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 elfe 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 fhall be faid.
Pand. You look but on the outfide of this work.'
Lewis. Outfide or infide, I will not return,
Till my attempt fo 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.
[Trumpet founds. What lufty trumpet thus doth fummon us? Enter Faulconbridge.
Faule. According to the fair Play of the world,
Let me have audience: I am sent to speak,
My holy lord of Milain, from the King:
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him:
And as you anfwer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.
Pand. The Dauphin is too willfull-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 reafon too, he should.
This apifh and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd mask, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd fawciness and boyish troops, (20)
The King doth fmile 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,
To lye, like pawns, lock'd up in chefts and trunks;
To herd with fwine; to feek sweet safety out,
In vaults and prifons; and to thrill, and shake,
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 unheard 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 Result 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 unhair'd, i. c. 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 peace;
We grant, thou canst 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.
Faule. No, I will speak.
Lewis. We will attend to neither:
Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our int'reft, and our being here.
Faulc. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out And fo fhall you, being beaten; do but start
An Echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And ev'n at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That fhall 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. For at hand
(Not trufting to this halting Legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for fport, than need)
Is warlike John; and in his forehead fits
A bare-ribb'd death; whofe office is this day
To feaft upon whole thousands of the French.
Lewis. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Faulc. 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
K. John. LOW goes the day with us? oh, tell me, Hubert.
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 kinfinan, Faulconbridge, Defires your Majefty to leave the field;
And fend him word by me which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, tow'rd Swinftead, to the Abbey there.
Mef. Be of good Comfort: for the great Supply,
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Godwin-fands.
This news was brought to Richard but ev'n now;
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ah me! this tyrant feaver burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on tow'rd Swinftead; to my Litter strait;
Weakness poffeffeth me, and I am faint.
[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the French Camp.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke and Bigot.
Did not think the King fo ftor'd with friends.
Pemb. Up once again; put fpirit in the French:
If they mifcarry, we mifcarry too.
Sal. That milf-begotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In fpight of fpight, alone upholds the day.
Pemb. They fay, King John, fore fick, hath left the field.
Enter Melun, wounded.
Melun. Lead me to the Revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy, we had other names.
Pemb. It is the Count Melun.
Melun. Fly, noble English, you are bought and fold
Untread the rude way of Rebellion, (21)
And welcome home again difcarded faith.
Seek out King John, and fall before his feet:
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompence the pains you take,
(21) Unthread the rude Eye of Rebellion.] Tho' all the Copies concur in this Reading, how poor is the Metaphor of unthreading the Eye of a Needle? And, befides, as there is no Mention made of a Needle, how remote and obfcure is the Allufion without it? The Text, as I have reftor'd it, is easy and natural; and it is the Mode of Expreffion, which our Author is every where fond of, to tread and untread, the Way, Path, Steps, &c.
By cutting off your heads; thus hath he fworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at St. Edmonsbury;
Ev'n on that altar, where we fwore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.
Sal. May this be poffible! may this be true!
Melun. Have I not hideous death within my view? Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away, ev'n as a form of wax
Refolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world fhould make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
Why fhould I then be falfe, fince it is true,
That I muft die here, and live hence by truth?
I fay again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forfworn, if e'er thofe eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east.
But ev❜n this night, whofe black contagious breath
Already fmoaks about the burning creit
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied fun,
Ev'n this ill night, your breathing fhall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,
Ev'n with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your affistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;
The love of him, and this refpect befides,
(For that my grandfire was an Englishman,)
Awakes my confcience to confefs all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In
peace; and part this body and my foul,
With contemplation, and devout defires.
Sal. We do believe thee, and befhrew
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this moft fair occafion, by the which
We will untread the fteps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within thofe bounds, we have o'er-look'd;
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