The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

great heart heave away this storm; Commend these waters to those baby eyes That never saw the giant world enrag’d, Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.

Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep Into the purse of rich prosperity

As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all, That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.

 

Enter PANDULPH

 

And even there, methinks, an angel spake: Look where the holy legate comes apace, To give us warrant from the hand of heaven And on our actions set the name of right With holy breath.

PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France!

The next is this: King John hath reconcil’d Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy Church, The great metropolis and see of Rome.

Therefore thy threat’ning colours now wind up And tame the savage spirit of wild war, That, like a lion fostered up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace And be no further harmful than in show.

LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back: I am too high-born to be propertied,

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful servingman and instrument

To any sovereign state throughout the world.

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars Between this chastis’d kingdom and myself And brought in matter that should feed this fire; And now ‘tis far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it.

You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; And come ye now to tell me John hath made His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?

I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; And, now it is half-conquer’d, must I back Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?

Am I Rome’s slave? What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent, To underprop this action? Is ‘t not I That undergo this charge? Who else but I, And such as to my claim are liable,

Sweat in this business and maintain this war?

Have I not heard these islanders shout out ‘Vive le roi!’ as I have bank’d their towns?

Have I not here the best cards for the game To will this easy match, play’d for a crown?

And shall I now give o’er the yielded set?

No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work.

LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified

As to my ample hope was promised

Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull’d these fiery spirits from the world To outlook conquest, and to will renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

[Trumpet sounds]

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

 

Enter the BASTARD, attended

 

BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.

My holy lord of Milan, from the King

I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And, as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue.

PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says he’ll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath’d, The youth says well. Now hear our English King; For thus his royalty doth speak in me.

He is prepar’d, and reason too he should.

This apish and unmannerly approach,

This harness’d masque and unadvised revel This unhair’d sauciness and boyish troops, The King doth smile at; and is well prepar’d To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories.

That hand which had the strength, even at your door.

To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, To dive like buckets in concealed wells, To crouch in litter of your stable planks, To lie like pawns lock’d up in chests and trunks, To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake Even at the crying of your nation’s crow, Thinking this voice an armed Englishman-Shall that victorious hand be feebled here That in your chambers gave you chastisement?

No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms And like an eagle o’er his aery tow’rs To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.

And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; For your own ladies and pale-visag’d maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination.

LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.

PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD. No, I will speak.

LEWIS. We will attend to neither.

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war, Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start And echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac’d That shall reverberate all as loud as thine: Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin’s ear And mock the deep-mouth’d thunder; for at hand-Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath us’d rather for sport than needIs warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb’d death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.

BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

Exeunt

 

SCENE 3.

 

England. The field of battle

 

Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT

 

KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?

KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!

 

Enter a MESSENGER

 

MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your Majesty to leave the field And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply That was expected by the Dauphin here Are wreck’d three nights ago on Goodwin Sands; This news was brought to Richard but even now.

The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up And will not let me welcome this good news.

Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight; Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt

SCENE 4.

 

England. Another part of the battlefield

 

Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT

 

SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor’d with friends.

PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

 

Enter MELUN, wounded

 

MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.

SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.

PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.

SALISBURY. Wounded to death.

MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,

And welcome home again discarded faith.

Seek out King John, and fall before his feet; For if the French be lords of this loud day, He means to recompense the pains you take By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many moe with me, Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;

Even on that altar where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?

MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which bleeds away even as a form of wax Resolveth from his figure ‘gainst the fire?

What in the world should make me now deceive, Since I must lose the use of all deceit?

Why should I then be false, since it is true That I must die here, and live hence by truth?

I say again, if Lewis do will the day, He is forsworn if e’er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the east; But even this night, whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, Paying the fine of rated treachery

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.

If Lewis by your assistance win the day.

Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; The love of him-and this respect besides, For that my grandsire was an Englishman-Awakes my conscience to confess all this.

In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field, Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my soul With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight, And like a bated and retired flood,

Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlook’d, And calmly run on in obedience

Even to our ocean, to great King John.

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight, And happy newness, that intends old right.

Exeunt, leading off MELUN

 

SCENE 5.

 

England. The French camp

 

Enter LEWIS and his train

 

LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, But stay’d and made the western welkin blush, When English measure backward their own ground In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tott’ring colours clearly up, Last in the field and almost lords of it!

 

Enter a MESSENGER

 

MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LEWIS. Here; what news?

MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords By his persuasion are again fall’n off, And your supply, which you have wish’d so long, Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!

I did not think to be so sad tonight As this hath made me. Who was he that said King John did fly an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary pow’rs?

MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care tonight; The day shall not be up so soon as I

To try the fair adventure of tomorrow. Exeunt

SCENE 6.

 

An open place wear Swinstead Abbey

 

Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally

 

HUBERT. Who’s there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT. Of the part of England.

BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT. What’s that to thee? Why may I not demand Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD. Hubert, I think.

HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.

I will upon all hazards