University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Dauphin's Camp, near St. Edmondsbury.
Enter in Arms, Salisbury, Pembroke, Warren, Arundel with other Lords, &c. attended.
Salisbury.
Thus far our Measures for Redress have prosper'd:
France by her Aid of Arms approves our Cause;
The King, too weak to face us, is retir'd;
His People, by the Bulls of Rome, absolv'd
From their Allegiance, throng to our Support:
Never had English Freedom Hope more sanguine!
Let but this Crisis hold our Union firm;
Now shall our Charter seal'd, to Ages hence
Record our ample Rights and Liberties.

Pemb.
Those Rights obtain'd, my Lords, our next Concern
Is to dismiss in Peace the Arms of France:
For if Intelligence deceives me not,
Pandulph, since the Report of Arthur's Death,
Has publickly avow'd, that as King John
By Excommunication stands abjur'd,
His Crown is to the Dauphin's Head consign'd!
That I must own my English Heart—disgusts!

Salis.
If Rome, my Lord, has promis'd more to France,
Than English Subjects are content to yield,
Let, as she may, proud Rome acquit herself.
No! shou'd this Dauphin to her Crown succeed,
Our precious Isle becomes to France a Province!
That Thought—O! it embitters all we've done!
Let us, for shame, not lay ourselves the Plan
Of abject Slavery to foreign Power:
Shall petty Vice-Roys lord it o'er our Nobles?
Shall light-heel'd Frenchmen dance upon our Greens,
While we at Distance sigh beneath our Chains,
Nor join the Carrols of their apish Triumph!

Pem.
No English Soul but spurns against the Thought;
Yet still, my Lords, a Medium must be kept:
This Dauphin, while our Friend, we must caress,
Holding his Aid of Arms in Amity;
Though firmly fixt, that neither Rome nor Paris
Shall ever give to England Kings or Laws.

Salis.
With gentle Love then, and with due Regard,
Let us attend his Highness at his Rising;
Receive, as Soldiers, with our Smiles his Orders;
As Chief obey him; never as our King!

Arun.
But see, my Lords, the Dauphin is at hand,
And with a chearful Eye approaches us.

Enter Dauphin attended.
Salis.
Good Health and happy Morning to your Highness.

Pemb.
Your early Stirring has prevented us.

Dau.
My Lords of England, we are bound to you.
Our Scouts this Morning brought us early Word,
That ere the Setting of the Yester Sun,
King John, but from what Cause alarm'd, they say not,
Struck all his Tents for sudden secret March:
Northward he still sets on, and flies before us;
Yet we at last shall force him to a Stand,
Though to the hindmost Orcades we hunt him.
Have we no farther News?—

Salis.
—My Letters, Sir,
Inform us, that on Tuesday last, from Roan,
Hubert, who had in charge imprison'd Arthur,
Was seen to land at Dover, all in haste;
Where hearing that the King was to the North
Retir'd, 'twas thought he posted on the Spur,
To follow him: His leaving Roan so soon,
And parting in such hurry from his Post,
Gives foul Suspicion that the secret Charge
Of Hubert, in the Death of Arthur—ended.

Dauph.
If this be true, it cannot long be secret;
But, till his Death from Evidence is certain,
We must suspend the Varying of our Measures.

Pem.
If this Ambition dares out-step our Treaty,
[Aside.
Those Measures must have our Consent to vary.

[Aside.
Dauph.
Prepare we then to press him by Pursuit:
Is this the mighty John, who in the Field
Of Mirabel mow'd down our Troops like Grain,
And brought his Harvest home of Spoils to England?
Now like the Vermin Fox, from Earth to Earth
He flies, nor finds a Citadel for Safety!
But why this Wonder at his Flight? since now
Those valiant Barons that obey'd oppose him?
How seem the People in those Parts affected?

Salis.
The graver Sort, that bear with Grief the War,
Religiously accuse the impious King,
Terming his Treatment of the holy Chair
A Madness! Other Tongues, of Speech more free,
Insist that Rome's more cruel than the King,
Who, tho' his Rashness urg'd Offence too far,
Yet has his Punishment outweigh'd the Error.
But see! the Cardinal approaches, Sir,
To lead the People in his holy Charge;
He better may inform you of their Temper.

Enter Pandulph.
Pand.
'Tis well! 'tis well! ye pious Sons of War!
This dread Array becomes our holy Cause!
O! may the matchless glory of your Arms,
With the dire Vengeance on this Nation pour'd,
Go hand in hand, to future Ages down,
At once the Praise and Terror of the World!

Dauph.
Never had Christian Swords a Cause more glorious!

Salis.
As for the Glory, France and Rome may share it,
Our honest Swords compound for Liberty.

[Apart.
Dauph.
But say, Lord Cardinal, how bears the Land
This Driving, from our Christian Fold, their King?
What wholsom Fruit has the Severity
Produc'd?—

Pand.
—Never did sad Calamity
(The Consequence of sacred Pow'r oppos'd)
Make, in one Day, such havock of a People!
No sooner was the dread Auathema denounc'd,
But, like the burst of Thunder from the Heav'ns,
It struck the shudd'ring Nation with Dismay!
Even pale Devotion, at the Doom, stood silent,
Nor dar'd to lift her downcast Eye for Hope;
O! never was a State so terrible!
Now all the Rights of holy Function cease!
Infants unsprinkled want their Christian Names!
Lovers, in vain betroth'd, resume Despair,
Nor find a Sire to sanctify their Vows!
In vain the dying Sinner groans for Pardon!
Ev'n Penitence depriv'd of Absolution,
In all the Agonies of Fear expires!
Nor after Death has at the Grave a Prayer,
Or for the parted Soul one Requiem sung.

Dauph.
O dreadful State! how can this moody King
Thus brave the Vengeance of offended Heav'n?

Pand.
Wheree'er I pass the Voice of Lamentation,
From Crowds of Wretches prostrate at my Feet,
Pierces my Ear for Pity of their Woes!
Pity, indeed, will from my Eyes steal down;
But further Charity's restrain'd by Heav'n!
Then, like dumb Ghosts, with vacant Eyes they stalk,
As if, ev'n here, for foul Offences past,
Their Souls were in the State of their Purgation!

Salis.
Aside.
This mouthing Priest would swell the Pow'r of Rome,
And paints her Bulls more frightful than they are:
I know he wrongs the truth; for wise Men smile
At all this Foam and Froth of holy Rage,
That fights beneath the Shield of Sanctity,
But to enlarge their Bounds of Carnal Power.

Pem.
Aside.
Let him proceed—it serves our present Purpose,
Alarms the Ignorant to join our Cause,
Whom 'tis not now our part to undeceive.

Enter Melun.
Dauph.
Welcome, Melun, I sent thee to observe
The Enemy; what fell within thy Notice?

Melun.
North-eastward from our Camp, we are assur'd,
A fresh Supply is landed, Sir, from France;
Which from his Castles there King John has drawn,
To serve his greater Exigence at home;
And his late Movement, from the Plains of Lincoln,
Was but to guard those Forces thro' the Fens.

Dauph.
Our speedier March then must oppose their Passage;
Even, with the Morrow's Sun, this mighty Host
Shall see our Helmets blaze upon their Faces!

Melun.
But what yet more might warm us to pursue him,
Is now his sacrilegious Tyranny!
For as I posted hither on my Way,
My Speed o'er-took a Troop of hoary Prelates,
The Lords of London, Ely, Worcester, Bath,
And Hereford, o'ercast with venerable Sadness;
Whom, for their duteous daring to advise
Obedience to the holy Chair, King John
Had from his Presence spurn'd with Menaces
Of Death, if henceforth found within his Kingdom:
Which heavy dreadful Sentence to avoid,
Throws their Distresses at the Feet of France,
For charitable Shelter and Protection!

Dauph.
Not only that, but on their Tyrant's Head,
With Heav'n's high Help, our Vengeance shall redress them.

Pand.
Alas! his Fury stops not here, wheree'er
His Pow'r extends, th' inferior Clergy feel it!
Proscrib'd and outed from the holy Convents,
Their Lands are seiz'd tho' sacred to their Function,
And to th' unhallow'd Use of Troops assign'd
Their Persons wheresoever found, misus'd,
Pillag'd, and scoff'd by martial Insolence!

[An Attendant whispers Melun.
Melun.
The Rev'rend Prelates, Sir, are now arriv'd,
And beg your Highness will vouchsafe their Audience.

Dauph.
Ourself will meet them on their Way: My Lords
Of England, hold we all in Readiness;
Our Army with the creeping Night shall march,
That ere the Foe can from his drowsy Limbs,
Shake off his Lothness to the Call of Action,
Our Onsets, like a Torrent, may devour him:
So from the lofty Mountains, Snows let loose
Roll to the Vale with Inundation down,
While Flocks and Herds in Seas of Pasture drown.

[Exeunt all but Pandulph.
Pand.
The Ardour of this Dauphin must be watch'd;
His headstrong Youth may grow, upon Success,
Intractable, as England, to the holy See;
Therefore the secret Overtures of John,
To which our Spies inform us he inclines,
Must we with Temper cherish to Submission.
How far this fresh Supply of Arms may change him,
Stands yet in doubt—A Day at least resolves us:
But hark! from whence this Trumpet? Now, the News.

Enter Officer.
Off.
An Envoy from King John express arriv'd,
Desires Admittance to your Eminence.

Pand.
This—tallies with our Scheme—Now to receive him.
If he brings Letters,—conduct him to our
Secretary.—

Off.
Letters he has, my Lord, but says,
To your own Hand he must deliver them.

Pand.
So absolute! produce this, Insolent!
[Ex. Off.
As yet the Speech of our Displeasure must be warm!
[Falconbridge approaching slowly, kneels to Pandulph.
Whence and from whom thy Business? from your King?

Fal.
Most eminent, most holy Lord rever'd!
Imploring first a Blessing on my Charge,
This from my contrite Master makes it known.
Let me not rise unbless'd.

[Gives a Letter.
Pand.
—Couldst thou divide
The Legate from the Man, thou shouldst not kneel
In vain—but Blessings from the Realms are banish'd.

Fal.
May Piety and Penitence restore them.

[Rising.
Pand.
Aside.
The humble Bearing of this Minister
At length, I see, bespeaks an humble Master.

Fal.
Aside.
This Temper of his Eminence, this Form
Of stately Charity foretels Success!
He read from my Humility my Errand,
And darted from his Eye a conscious Triumph!

[Pand. having read the Letter proceeds.
Pan.
(Aside ... )
'Tis done! once more proud Heresy shall stoop!
Triumphant Rome for ever now shall tread
Upon rebellious Crowns, and at her Will dispose them!
But soft! conceal we with Contempt the Joy!
Suppress the Pleasure, and enlarge the Triumph! (Aside ... )

Well then these Letters stile thee Falconbridge,
And give thy Speech full Credit from thy Master:
But yet, alas! the humble Penitence
He here professes, must give ample Proof
Of his Sincerity.—

Fal.
—Can that be doubted?
When to the holy See resign'd he bends,
To wear an humble tributary Crown?

Pand.
Though we are bound in Charity to hope
The best, it still behoves us to be cautious;
Lest worldly Views impose upon the Mercy
Of an indulgent Mother.—

Fal.
—How! impose!

Pand.
What means that Echo, Sir?—

Fal.
—Shall I be plain?

Pand.
Observe thy Distance and thy Rev'rence due;
Nor, for thy Soul, let ought escape thy Tongue,
That unbefits our holy Dignity
To hear.—

Fal.
—My Lord, I cannot cull my Phrases;
Nor came I here to purge the Conscience of
King John, but to solicit Peace with Rome.

Pand.
Canst thou suppose this Treatment will prevail?

Fal.
I think our mutual Int'rest should prevail.

Pand.
Int'rest?

Fal.
—My Lord, My Lord, that's the plain Sense,
Howe'er with specious Terms 'tis gilded o'er:
And you, who know that Princes are but Men,
Must know, unless where Passions intervene,
That Int'rest is the Spring that moves their Glory!

Pand.
Wouldst thou give carnal Views to holy Pow'r?

Fal
This is no Time, my Lord, to silence Truth!
Our Masters both have been too jealous of
Their Rights, and to Extremities have urg'd them!
To urge them farther, might to both be fatal!
For say, your holy Vengeance should prevail,
That France by Conquest seize the Crown of England;
Would such united Empire give no Fears
To Rome of worse Encroachments on her Pow'r?
Take heed, my Lord, Ambition is a rav'nous Beast!
Feed not this Dauphin's Hope too high! whose Strength
May like the Lion's home-bred Whelp, grown up,
Devour the very Hand that foster'd him.

Pand.
(Aside ... )
Give me a Moment's Pause—to aid our Mercy.
This Bluntness, tho' offensive, is convincing:
And yet the sacred Honour of the Chair
Must have its Pomp of Reverence—Within an Hour ( ... Aside)

Attend me at the neighbouring Convent! There
Our Measures more digested shall dispatch thee.
[Exit Pand.

Fal.
With what reluctant Gravity and Pride,
This Priest receives the Wishes of his Soul!
Why do I blame him? did not I the same?
When humbly kneeling, at his rev'rend Feet,
I cover'd with Humility my Scorn!
Yet Int'rest overlooks the mutual Cheat!
It must be so! were Men t'appear themselves,
Set free from Customs that restrain our Nature,
Nor Wolves nor Tigers would dispute more fiercely!
Yet all we boast above the Brute is—what?
That in our Times of need we dare dissemble!
How vile is the Preeminence we'are vain of!
Yet cold Sincerity could ne'er have heal'd
Our Breach with Rome: There Art was useful!
O! could it equally at home succeed!
Tempting our Barons back to their Allegiance!
Let us but win their Forces from the War,
Should that blest Hour intestine Feuds o'ercome,
Our Village-Curs should bark these Frenchmen home.

King John in his Tent alone.
K. John.
It must be so—the Contest is in vain!
Why should I risk a Kingdom for a People
That are themselves unwilling to be free?
Whose Zeal, enslav'd, not only courts the Chains
Of Rome, but thinks in Conscience Kings should wear them.
The moody Barons too, that head those Bigots,
Take this Advantage of the holy Ferment,
To lop the Branches of Prerogative.
Then the reproachful Death of Arthur! There's
My jealous Fears have plung'd my Arm too far!
A rash and fruitless Policy! In Death
He is become more terrible than living!
Thence have I rais'd in France a stronger Claim;
The Guilt of Hubert too, now dreads t'approach me!
Or may, to save himself, make me most odious.
There Evils join'd must in their Ends be fatal!
Rome! Rome then, that has ruin'd, must redeem me!
The Terms—'tis true are harsh and terrible
To Honour! to the Vulgar meritorious!
They think the Bulls of Rome the Voice of Heav'n!
And tremble for their King that dares contest them!
The Pride of Becket too subdu'd my Father;
And yet his warlike Reign lives fam'd in Story!
Princes should think no Price too dear for Pow'r;
And what are Kings without a People, Hubert?

Enter Hubert.
Hub.
At length, my Liege, I come to bring you News—

K. John.
For which thy trait'rous Soul shall howl in Horrors!
Slave, thou hast undone me! were not the Flames,
That Rome had rais'd, sufficient to consume;
But thou must add thy Brand of Provocation,
Thy damn'd officious Murder, to the Ruin,
To give its Cause Pretence and fortify Rebellion?

Hub.
Sir, you mistake the Service I have done you;
'Tis not the Claim of Arthur to your Crown,
But his reported Death provokes your People!

K. John.
Villain! dar'st thou insult me on the Crime,
Thy Longing to commit seduc'd me to endure!

Hub.
Whate'er my Inclination was—you now—

K. John.
O! 'tis the Curse of Princes to be serv'd
By Slaves, that take their Wishes for a Warrant;
That, on the bare Inquietude of Looks,
Presume t'expound our Passions into Law,
And on the Sanction of a Frown commit
Such Deeds as damns the Conscience that conceives them.

Hub.
Yet, Sir, be patient when you hear my Story—

K. John.
Think not involving me t'excuse thyself!
I had some Cause to wish him dead; but thou
Hadst none, saving what thy Nature prompted!
How oft have evil Deeds, for want of Means
To give them Practice, dy'd in the Conception?
But thou being present to the curst Occasion,
Ere scarce the Thought could ripen into Purpose,
Thy stony Heart made offer of the Deed,
And mock'd my Fears with impious Resolution!

Hub.
My gracious Liege! I beg you be compos'd!

K. John.
Hadst thou but shook thy Head, or made a Pause,
When I obscurely murmur'd my Disquiet;
Hadst thou but shewn one Sign of inward Grace,
With one reluctant Shrug declin'd the Motion,
Pale Conscience then, retreating from the Guilt,
Had smother'd in my Breast the dreadful Deed,
Never to rise in my Reflexion more!
But thou, like the curst Fiend in Paradise,
Laidst lurking in my Paths of Rumination,
To watch the secret Wishes of my Soul,
And tempt its Frailty to eternal Ruin!

Hub.
Now, Sir, yourself be judge! had I obey'd.
Your dread Commands, how wretched had I made you?
For know, to give your Soul its former Peace,
Young Arthur lives! my coward Heart—has sav'd him!
I am but half the Villain you have spoke me.

K. John.
Prove me this true, and thy whole Soul is Angel!

Hub.
O! when I came to practice on his Life,
I found the Execution was as far
Remov'd from what my first Conceit had form'd,
As Danger from Delight! as Hell from Heav'n!
His blooming Form, his Youth, his Piety,
His Resignation, Innocence, and Tears,
Rush'd as from Ambush on my lifted Arm,
And seiz'd me Captive to his Sufferings!
With melting Eyes I dropt the Poniard down,
And, at the hazard of your Rage, preserv'd him!

K. John.
O! Hubert! Hubert! thou hast sav'd thy Master!
Redeem'd him from the deepest, hideous Plunge,
That ever stain'd the Glories of Ambition!
The Rage thou feard'st now blushes into Joy,
And crowns thy Disobedience with Applause!
This Deed undone shall double thy Reward,
And pay thy Mercy with unbounded Favour!
But soft—our Cousin is return'd: At fitter Time
My Heart shall open more—mean while,
Be careful of my Fame, and form thy Fortune!
Enter Falconbridge.
Now, Cousin, is yet this Legate flexible?
Hast thou, though on his own high Terms, succeeded?

Fal.
If, Sir, to have prevail'd on haughty Rome,
To tread in Triumph on the Crown of England,
Be deem'd Success; such Peace has Rome accepted.
The Time, the Terms, and solemn Ceremonies
Here more at large, the Legate has appointed.

[Presents a Writing.
K. John.
Seasons must be obey'd! what from the Barons?

Fal.
What makes our Peace with Rome more needful now;
The strong Report of Arthur's Death has worse
Effect on them than on the common Sort!
The Vulgar only shake their cautious Heads,
Or whisper in the Ear, wisely suspicious,
Griping the Hearer's Wrist—who starts—and stops—
With wrinkled Brows—and shrugs—and rolling Eyes!
As if his Life depended on his Secrecy!
I saw a Smith-stand with his Hammer thus!
Who, while his Iron on the Anvil cool'd,
With open Mouth swallow'd a Taylor's News!
Of Thousands more of Frenchmen pouring on
Our Coasts, in dreadful March of Fire and Sword!
Another lean, unwash'd Artificer
Cuts off his Tale, and talks of Arthur's Death!

K. John.
Were this the worst, the freezing Vulgar yet
Might, by our holy Peace with Rome, be thaw'd
To their Allegiance: But the Barons! There!
How such a needful Peace may weigh with them—

Fal.
There stand we yet in Fear! for Arthur's Death
Has so inflam'd the Spleen of their Complaints,
That never shall their Swords in Peace be sheath'd,
Or to Allegiance civil Arms return,
Till the full Manner of his Death be question'd,
And Hubert, whom their strong Suspicions charge,
Be duly render'd to the publick Justice.

K. John.
Now say that Arthur lives, who then shall right
A Monarch's Fame, and punish his Revilers?

Hub.
Will they believe their Eyes, if I produce him

Fal.
Ha! is it possible! produce him! Arthur!
Does he then live to shame this Calumny?

Hub.
Hearing the Malecontents had thrown such vile
Aspersion on the Head of Majesty,
Unbidden have I dar'd to bring from Roan
The living Arthur to confound the Falshood.

K. John
Now judge, how all their other Griefs are grounded.

Fal.
Lies and Rebellion have been ancient Friends!

Hub.
Here in the Castle, to this Camp adjacent,
He now is plac'd, and when the King commands—

Fal.
O Sir! I beg that Hubert and myself
May to the Barons instantly produce him;
On such Conviction, with my Life I'll answer,
Their Temper tho' misguided shall return
And fall from France before her Force can face us!

K. John.
Fly then this Moment, haste to undeceive them,
That due Allegiance may defend her Pastures!
No more let Jealousies, immers'd in Rage,
Hazard those Liberties, which civil Swords
Falsly maintaining might to Foes betray!
Tell them their ancient Rights shall be confirm'd
In great and ample Characters fam'd to Ages:
Thus shall Obedience fortify our Throne,
And mutual Love all Errors past atone.

[Exeunt.