University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Constance, Arthur, Melun, Falconbridge.
Constance.
A peace with England, and by France concluded!
Affianc'd too! Blanch to the Dauphin married!
And Arthur's Ruin made her pompous dowry!
Thou dost abuse my Ear; it cannot be!
I have a Monarch's Oath to right my Cause,
And 'twere to wrong thy Master, to believe thee!

Mel.
Madam, these Words are yours, but what before,
In plain and honest Terms, I told was true;
'Twas his Command I should at large
Inform you of this Peace, and cheer your Hopes.

Const.
My Hopes! bid the lost Wretch with broken limbs,
Extended on the Wheel, to hope for Mercy!
Hopes I have none!—

Arth.
—Since 'tis the Will of Heaven,
I do beseech you, Madam, be content.

Const.
Content! to thy vile Wrongs be patient! no;
Were thou, in Temper wayward, foul in Feature,
Deform'd, that ev'n thy Birth disgrac'd thy Mother!
Yet, as my Child, my Heart would feel thy Usage!
But as thou art the Pride and Triumph of my Bed,
As thou art fair, and at thy Birth, dear Boy,
Nature and Fortune both conspir'd to grace thee;
For not the Rose or Lily, from the Hand of Nature,
Can boast their Beauties more compleat or fair!
Nor has, among the Realms of Europe, Fortune
Bequeath'd a Crown to Blood or Birth superior!
As such when I behold thee, and behold
Thee wrong'd, betray'd, abandon'd to the World;
Then, then, to be content were criminal!
An Indolence that Virtue would disclaim;
No, no, my Child! cruel, obdurate Souls,
They only, who could do these Wrongs, might
Bear them:
But human Hearts, a helpless Mother's Heart,
Must yield to Nature, and deplore thy Fortune!

Fal.
These plaintive Transports, Madam, cannot help,
But may impair your State: Consider well,
How may our potent Masters be offended,
That thus you slight their royal Invitation?
Yielding to neither, you lose both your Friends;
We must not, Madam, dare not part without you.

Const.
You must! you dare! you shall! I will not go!
Tell them, They've taught my Sorrow to be proud:
There is a Dignity in suff'ring wrong,
Which mean-soul'd Perfidy can never reach!
Here, on this humble Earth, build we our Throne;
Here shall Calamity in Judgment sit,
And call Oppression to her sad Tribunal.
Now let injurious France and England see,
How we are rais'd in Majesty above them!
This is the Throne, to which, or first or last,
The greatest Kings must bow—Philip, I thank thee;
These are thy Favours!—Such the Faith of Princes!

Enter King Philip attended, Melun and Falconbridge having observ'd to him the State of Constance: He, approaching, raises her.
K. Philip.
What means the mournful Constance on the Earth?
Dispel thy Griefs, and let the Honours of
Thy Infant-Son now blend the gen'ral Joy.

Const.
Philip, I fear my Presence is offensive.

K. Philip.
Why should thy Fortunes warrant such a Fear?

Const.
Perhaps I fancy'd my sad Looks reproach'd thee;
And to the noble Mind Reproach is painful.

K. Phil.
Reproach should follow Wrongs: What Cause have you—

Const.
What Cause! This Object, Philip, may inform thee:
Behold this royal Beggar—

[Pointing to Arthur.
K. Philip.
—Yet his Fortune
Deserves not this Complaint: His high Promotions,
New Honours, and Appointments are most noble.

Const.
Shall Honour then compound? Has royal Right
A Fellowship? Is he, who loses half,
Not robb'd, because a Moiety is left him?
Is Arthur known the lineal Heir of Cœurdelion?
And shall he basely stoop to vassal Dignities?
Is Britany, that poor dependent Dukedom,
That Gew-gaw Feather, on his Infant Crest,
Of equal Weight for England's Diadem?

K. Philip.
Your Griefs conclude, as if Events were ours.
Have not our Arms, in Arthur's royal Right,
Expos'd our Crown to Hazards in the Field?
While, in the bloody Contest, Thousands fell,
The slaughter'd Victims of our Faith to thee?

Const.
And to deface that glorious Act of Honour,
Thou hast betray'd the Right of Arthur to his Foe.

K. Philip.
Betray'd! Now judge for me! Had you been Philip,
What Answer might this Treatment have deserv'd?

Const.
Then Philip never had deserv'd this Treatment,
Had I been Philip; Philip injur'd Constance,
Then hadst thou seen a Philip firm to Virtue!
A Prince that had preferr'd the Cause of Honour
To all the temporal Int'rests on Earth!
But Pow'r, I see, howe'er adorn'd with Purple,
Shews, in the Monarch, but a worldly Man;
And Faith is but the Merchandise of Empire!

K. Philip.
Temper, I see, is lost upon Impatience:
When you have worn a Crown, you'll better judge
How far a Monarch may extend his Virtue.

Const.
When I have worn a Crown? Injurious Man!
Dost thou insult the Wretch thou hast undone?
Philip, farewel: And, if thou canst, enjoy
The Peace which my Calamities have bought.
If Kingdoms we on broken Vows must found,
Oh! never may thy guilty Brows be crown'd!
May'st thou, with taintless Honour, brave thy Fate;
Nor ever dare to be ignobly great!
In conscious Virtue may'st thou Empire find,
And reign the happier Monarch of thy Mind.

[Exit with Arthur.
K. Philip.
Melun, attend her, and observe her Passions:
Revenge may prompt her to commute her Fortune,
And her Submission to the Pow'r of England
Might sow, between our Realms, new Seeds of Discord.

[Exit Melun.
Enter Dauphin and Blanch.
Dauph.
My royal Father, our fair Dauphiness,
Press'd by her Sex's Fear, intreats your Favour.

K. Philip.
So fair, so gentle a Petitioner
Needs but to name her Wishes, to command them.

Blanch.
Not so, my Lord; but our Desire is this:
My royal Uncle having from England
Advice, that presses his Departure hence,
Alarms my Heart with Fears 'till now unknown:
When he's away, and I left here a Stranger,
Young, unexperienc'd, liable to Failures,
How may Simplicity, tho' well inclin'd,
Mistake the Duties of a Bride or Daughter?
Without his Guidance to direct my Steps,
How may my Errors wander from your Favour?

K. Phil.
How can'st thou lose what even thy Fear secures?

Blanch.
Let him not yet depart; you, Sir, might stay him.

Dauph.
Grant her Desires!—

K. Philip.
—When fit Occasion offers,
For his fair Neice's sake we will intreat him.
But see! he comes! with Business on his Brow:
Depend upon our Love, and calm thy Cares.

[Exeunt Blanch and Dauphine.
Enter K. John with Letters, &c.
K. John.
Brother of France, we grieve that our Affairs
In England, on the Spur, demand our Presence;
But 'tis our Glory that we part in Peace.

K. Philip.
What unforseen Occasion thus breaks in
Upon the Revels of our Amity?

K. John.
Our Letters thence inform us that our Subjects,
Stirr'd by the restless Policy of Rome,
Meet in Cabals, t'assert the Papal Pow'r:
Faction and Tumult, in the open Day,
Stalk through the Streets with Folly at their Heels,
And make religious Cries against Allegiance;
Warm'd by this Spirit too, at Canterbury,
The lordly Monks dispute our regal Pow'r;
Reject our Prelate to that See prefer'd,
And by a second Choice appeal to Rome:
These growing Ills must in their Shell be crush'd,
And by the injur'd Majesty of Kings,
These ghostly Traitors shall abjure their Choice,
Though at the Hazard of our Kingdom we abide it.

Enter Falconbridge.
Fal.
So please your Majesty his Eminence
Of Milan, Pandulph, the great Cardinal,
And Legate, from the holy See full charg'd
With apostolick Pow'rs, demands his Audience.

K. John.
Pandulph! but be it so; Cousin, conduct him:
And Sir, my Brother, tho' his holy Errand
Reach but our self in Form, yet is his View,
By our Example, to make others bow,
And hold, in equal Chains, the Kings of Europe:
France, from this Juncture, may be early warn'd;
Your self a Witness better will advise you.

Enter Pandulph attended.
Pand.
Hail, you anointed Deputies of Heaven!
Peace, Health and Benedictions crown your Days!
To thee, King John, our high Commission speaks,
From our most holy Father Innocent,
Servant of Servants, and the Lord of Kings,
I Pandulph, of fair Milan Cardinal,
And Legate from the sacred Chair, demand,
Why, against his apostolick Power,
Thou stubbornly dost spurn, and with unhallow'd Force
Keep Stephen Lancton, now of Canterbury
Archbishop duly chosen, from the Lands
Consign'd and sacred to that holy See?
What may these rash Extremities portend?
Why are the Waters of Religion troubled?
What impious Counsels have seduc'd thy Love
From the maternal Bosom of our Church?
Whence are these wilful Marks of Disobedience?
Such is the Contumacy thou art charg'd with,
And this the Time appointed thee to answer.

K. John.
Is then Assertion of our kingly Right
Term'd impious, stubborn, wilful, disobedient!
This the proud Stile of Rome to sov'reign Princes!
Are these the meek Examples of her Doctrine?
I tell thee, Legate, as to Lancton's Right,
One Pope's enough for England to endure!
But Vice-roys there we never will receive,
For such are all whom Rome appoints our Pastors!
Created from abroad, they know no Lord at home;
But, when their Duty's question'd, answer Rome!
Rome shall support them; for their King's her Vassal!
But, Cardinal, from hence imperious Rome
Shall know, in England we will reign!
Nor shall, while we have Life, Italian Priests
Have Tithe or Toll in our Dominions!
No, not a native Brow shall there be mitred,
That thinks not due Obedience to his Prince,
Consistent with his other Christian Duties!

Pand.
Are Subjects to their Prince more bound in Duty,
Than is that Prince in Duty bound to Heav'n?

K. John.
Has Heav'n depriv'd all Christian Kings of Sense?
Or have they Eyes, and yet no Right to use them?
Shall free-born Kings not chuse their native Pastors?
The Lands thou speakst of are the Soil of England:
And who shall plant a crosier'd Tenant there,
That owes not to our Crown his holy Tenure?

Pand.
Dominion o'er the Vassals on those Lands,
Is not deny'd thy Right; but on their Lords Demise
The Right of Heav'n resumes the vacant Cure,
And to that Cure, as Heav'n's Vicegerent here,
Our holy Sire appoints the Successor!

K. John.
Blast your evasive School-distinctions,
That prove at once, I am and am not King!
Suppose an Enemy invade those Lands,
Who shall protect them? Is't not our Expence?
Our Arms, our Subjects, that must face the Danger?
Will your Anathemas, your Fulminations,
Drive from our Fields the Ravage of a War?
Shall Rome then say, Those Lands are ours in Fee,
And you, for our sole Uses, shall defend them!
Insatiate Pride! by Heav'n! it mocks our Senses!
No, Sir, our English Pastors shall be English Subjects;
Not Aliens, independent on our Crown;
Who call the Fleeces of their Flocks to Rome,
And when their holy Avarice is curb'd,
Then drive them at their Pleasure from Allegiance.
But let thy Master know, we hold our Crown
By Right, as high as he his priestly Diadem;
And, where our Realms extend, will be our self supreme.

Pand.
O! impious, O prophane, apostate Rage!
My Christian Ears are tortur'd with the Sound!

K. Phil.
Brother of England, this avow'd Contempt
Of sacred Pow'r, but ill accords that Faith
Implicit, which her royal Sons profess:
Since you have made me party to this Audience,
Let me in friendly Confidence assure you
France would not, trampling on the Rights of Rome,
Provoke the holy Censures of her Chair,
Though the Attempt might double our Dominions!

K. John.
Though you, and all the Kings of Chrstendom,
Should bow your Necks, for this proud Pope to tread on,
Crawl to his Throne, and like a God adore him;
Or rather fear, as Indians do the Devil,
Not for the Good, but Mischief he may do you!
Shaking your Purses empty in his Lap,
To purchase impious Pardon of a Man,
Who, in that Sale, sells Pardon from himself!
Though you and all the World like Columns stand,
To form triumphal Arches to his Pride;
Yet England shall alone himself oppose
This subdolous, this priestly Usurpation!

Pand.
Hear then, high Heav'n and Earth! ye Saints above,
And Men below! Christians and Angels, hear!
Hear the tremendous Doom, our holy Church
On this accurst, apostate Head denounces!
Drive him, ye mighty Kings, and Potentates,
From Realm to Realm a lost abandon'd Exile!
All Bonds of Peace, Defence, Alliance, Commerce,
Broken! absolv'd! annul'd! O sweep him forth,
Like the first bloody Cain, detestable!
This sacrilegious Parricide! whose Arm,
Against the sacred Bosom of our Mother,
Has drawn the impious Sword of Disobedience!
From this immediate Moment be his Crown
The Spoil, the Right, the just Reward of him,
Whose happier Hand shall rend it from his Brow!
Be all his Subjects from Allegiance free,
From Duty, Converse, all Benevolence,
Support, or Correspondence interdicted!
On Pains eternal to the Soul offending!
And meritorious shall the meanest Soul
Be deem'd rever'd to Ages canoniz'd,
Who shall by Violence or Stratagem,
For these his Crimes, deprive him of his Life!

K. John.
Stay! thou imperious Legate! hear a King's
Defiance echo to your holy Thunder!
First, for your impious Arrogance of Pow'r,
We blow it mouthing to the Winds contemn'd!
But as its Vanity deserves Rebuke,
We, in substantial Vengeance, will repay it
On thy rebellious Brethrens Heads accumulated!

K. Phil.
What may this Rashness mean? be yet advis'd!
Nor tempt the Chastisement of holy Pow'r.

K. John.
Unman me not with Fear: The Sword is drawn!
Rome now shall know the Pow'r of England! Ho!
Cornhill and De Cantie you, our valiant Knights,
Chuse like your selves a Band of Men determin'd!
Conduct them with the utmost speed to England:
There, from their Hive of Canterbury,
With military Force of Fire and Sword,
Exterminate these trait'rous Monks, that have,
In this Election of their Prelate, dar'd
To send the Question of our Right to Rome:
Seize on their Goods, their Moveables, and Treasure!
Confiscate to the Publick! Then proclaim it Death
To give them Shelter through our whole Dominions!
Without Remorse, Inquiry, or Delay,
See this our Will, with rigour, be obey'd!
[Exeunt Cornhill and De Cantie.
Now Legate, as thou lik'st this Work, proceed!
We yet have Hecatombs of Drones, thy Victims;
For each Anathema, a Diocese!
Let Popes confine to Points of Faith their Sway,
And none shall more implicitly obey:
But when they strain that Sway to temp'ral Pow'r,
And would the inborn Rights of Kings devour;
Then, by our Arms, from Usurpation hurl'd,
We'll treat them as the Tyrants of the World!

[Exit.
Pand.
Thus then to thee, to thee! O filial France!
Our holy Church commits her bleeding Cause!
O! stop the homeward Passage of this Heretick!
Rouze all the Warriour in thy righteous Heart,
To stem this wild Apostate's Persecution.
Think how may sad Reproach afflict thy Soul,
When Fame shall say that France in Arms stood by,
And tamely saw the impious Devastation!

K. Philip.
Alas! my Lord! France needs not this Incitement:
We see, with Grief, this frantick Disobedience;
Feel too, with equal Pain, our arms confin'd:
For how may solemn Oaths of Amity
And Peace be broken? Such have we sworn to England!
Can we, through Wrongs, cut short our Way to Justice?
Do certain Evils for uncertain Good,
And offer up our Perjuries to Heav'n?

Pand.
Can Faith to Man abjure our holy Duties?
What Pow'r can bind the Soul against it self?
What Oaths absolve thee from thy Vows to Heav'n?
As Heav'n has a Claim superior then,
'Tis Perjury to keep thy Oath with Hereticks!
Or if thy Conscience yet retains a Scruple,
Thus, from our heav'nly Pow'r, to bind or loose,
Thy cancell'd Oath receives its Absolution!

K. Philip.
Ay, now, my Father, is my Soul at large!
Free and inspir'd! our Arms are sanctified!
To be the chosen Champion in a Cause
So heavenly just—

Pand.
—shall add more Glory to
Thy Sword, than Wreaths of universal Empire!

K. Philip.
Melun! this Instant let our Troops be form'd!
Then at their Head will we demand of England,
That these his impious Orders he recal,
And yield to Rome the Right of his Obedience:
Which, if refus'd, then be the Signal given
For dire Control, and Chastisement of War!

Pand.
Myriads of Saints, and Angels rang'd on high,
Shall clap their sacred Wings, and plaud thy Piety.

[Exeunt.
Trumpets. Enter Dauphin with Blanch.
Blanch.
O fatal Day! are these thy Promises?
Is then that sacred Peace, which smiling Love
And hush'd Ambition hand in hand have sworn,
Like a wreck'd Vessel, in a Moment lost!
Become the Sacrifice to ruthless War!
All the dear Triumphs of my duteous Heart,
Defac'd, forbidden! sunk to Sounds of Sorrow!

Dauph.
Can Sorrow have a place in Hearts like thine?
Whose Views are bounded with Regards to Glory?
The tenderest Love must yield its Dues to Honour!
Our Troops have Order for immediate March;
Hard is our parting, but inevitable!
Love yet will have his Hour.—

Blanch.
—Is this to love,
To have our nuptial Feast serv'd in by Slaughter?
Shall braying Trumpets and loud churlish Drums
Drown the soft Melody of bridal Songs?
O! my lov'd Lord! my Husband! that dear Name!
Methinks so early on my Tongue might move thee:
Thus hanging on thy Heart, for England's sake,
England to me this Morn the kindest Parent!
I beg thee, lend thy Help to my Distress!
To Honour let the publick Good give Law,
And keep this sacred Peace inviolate.

Dauph.
Be witness, Heav'n! how thy Sighs dissolve me!
But as thy Virtue, for the publick Weal,
Broke through thy Sex's Forms to yield thy Beauties;
So to thy Charms add one Perfection more,
And let thy Piety surmount thy Love;
For now religious Ties demand our Sword.
Where Pow'r so sacred calls, even Kings obey!
War, now, but leads to love the nobler way!
Not to be foremost would my Flame reprove;
But crown'd with Conquest, I deserve thy Love.
[Exit Dauphin.

Blanch.
O France! O England! fatal both to me!
Would I had never left my native Soil,
To wander thus in pompous Misery!
As when the tempest-beaten Bark is fir'd
By Lightning, the despairing Passenger
Sees sure Destruction ev'ry way surround him:
So in this equally devouring War,
My sole Resource is Pray'r to Heav'n; but how,
For what, or whom can I my Vows address!
For England? No! connubial Bonds forbid it!
That France may conquer? Neither! Ties of Blood,
Of Education, Friendship, all restrain me!
Thus, while to diff'rent Hopes my Vows are tied,
Conflicting Fears my bleeding Heart divide.
[Exit Blanch.

An ALARM.
After which the French Forces appear retiring before the English, when a Victory has been some time sounded.
Enter King John, Falconbridge, and Soldiers.
K. John.
A glorious Field! and bravely was it fought!
O! my Friends! when in Triumph we return
To England through our proud Metropolis,
How will the loaded Walls and Windows swarm
With clamorous Souls, to give their Champions welcome?
How, like a Torrent, will their Joy o'erwhelm us,
Making our March more toilsome through the Press,
Than here we found it through the Swords of France?

Fal.
This News will have its Uses, Sir, at home;
Give honest Englishmen but Blood and Battle;
They think no Subsidies too dear for Victory!

K. John.
Now forward to our Camp! there shall our Loss
And Gain be balanced; what dear Friends are missing,
And who are Prisoners of the Enemy.

Fal.
Our Loss counts little, when compar'd to theirs;
For all the Barons of Poictou, I'm told,
Are taken, Sir, with Hugh le Brun their Leader;
And as I cross'd the Field, the Heralds then
Had in their List two hundred captive Knights,
And Mercenaries proportionable.

K. John.
This Day has made us debtor to thy Sword.
Now shall we farther use thee: Of the Barons,
Some to our Norman Castles shall be sent;
Others to England, Cousin, shall pass o'er with thee:
Whose Ransom shall in part repay thy Service:
Our self, with all convenient Speed, will follow;
This Night shall thy Dispatches be prepar'd,
With Pow'r at large, there to disgorge the Bags
Of dronish Monks and pamper'd hoarding Abbots.
Since Rome so fiercely calls our Right in question,
No Mercy will we have on her Dependents!
Use our Commission in its utmost Force.

Fal.
Doubt not, my Liege, their Skins shall be as bare,
As they have shorn their Sheep, the Laity.

Enter Hubert.
K. John.
Now, Hubert, whence thy breathless Haste?
What farther News?

Hub.
—Better, I'm bold to say,
Your happier Arms could never have propos'd!

K. John.
Be brief—

Hub.
—The Head and Fountain of our Wars
Is stopt! Arthur your Nephew, Sir, is taken.

K. John.
Arthur! May I believe thee? How? By whom?

Hub.
After the general Rout, upon Advice,
That in a Village, to these Woods adjacent,
Some Remnant of the Foe again were forming,
We straight march'd up, and summon'd them to yield;
When finding thrice their Numbers we exceeded,
To our Discretion instant they surrender'd:
Among these Pris'ners, Sir, was Arthur found,
Whom, in your royal Tent, our Party has secur'd,
That there your farther Pleasure, Sir, might find him.

K. John.
Remove him straight to Roan! there in the Castle
Close be his Guard! and, Hubert, for thy News
Receive this Trifle, Earnest of our Love.
[A Ring.
No, Hubert, never will we see young Arthur!
In Princes Honour holds it mean, to call
Or Criminal or Captives to our Presence,
Unless to grant them Liberty or Pardon.

Hub.
You would not then release him, Sir?

K. John.
—Release him!
Not for thy Soul! keep him, as thou wouldst guard
The Pupil of thy Eye from Thorns or Briers!
Let not even the Relief of Life, unless
From thy own cautious Hand, come near him.

Hub.
I take you, Sir—I'll guard him to your Wishes.

K. John.
Do that, beyond thy Wishes will I love thee.

[An Officer whispers Falconbridge.
Fal.
My Liege, w' are told the Lady Blanch is fled
In terror to Samur—

K. John.
—The Chance of War!
Her Fortune, now, is in another's Care:
For look thee, Hubert, France had never found
Pretence for War, unless from Arthur's Claim:
And therefore had the Boy now died in Battle,
Or heretofore by Sickness any way;
That drove Suspicion of his Death from us:
Not only these slight Wars had been abortive,
But future Times in pregnancy of Cares,
Pretensions, Doubts, Jealousies, Commotions,
Had never reach'd the hope of Life or Action.

Hub.
Had I thought that—I could have ended him,
Which now, Sir, would infringe the Laws of War.

K. John.
O, thou didst well, good Hubert, to preserve him!
Consider, he's of royal Blood, and therefore—

Fal.
My Liege, the Governor and Magistrates
Attend to offer up the Keys of Angiers.

K. John.
'Tis well, we will receive them—more at leisure;
We will convince thee, Hubert, of our Love;
Mean while attend thy Prisoner as instructed.

Fal.
This Hubert seems a rising Favourite.

[Aside.
K. John.
If Features err not, Hubert is the Man:
Apart.
'Tis true, he's slow, has not the Courtier's quickness,
Apart.
Or half the Hints we gave had fir'd his Brain;
Apart.
T'have done the Deed, we tremble but to name!
Apart.
Some fitter time shall mould him to our Purpose:
Apart.
Now Actions, open to the Day, demand us.
Apart.
Now, Cousin, set we forward; march to Angiers,
Thence to England; there, unbound and free,
Shall full Prerogative and regal Power
Chace from our plunder'd Realms these Wolves of Rome.

Fal.
This Battle the fierce Cardinal fomented,
The blund'ring Insolence of priestly Pow'r,
That thought to cow you from your Right, with Curses
Deluding France, by breach of Oaths absolv'd,
To make a holy Cause of Rome's Presumption.

K. John.
Now, where's the Force of his Anathemas?
Thinks he that Words can blow us from our Throne?
No; to her Cost, o'er-bearing Rome shall find,
Whene'er her holy Bulls presume to bellow,
There's yet an English Lion that can roar.
A King that mocks the lordly Roman Chain;
And dares, to Death, the Right of Kings maintain.