King John

deed. Salisbury

Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

Bigot

Or, when he doom’d this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

Salisbury

Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,
Or have you read or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder’s arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pembroke

All murders past do stand excused in this:
And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bastard

It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.

Salisbury

If that it be the work of any hand!
We had a kind of light what would ensue:
It is the shameful work of Hubert’s hand;
The practice and the purpose of the king:
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pembroke
Bigot Our souls religiously confirm thy words. Enter Hubert. Hubert

Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

Salisbury

O, he is old and blushes not at death.
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Hubert I am no villain. Salisbury Must I rob the law? Drawing his sword. Bastard Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. Salisbury Not till I sheathe it in a murderer’s skin. Hubert

Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;
By heaven, I think my sword’s as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness and nobility.

Bigot Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a nobleman? Hubert

Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.

Salisbury Thou art a murderer. Hubert

Do not prove me so;
Yet I am none: whose tongue soe’er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

Pembroke Cut him to pieces. Bastard Keep the peace, I say. Salisbury Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Bastard

Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I’ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

Bigot

What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain and a murderer?

Hubert Lord Bigot, I am none. Bigot Who kill’d this prince? Hubert

’Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour’d him, I loved him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life’s loss.

Salisbury

Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Bigot Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! Pembroke There tell the king he may inquire us out. Exeunt Lords. Bastard

Here’s a good world! Knew you of this fair work?
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn’d, Hubert.

Hubert Do but hear me, sir. Bastard

Ha! I’ll tell thee what;
Thou’rt damn’d as black⁠—nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn’d than Prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hubert Upon my soul⁠— Bastard

If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair;
And if thou want’st a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hubert

If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
I left him well.

Bastard

Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-pick’d bone of majesty
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home and discontents at home
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fall’n beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
And follow me with speed: I’ll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Exeunt.

Act V

Scene I

King John’s palace.

	Enter King John, Pandulph, and Attendants.
King John	Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Giving the crown.
Pandulph	Take again From this my hand, as holding of the pope Your sovereign greatness and authority.
King John	Now keep your holy word: go meet the French, And from his holiness use all your power To stop their