Enter an English Herald with two Trumpets and Attendants, R. U. E. The Trumpets sound a parley.

To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours,

E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your
King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day.

Our colours do return in those same hands,

That did display them when we first marched forth;
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come

Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.
Open your gates, and give the victors way.

bells:

Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
From first to last, the onset and retire

Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censuréd:

Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answered blows:
Both are alike; and both alike we like.

One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,

We hold our town for neither, yet for both.

1

[Flourish of Trumpets, R. U. E.

Enter, at R. U. E., KING JOHN, with his power, ELINOR, BLANCH, and FAULCONBRIDGE; at R. S. E., KING PHILIP, Lewis, AUSTRIA, and forces.

K. John. (Up, c.) France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?

Say, shall the current of our right run on?

K. Phi. (Up, R.) England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood,

In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more and by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,

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

Faulc. [In front, L. c.] Ha! majesty, how high thy glory

towers,

When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!

Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ?

Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm

The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death!
K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England, who's your king?
Cit. The king of England, when we know the king.
K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right.
K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.

Cit. A greater power than we denies all this;
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock

Our former scruple in our strong barred gates.

Faulc. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,

And stand securely on their battlements,
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be ruled by me :

[Crosses, c.-King John comes down, L..
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawled down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours once again;
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side, her happy minion,
To whom in favour she shall 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,

[Crosses, c.

I like it well.-France, shall we knit our powers,

And lay this Angiers even with the ground,

Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

K. Phi. Let it be so.-Say, where will you assault?

K. John. We from the west will send destruction

Into this city's bosom.

Aust. I from the north.

K. Phi. Our thunder from the south,

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

Faulc. Oh, prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : [Aside. I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away! [Goes up, c. Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league ; Win you this city without stroke, or wound; Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

K. John. Speak on with favour: we are bent to hear. Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, Is near to England: look upon the years

Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid.
Oh! two such silver currents, when they join,
Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
Two such controlling banks shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates: fling them wide ope,
And give you entrance; but, without this match,
The sea enragéd is not half so deaf,

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion; no, not Death himself

In mortal fury half so peremptory,

As we to keep this city.

Faulc. Here's a stay,

That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death

Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,

That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas; Talks as familiarly of roaring lions,

As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs.

What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?

Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words,

Since I first called my brother's father, dad. [Crosses, R. Eli. [Up, L. c.] Son, list to this conjunction; make this

match;

Give with our niece a dowry large enough,

For by this knot thou shalt full surely tie

Thy now unsured assurance to the crown.

I see a yielding in the looks of France;
Mark how they whisper.

Cit. Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threatened town?

[Elinor brings Blanch to King John. K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first

To speak unto this city: what say you?

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read, I love,

Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen.

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. Lew. I do, my lord; and in her eye I find

A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,

The shadow of myself,

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.

[Crosses to Blanch. King John, Philip and Elinor, go
up in conference.

Faulc. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,
Hanged in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,

And quartered in her heart, he doth espy

Himself love's traitor: this is pity now,

That hanged, and drawn, and quartered, there should be In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

K. John. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?

Blanch. (c.) That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.

K. John. Speak, then, Prince Dauphin: can you love this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love, For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K. John. Then I do give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

The

K. Phi. It likes us well.-Young princes, close your hands. [Lewis kisses Blanch's hand. Citizens leave the walls. English and French mingle amicably.

Aust. And your lips, too; for, I am well assured That I did so, when I was first assured.

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made;
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently

The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.-
Is not the lady Constance in this troop?

[Melun speaks to Lewis.

Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. K. Phi. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady?

K. John. We will heal up all;

For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne,
And earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of.-Call the lady Constance :
Some speedy messenger bid her repair

To our solemnity.

[Exit Salisbury, R. S. E. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlooked for, unprepared pomp.

[Gates open, and Citizens enter bareheaded and kneel, R., presenting the keys of the city.-Exeunt all but Faulconbridge, in grand procession.

Faulc. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;

And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field,
As Heaven's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,-
This smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,-
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapped on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determined aid,
From a resolved and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.

[Sound of a distant flourish and shouts.

And why rail I on this commodity?

But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,