King John William Shakespeare (best book recommendations TXT) 📖

Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pembroke They say King John sore sick hath left the field. Enter Melun, wounded. Melun Lead me to the revolts of England here. Salisbury When we were happy we had other names. Pembroke It is the Count Melun. Salisbury Wounded to death. Melun

Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John and fall before his feet;
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn
And I with him, and many moe with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Salisbury May this be possible? may this be true? Melun

Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure ’gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die here and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forsworn, if e’er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night, whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun,
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,
Paying the fine of rated treachery
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert with your king:
The love of him, and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
Awakes my conscience to confess 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 soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Salisbury

We do believe thee: and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight,
And like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlook’d
And cabby run on in obedience
Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness, that intends old right. Exeunt, leading off Melun.

Scene V

The French camp.

Enter Lewis and his train. Lewis

The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,
But stay’d and made the western welkin blush,
When English measure backward their own ground
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tattering colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger. Messenger Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Lewis Here: what news? Messenger

The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
By his persuasion are again fall’n off,
And your supply, which you have wish’d so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

Lewis

Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!
I did not think to be so sad to-night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Messenger Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lewis

Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt.

Scene VI

An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, severally. Hubert Who’s there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. Bastard A friend. What art thou? Hubert Of the part of England. Bastard Whither dost thou go? Hubert

What’s that to thee? why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

Bastard Hubert, I think? Hubert

Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will upon all hazards well believe
Thou art my friend, that know’st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?

Bastard

Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hubert

Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should ’scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Bastard Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? Hubert

Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

Bastard Brief, then; and what’s the news? Hubert

O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

Bastard

Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman, I’ll not swoon at it.

Hubert

The king, I fear, is poison’d by a monk:
I left him almost speechless; and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bastard How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hubert

A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.

Bastard Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hubert

Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon’d them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bastard

Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I’ll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away before: conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt.

Scene VII

The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. Prince Henry

It is too late: the life of all his blood
Is touch’d