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K. John. My life as soon.--I do defie thee, Franet. Arthur of Britain, yield thee to my hand ; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more, Than e'er the coward-hand of France can win. Submit thee, boy.
Eli. Come to thy grandam, child.
Conft. Do, child, go to it grandam, child.
Arth. Good my mother, peace;
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
Conf. Now shame upon you, whe're the does or not His grandam's wrong, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heav'n-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heav'n shall take in nature of a fee: Ay, with these crystal beads heav'n fhall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you.
Eli. Thou monstrous flanderer of heav'n and earth!
Conf. Thou monstrous injurer of heav'n and earth, Call me not flanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp The domination, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy fins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him ; Being but the second generation Removed from thy fin-conceiving womb.
K. John. Bedlam, have done.
Conft. I have but this to say,
A will, that bars the title of thy fon.
K. Phil. Peace, Lady; pause, or be more temperate:
K. John. England for itself;
jects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle
K: John. For our advantage; therefore hear us first: These fags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement. The cannons have their bowels full of wrath , And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : All preparations for a bloody fiege And merciless proceeding, by these French, Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, That as a waste do girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havock made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the light of us your lawful King, (Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a counter-check before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatned cheeks)
Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle ;
K. Philip. When I have faid, make answer to us both.
pay that duty, which you truly owe
And stalk in blood to our possession?
Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's subjects ; For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
K. John. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in,
Cit. That can we not; but he that proves the King,
Faul. (Bastards, and else.
K. John. Then God forgive the fin of all those souls, That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall feet, In dreadful tryal of our kingdom's King! K. Philip. Amen, Amen. - -Mount, chevaliers, to
arms! Faulc. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er
[To Austria. Auf. Peace, no more. Faul. O, tremble; for you hear the Lion roar.
K. John. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth In beit appointment all our regiments.
Faulc. Speed then to take th' advantage of the field.
K. Philip. It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God, and our right!
A long Charge founded: then, after excursions, enter the
Herald of France with trumpets to the gates. F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur Duke of Bretagne in ; Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose fons lye scatter'd on the bleeding ground: And many a widow's husband groveling lyes, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; While victory with little loss doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French ; Who are at hand triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors; and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne, England's King, and yours.
Enter English Herald with Trumpets. E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers; ring your bells ; King John, your King and England's, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day. Their armours, that march'd hence fo filver-bright, Hither return all gilt in Frenchmens' blood. There stuck no plume in any English Crest, That is removed by a staff of France. Our Colours do return in those fame hands ; That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our lufty English, all with purpled hands ; Dy'd in the dying flaughter of their focs. Open your gates, and give the victors way.
Cit. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold, From first to last, the Onset and Retire Of both your armies, whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured; Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answerd
blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted
power. 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.