King John | Page 7

this boy.
CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvis'd you
stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England
bring That right in peace which here we urge in war; And then we shall
repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.
KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady!--lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger

Chatillon is arriv'd.
[Enter CHATILLON.]
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee;
Chatillon, speak.
CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, And stir
them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just
demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I
have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I;
His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers
confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring
him to blood and strife; With her her neice, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd: And all the unsettled
humours of the land,-- Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With
ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,-- Have sold their fortunes at
their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To
make a hazard of new fortunes here. In brief, a braver choice of
dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did
never float upon the swelling tide To do offence and scathe in
Christendom.
[Drums beat within.]
The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance:
they are at hand; To parley or to fight: therefore prepare.
KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd-for is this expedition!
AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake
endeavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them
be welcome, then; we are prepar'd.
[Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,
PEMBROKE, Lords, and Forces.]
KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just
and lineal entrance to our own! If not, bleed France, and peace ascend
to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud
contempt that beats his peace to heaven!
KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return From France to
England, there to live in peace! England we love; and for that England's
sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should
be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far That thou
hast under-wrought his lawful king, Cut off the sequence of posterity,

Outfaced infant state, and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the
crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face:-- These eyes, these
brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that
large Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time Shall draw this brief
into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And
this his son; England was Geffrey's right, And this is Geffrey's: in the
name of God, How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, When
living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou
o'er-masterest?
KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To
draw my answer from thy articles?
KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts In any
breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right.
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I
impeach thy wrong; And by whose help I mean to chastise it.
KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
KING PHILIP. Excus,--it is to beat usurping down.
ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?
CONSTANCE. Let me make answer;--thy usurping son.
ELINOR. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a
queen, and check the world!
CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy
husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou
and John in manners,--being as like As rain to water, or devil to his
dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so
true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.
CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.
AUSTRIA. Peace!
BASTARD. Hear the crier.
AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?
BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An 'a may catch
your hide and you alone. You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard: I'll smoke your skin-coat
an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith.
BLANCH.