Else what a mockery should it be to swear!
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore thy later vows against thy first
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
And better conquest never canst thou make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
The peril of our curses light on thee
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
But in despair die under their black weight.
Will’t not be?
Will not a calfs-skin stop that mouth of thine?
Upon thy wedding-day?
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter’d men?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth! even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne’er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven!
Now shall I see thy love: what motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?
That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!
I muse your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,
Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.
The sun’s o’ercast with blood: fair day, adieu!
Which is the side that I must go withal?
I am with both: each army hath a hand;
And in their rage, I having hold of both,
They swirl asunder and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy fortunes thrive:
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss before the match be play’d.
Cousin, go draw our puissance together. Exit Bastard.
France, I am burn’d up with inflaming wrath;
A rage whose heat hath this condition,
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France.
Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
Scene II
The same. Plains near Angiers.
Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria’s head. | |
Bastard |
Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; |
Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. | |
King John |
Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up: |
Bastard |
My lord, I rescued her; |
Scene III
The same.
Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. | |
King John |
To Elinor. So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind |
Arthur | O, this will make my mother die with grief! |
King John |
To the Bastard. Cousin, away for England! haste before: |
Bastard |
Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, |
Elinor | Farewell, gentle cousin. |
King John | Coz, farewell. Exit the Bastard. |
Elinor | Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. |
King John |
Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, |
Hubert | I am much bounden to your majesty. |
King John |
Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet, |