
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker! O, and there
Where honourable rescue and defence
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
But such is the infection of the time,
That, for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.--
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!
That we, the sons and children of this isle,
Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
Wherein we step after a stranger-march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks--I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforc'd cause--
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here?--O nation, that thou couldst remove!
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LOUIS.
A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enrag'd,
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself:--so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.--
And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath.

[Enter PANDULPH, attended.]

PANDULPH.
Hail, noble prince of France!
The next is this,--King John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church,
The great metropolis and see of Rome:
Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace
And be no further harmful than in show.

LOUIS.
Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at control,
Or useful serving-man and instrument
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? Is't not I
That undergo this charge? Who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To will this easy match, play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

PANDULPH.
You look but on the outside of this work.

LOUIS.
Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest, and to will renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.--

[Trumpet sounds.]

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

[Enter the BASTARD, attended.]

BASTARD.
According to the fair play of the world,
Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:--
My holy lord of Milan, from the king
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

PANDULPH.
The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD.
By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
The youth says well.--Now hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepar'd; and reason too he should:
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd masque and unadvised revel
This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;
To crouch in litter of your stable planks;
To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking this voice an armed Englishman;--
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
And like an eagle o'er his aery towers
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.--
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,--
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets chang'd,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

LOUIS.
There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

PANDULPH.
Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD.
No, I will speak.

LOUIS.
We will attend to neither.--
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD.
Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
And echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,--
Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,--
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LOUIS.
Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

BASTARD.
And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

[Exeunt.]




SCENE 3.

The same. The Field of Battle.

[Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.]

KING JOHN.
How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT.
Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN.
This fever that hath troubled me so long
Lies heavy on me;--O, my heart is sick!

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.
My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field
And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN.
Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

MESSENGER.
Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now:
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN.
Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up
And will not let me welcome this good news.--
Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

[Exeunt.]

 King John hands his crown ceremoniously over to Pandolf. Representing the authority of the pope, Pandolf returns the crown to John, signifying that John now rules at the permission of the pope. John urges Pandolf to keep his end of the bargain to convince the French to give up their attack. Pandolf departs. The Bastard enters to report the success of the French offensive. The French have won the countryside and are now in London, having been aided by John's nobles. John marvels that his nobles didn't return after Arthur was reported alive, but the Bastard reveals that Arthur was found dead. John falters, but the Bastard urges him to be strong and resolved in the face of these problems, and to be observed to be unshakable. But John reports that he has made a deal with Pandolf. The Bastard is upset to hear of this alliance and urges the king to fight. John permits the Bastard to take command of his forces. Louis the Dauphin marches with Salisbury, Pembroke, Lord Bigot, and the French Count Melun. Louis orders the agreement with the English lords to be written down for posterity. Salisbury assures Louis that they won't break with him, despite the strange fact that he and other sons of England have come to march with England's enemy. He pauses to weep for his nation and wishes he could escape having to witness two armies combine on its soil. Louis compliments Salisbury on his noble sentiments and urges him onward to a successful fight. Pandolf enters, announces that John has reconciled with Rome, and orders Louis to withdraw his army. Louis refuses, saying he is too high-born to be ordered about or used as a tool by any other power. Pandolf urged on the war, he says, but now it is too big to be smothered. He evokes Arthur, reminding Pandolf that he takes up Arthur's claim to the throne, and won't back down just because John has made peace with Rome. He's not Rome's slave, he insists. The Bastard enters and asks to speak to Louis. Speaking for John, the Bastard declares that John has prepared an army that will thoroughly destroy France's tiny force, and he tells the English nobles that even their wives have joined the English force. Louis calls for the attack, and the Bastard threatens Louis with the death that John's armies shall mete out. John and Hubert meet on the battlefield. John is distraught at the battle. A messenger enters and reports that Louis's expected reinforcements have been wrecked at sea. Feeling weak, the king departs to meet the Bastard.

