That, for the health and phyfick of our Right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice, and confused wrong.
And is't not pity, oh my grieved friends!
That we, the fons and children of this Isle,
Were born to fee fo fad an hour as this,
Wherein we step after a stranger March (19)
Upon her gentle bofom, and fill up
Her enemies ranks? (I must withdraw and weep
Upon the Spot of this enfu ced cause ;)
Το grace the gentry of a Land remote,
And follow unacquainted Colours here?
What, here? O nation, that thou could'st remove!
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a Pagan fhore!
Where thefe two christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it fo un-neighbourly.
Lewis. A noble temper doit thou fhew in this;
And great affection, wrestling in thy bosom,
Doth make an earthquake of Nobility.
Oh, what a noble combat haft thou fought,
Between compulfion, and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That filverly doth progrefs on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary innundation:
But this effufion of fuch manly drops,
This show'r, blown up by tempeft of the foul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd,
Than had I feen the vaulty top of heav'n
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
(19) Wherein we step after a firanger, march
Upon her gentle Bofom,] Thus all the printed Copies have mistakingly pointed this Paffage: but, with fubmission to the former Editors, the Word Stranger is here an Adjective in its Usage, and to be coupled to March, which is its Subftantive and no Verb. And to step after a firanger March, is, What he presently calls in other Terms, following unacquainted Colours.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this ftorm.
Commend these waters to those baby-eyes,
That never faw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune, other than at feafts,
Full-warm of blood, of mirth, of goffiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thruft thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich profperity,
As Lewis himself; fo, Nobles, shall you all,
That knit your finews to the ftrength 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 heav'n,
And on our actions set the name of Right
With holy breath.
Pand. Hail, noble Prince of France!
The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd
Himfelf to Rome; his fpirit is come in,
That fo ftood out against the holy Church,
The great Metropolis and See of Rome.
Therefore thy threatning Colours now wind up,
And tame the favage fpirit of wild war;
That, like a Lion fofter'd up at hand,
It may lye gently at the foot of
And be no further harmful than in fhew.
Lewis. Your Grace fhall pardon me, I will not back: I am too high born to be propertied,
To be a fecondary at control;
Or useful ferving-man, and inftrument,
To any fovereign State throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war,
Between this chaftis'd Kingdom and myself;
And brought in matter that fhould feed this fire.
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out,
With that fame weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of Right,
Acquainted me with int'reft to this Land;
Yea, thruft this enterprize 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, muft I back,
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's flave? what penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition fent,
To under prop this action? is't not I,
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And fuch as to my Claim are liable,
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ?
Have I not heard these islanders fhout out,
Vive le Roy! as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this eafie match, plaid for a Crown?
And fhall I now give o'er the yielded Set?
No, on my foul, it never shall be said.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lewis. Outfide or infide, 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 fpirits from the world,
To outlook Conqueft, and to win Renown
Ev'n in the jaws of danger, and of death.
What lufty trumpet thus doth fummon us?
Enter Faulconbridge.
Faule. According to the fair Play of the world,
Let me have audience: I am fent to speak,
My holy lord of Milain, 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.
Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-oppofite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties:
He flatly fays, he'll not lay down his arms.
Faulc. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
VOL. III.
The Youth fays well. Now hear our English King;
For thus his Royalty doth speak in me:
He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should.
This apifh and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd mask, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd fawcinefs and boyish troops, (20)
The King doth finile 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 ftrength, ev'n 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 ftable planks,
Tolye, like pawns,
lock'd in chefts and trunks;
up
To herd with Swine; to feek sweet safety out,
In vaults and prifons; and to thrill, and thake,
Ev'n at the crying of our nation's Crow,
Thinking his voice an armed English man;
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 Aiery tow'rs,
To foufe annoiance that comes near his neft.
And you degen'rate, you ingrate Revolts,
You bloody Nero's, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame.
For your own ladies, and pale-vifag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their Thimbles into armed Gantlets change,
(20) This unheard Sawciness, and boyish Troops,] Thus the printed Copies in general: but unbeard is an Epithet of very little Force, or Meaning here: befides, let us obferve how 'tis coupled. Faulconbridge is fneering at the Dauphin's Invafion, as an unadvis'd Enterprize, favouring of youth and Indifcretion; the Refult of Childishness, and unthinking Rashness: and he feems altogether to dwell on this Character of it, by calling his Preparation boyish Troops, dwarfish War, pigmy Arms, &c. which, according to my Emendation, fort very well with anbair'd, i. e, unbearded Sawcinefs.
Their Needles to Lances, and their gentle Hearts
To fierce and bloody Inclination.
Lewis. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in
We grant, thou canft out-fcold us; fare thee well :
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With fuch a babler.
Pand. Give me leave to speak.
Faulc. No, I will speak.
Lewis. We will attend to neither :
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue
Plead for our int'rest, and our being here.
Faulc. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out And fo fhall you, being beaten; do but ftart And Echo with the clamour of thy drum, And ev❜n at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverb rate 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. (Not trufting to this halting Legate here, Whom he hath us'd rather for sport, than need) Is warlike John; and in his forehead fits A bare-ribb'd death; whofe office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lewis. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. Faule. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
[Exeunt. SCENE changes to a Field of Battle.
Alarms. Enter King John and Hubert.
K. John. HOW goes the day with us? oh, tell me,
Hub. Badly, I fear; how fares your Majefty? K. John. This feaver, that hath troubled me fo long, Lyes heavy on me: oh, my heart is fick !
Mef. My lord, your valiant kinfman, Faulconbridge, Defires your Majefty to leave the field;
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