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Is cold in amity and painted peace,

And our oppression hath made up this leagues
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 sun-set,
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings!
Hear me, oh, hear me !

Aust. Lady Constance, peace."

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Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame

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That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward;

Thou little valiant, great in villany!

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 120
But when her humourous 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.
Aust. O, that a man would speak those words to me!
Faulc. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant

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limbs.

Eij

Aust.

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. Faulc. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thyself.

Enter PANDULPH.

K. Phil. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!To thee, king John, my holy errand is.

Į Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,

And from pope Innocent the legate here,
Do, in his name, religiously demand,

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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.

K. 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.

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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:

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So

So tell the pope; all reverence set apart,
To him, and his usurp'd authority.

K. Phil. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. K. 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.
Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curst, and excommunicate:
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretick;

And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
Canoniz'd, and worship'd as a saint,

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That takes away by any secret course

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Thy hateful life.

Const. O, lawful let it be,

That I have room with Rome to curse a while!
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen,

To my keen curses; for, without my wrong,
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right,
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong:

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

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Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand.

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

Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

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Faule. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because

Faulc. Your breeches best may carry them.

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal? Lewis. Bethink you, father; for the difference Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, Or the light loss of England for a friend : Forego the easier.

Blanch. That's the curse of Rome.

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Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee here

In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her

faith,

But from her need.

Const.

Const. Oh, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principleThat faith will 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.

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K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt. Faulc. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout.

K. Phil. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate, and curst?

K. Phil. Good reverend father, make my person

your's,

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And tell me, how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit;
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Marry'd 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 over-stain'd
With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint

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The

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