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Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchfafe a parle
And now, inftead of bullets wrap'd in fire,
To make a fhaking fever in your walls,
They fhoot but calm words folded up in smoak,
To make a faithlefs error in your ears;
Which truft accordingly, kind citizens;
And let in us, your King, whofe labour'd fpirits,
Fore-weary'd in this action of fwift speed,
Crave harbourage within your city walls.

K. Philip. When I have faid, make answer to us both.
Lo! in this right hand, whofe protection
Is moft divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, ftands 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 warlike march these greens before your town:
Being no further enemy to you,

Than the constraint of hofpitable zeal,
In the relief of this oppreffed child,
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then

To pay that duty, which you truly owe

To him that owns it; namely, this young princes
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,
Save in afpect, hath all offence feal'd up:
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against th' invulnerable clouds of heav'n ;:
And with a bleffed, and unvext retire,

With unhack'd fwords, and helmets all unbruis'd,.
We will bear home that lufty blood again,
Which here we came to fpout against your town;
And leave your children, wives, and you in peace.
But if you fondly pafs our proffer'd offer,
"Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walls
Can hide you from our meffengers of war:
Tho' all thefe English, and their difcipline,
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
Then tell us, fhall your city call us lord,
In that behalf which we have challeng'd it?
Or fhall we give the fignal to our rage,


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And ftalk in blood to our poffeffion?

Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's fubjects; For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

K. John. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. Cit. 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.

K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the

And if not that, I bring you witnesses,

Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed-
Faulc. (Bastards, and else.)

K. John. To verify our title with their lives.
K. Philip. As many, and as well-born bloods as those
Faulc. (Some bastards too.)

K. Philip. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
Cit. Till you compound, whofe right is worthiest,
We for the worthiest hold the right from both.

K. John. Then God forgive the fin of all thofe fouls, That to their everlasting refidence,

Before the dew of evening fall, fhall fleet,
In dreadful tryal of our kingdom's King!

K. Philip. Amen, Amen.


Mount, chevaliers, to

Faulc. Saint George, that fwing'd the dragon, and e'er


Sits on his horfeback at mine hostess' door,

Teach us fome fence. Sirrah, were I at home

At your den, firrah, with your Lioness,

I'd fet an ox-head to your Lion's hide,

And make a monster of you.

Auft. Peace, no more.

Faulc. O, tremble; for


[To Auftria,

hear the Lion roar.

K. John. Up higher to the plain, where we'll fet forth In beft appointment all our regiments.

Faulc. Speed then to take th' advantage of the field. K. Philip. It fhall be fo; and at the other hill Command the reft to ftand.

God, and our right!


A long Charge founded: then, after excurfions, enter the Herald of France with trumpets to the gates.

F. Her. 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 fons lye fcatter'd on the bleeding ground: And many a widow's husband groveling lyes, Coldly embracing the difcolour'd earth; While victory with little lofs 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 English Herald with Trumpets.

E. Her. 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, fo filver-bright,
Hither return all gilt in Frenchmens' blood.
There stuck no plume in any English Crest,
That is removed by a staff of France.

Our Colours do return in those fame hands,

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That did difplay them when we first march'd forth;
And, like a jolly troop of huntfmen, come
Our lufty English, all with purpled hands;
Dy'd in the dying flaughter of their foes.
Open your gates, and give the victors way.

Cit. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold, From first to laft, the Onset and Retire

Of both your armies, whofe equality
By our best eyes cannot be cenfured;

Blood bath bought blood, and blows have anfwer'd blows;

Strength match'd with ftrength, and power confronted power.

Both are alike, and both alike we like;

One must prove greateft. While they weigh fo even,
We hold our town for neither; yet for both.


Enter the two Kings with their Powers, at feveral Doors. K. John. France, haft thou yet more blood to cast away?

Say, fhall the current of our Right run on?
Whofe paffage, vext with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-fwell
With course disturb'd ev'n thy confining shores
Unless thou let his filver water keep

A peaceful progrefs to the ocean.

K. Philip. England, thou haft not fav'd one drop of


In this hot tryal, more than we of France;

Rather loft more.

And by this hand I swear,

That fways the earth this climate overlooks,

Before we will lay by our juft-borne arms,

We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear;
Or add a royal number to the dead;

Gracing the fcroul, that tells of this war's lofs,
With flaughter coupled to the name of Kings.

Faulc. Ha! Majefty,-how high thy glory towers,
When the rich blood of Kings is fet on fire!

Oh, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
The fwords of foldiers are his teeth, his phangs;
And now he feafts, mouthing the flesh of men
In undetermin'd diff'rences of Kings.
Why ftand these royal fronts amazed thus?
Cry havock, Kings; back to the stained field,
You equal Potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let Confufion of one part confirm

The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death.
K. John. Whofe party do the townsmen yet admit ?
K. Philip. Speak, Citizens, for England, who's your

Cit. The King of England, when we know the King.
K. Philip. Know him in us, that here hold up his

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy,

And bear poffeffion of our perfon here;

Lord of our prefence, Angiers, and of you.

Cit. A greater pow'r, than ye, denies all this; (7) And till it be undoubted, we do lock

Our former fcruple in our ftrong-barr'd gates.
Kings of our fears,

until our fears resolv'd

Be by fome certain King purg'd and depos'd.

Faulc. By heav'n, the Scroyles of Angiers flout you,


And ftand fecurely on their battlements,

As in a Theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious Scenes and Acts of death.
You royal prefences, be rul'd by me;
Do like the Mutines of Jerufalem,

Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend
Your fharpeft deeds of malice on this town.
By east and weft let France and England mount
Their batt'ring cannon charged to the mouths ;
Till their foul-fearing clamours have braul'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous City.
I'd play inceffantly upon thefe jades ;
Even till unfenced defolation

Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, diffever your united strengths,
And part your mingled Colours once again;
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point.
Then in a moment fortune fhall cull forth
Out of one fide her happy minion;

To whom in favour fhe fhall 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?

K. John. Now by the sky, that hangs above our heads,

I like it well. France, fhall we knit our Pow'rs;
And lay this Angiers even with the ground,

(7) A greater Pow'r than We denies all this ;] We muft cortainly read, as Mr. Warburton acutely obferv'd to Me;

A greater Pow'r, than Ye, denies all this:

i. e. Tho each of you pretend to be our rightful Kings, you are as yet only fo in fwaying over our Fears, in the Terrors we have of you not acknowledg'd Kings in our Obedience.


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