K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories, Can task the free breath of a sacred king? Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, Add thus much more, That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; Bnt as we under heaven are supreme head, K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Dreading the curse that money may buy out; Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. Const. O, lawful let it be, That I have room with Rome to curse a while! To my keen curses; for, without my wrong, Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right, Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong: Law cannot give my child his kingdom here; And raise the power of France upon his head, Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy hand. Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France re pent, And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal? Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal? Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, Blanch. That's the curse of Rome. Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee here, In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her faith, But from her need. • When unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.' Thomson's Autumn, 206. Const. O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What can'st thou say, but will perplex thee more, If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, Exchange of salutation. Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed Of true sincerity? O holy sir, My reverend father, let it not be so: Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, Save what is opposite to England's love. Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church! Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, A mother's curse, on her tevolting son. France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, A cased lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Is not amiss when it is truly done; And being not done, where doing tends to ill, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire, By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st; And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure To swear, swear only not to be forsworn; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. And better conquest never canst thou make, So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, Bast. Will't not be? Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? Lew. Father, to arms! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? Against the blood that thou hast married? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name, Against mine uncle. Const. O, upon my knee, Made hard witb kneeling, I do pray to thee, Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! * Musick for dancing. |