For putting on fo new a fashion'd robe.
Pemb. When workmen ftrive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in coveteousness; *
And oftentimes excufing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worse by the excufe:
As patches fet upon a little breach
Difcredit more in hiding of the fault,
Than did the fault before it was fo patch'd.
Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,
We breath'd our counfel; but it pleas'd your Highness
To over-bear it; yet we're all well pleas'd;
Since all and every part of what we would,
Muft make a stand at what your Highness will.
K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation
I have pofleft you with, and think them strong;
And more, more ftrong (the leffer is my fear)
I shall endue you with: mean time, but ask
What you would have reform'd that is not well,
And well shall you perceive how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
Pemb. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these
To found the purposes of all their hearts,
(Both for my self and them; but chief of all
Your fafety; for the which, my self and they
Bend their best ftudies ;) heartily request
Th'infranchisement of Arthur; whofe reftraint
Doth move the murm'ring lips of difcontent
To break into this dang'rous argument.
If what in reft you have, in right you hold,
Why fhou'd your fears, (which, as they fay, attend
The steps of wrong) then move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barb'rous ign'rance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise ?
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occafions, let it be our fuit
That you have bid us afk, his liberty;
Which for our good we do no further ask,
That is, coveting to reach a higher excellence.
To found forth, or re declare,
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
Counts it your weal that he have liberty.
Enter Hubert.
K. John. Let it be fo; I do commit his youth To direction. Hubert, what news with you; your [The King goes afide with Hubert. Pemb. This is the man fhould do the bloody deed: He fhew'd his warrant to a friend of mine.
The image of a wicked hainous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Does fhew the mood of a much troubled breaft.
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
What we fo fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sal. The colour of the King doth come and go,
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles fent :
His paffion is fo ripe, it needs must break.
Pemb. And when it breaks, I fear will iffue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. Jobn. We cannot hold mortality's ftrong hand,
Good Lords, altho' my will to give is living,
The fuit which you demand is gone, and dead.
He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his fickness was paft cure.
Pemb. Indeed we heard how near his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was fick.
This must be anfwer'd either here or hence.
K. John. Why do you bend fuch folemn brows on me? Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulfe of life?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play, and 'tis fhame
That greatnefs fhould fo grofly offer it:
So thrive it in your game, and so farewell!
Pemb, Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee,
And find th'inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this ifle,
Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while!
This must not be thus born, this will break out
To all our forrows, and ere long I doubt.
SCENE III. Enter Messenger.
K. Jobn. They burn in indignation; I repent. There is no fure foundation fet on blood ;
No certain life atchiev'd by others death
A fearful eye thou haft; where is that blood [To the Mej. That I have feen inhabit in those cheeks?
So foul a fky clears not without a storm;
Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?
Mef. From France to England never such a power,
For any foreign preparation,
Was levy'd in the body of a land.
The copy of your fpeed is learn'd by them :
For when you fhould be told they do prepare,
The tidings come that they are all arriv'd.
K. John. Oh, where hath our intelligence been drunk? Where hath it flept? where is my mother's care?
That fuch an army fhould be drawn in France,
And the not hear of it?
Mef. My Liege, her ear
Is ftopt with duft: the first of April dy'd
Your noble mother; and as I hear, my Lord,
The Lady Conftance in a frenzie dy'd
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard; if true or falfe, I know not.
K. John. With-hold thy speed, dreadful occafion !
O make a league with me, 'till I have pleas'd
My difcontented Peers. My mother dead?
How wildly then walks my estate in France!
Under whofe conduct come those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'ft out are landed here ?
Mef. Under the Dauphin's.
Enter Baftard, and Peter of Pomfret.
K. John. Thou haft made me giddy
With thefe ill tidings. Now, what fays the world
To your proceedings? Do not feek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full,
Baft. But if you be afraid to hear the worst,
Then let the worft unheard fall on your head.
K. Jobn. Bear with me, coufin; for I was amaz'd
Under the tide, but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood; and can give audience
To any tongue, fpeak it of what it will.
Baft. How I have fped among the clergy-men,
The fums I have collected fhall exprefs.
But as I travell'd hither through the land,
I find the people ftrangely fantafied;
Poffeft with rumours, full of idle dreams;
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear.
And here's a prophet that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels:
To whom he fung in rude harsh-founding rhymes,
That ere the next Afcenfion-day at noon
Your Highness should deliver up your crown.
K. Jobn. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didft thou fo?
Peter. Fore-knowing that the truth will fall out fo.
K. Jobn. Hubert, away with him; imprison him,
And on that day at noon, whereon he says
I fhall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
Deliver him to fafety, and return,
For I muft ufe thee.-O my gentle coufin,
[Exit Hubert with Peter.
Hear'ft thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?
Baft. The French, my Lord; men's mouths are full of it; Befides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
And others more, going to feek the grave
Of Arthur, who they say is kill'd to-night
On your fuggeftion.
K. Jobn. Gentle kinfman, go
And thruft thy felf into their company.
I have a way to win their loves again :
Bring them before me.
Baft. I will feek them out.
K. Jobn. Nay, but make hafte; the better foot before. O, let me have no subjects enemies,
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of ftout invafion.
Be Mercury, fet feathers to thy heels,
And fly, like thought, from them to me again.
Baft. The fpirit of the time fhall teach me fpeed. [Exit. K. John. Spoke like a fprightful noble gentleman. Go after him; for he perhaps fhall need
Some meffenger betwixt me and the Peers ;
And be thou he.
Mef. With all my heart, my Liege.
K. John. My mother dead!
SCENE IV. Enter Hubert.
Hub. My Lord, they fay five moons were feen to-night: Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wond'rous motion.
K. Jobn. Five moons?
Hub, Old men and beldams, in the streets,
Do prophefie upon it dangerously :
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths,
And when they talk of him, they fhake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear.
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrift,
Whilft he that hears makes fearful action
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I faw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilft his iron did on th'anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a taylor's news;
Who with his fhears and measure in his hand,
Standing on flippers, which his nimble hafte
Had falfely thruft upon contrary feet,
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent.
Another lean, unwash'd artificer,
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
K.Jobn. Why feek'st thou to poffefs me with these fears? Why urgeft thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murther'd him : I had a cause
To wish him dead, but thou had'ft none to kill him.
Hub.Had none, my Lord? why, did you not provoke me?
K. John. It is the curfe of Kings, to be attended
By flaves that take their humours for a warrant,
To break into the bloody houfe of life:
And on the winking of authority
To understand a law; to know the meaning
|