To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne England’s king and yours.
[Enter an ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpets.]
ENGLISH HERALD.
Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:
King John, your king and England’s, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day:
Their armours, that march’d hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen’s blood;
There stuck no plume in any English crest
That is removed by a staff of France,
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march’d forth;
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,
Dy’d in the dying slaughter of their foes:
Open your gates and give the victors way.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Heralds, from off our towers, we might behold,
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured:
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer’d blows;
Strength match’d with strength, and power confronted power:
Both are alike, and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,
We hold our town for neither; yet for both.
[Enter, on one side, KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, and
Forces; at the other, KING PHILIP, LOUIS, AUSTRIA, and Forces.]
KING JOHN.
France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?
Say, shall the current of our right run on?
Whose passage, vex’d with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o’erswell
With course disturb’d even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean.
KING PHILIP.
England, thou hast not sav’d one drop of blood
In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: and by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,
We’ll put thee down, ‘gainst whom these arms we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead,
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war’s loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
BASTARD.
Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!
O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
In undetermin’d differences of kings.—
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field,
You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other’s peace: till then, blows, blood, and death!
KING JOHN.
Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
KING PHILIP.
Speak, citizens, for England; who’s your king?
FIRST CITIZEN.
The King of England, when we know the king.
KING PHILIP.
Know him in us, that here hold up his right.
KING JOHN.
In us, that are our own great deputy,
And bear possession of our person here;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
FIRST CITIZEN.
A greater power than we denies all this;
And till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr’d gates;
King’d of our fears, until our fears, resolv’d,
Be by some certain king purg’d and depos’d.
BASTARD.
By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul’d by me:—
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl’d down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city:
I’d play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours once again:
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion,
To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks it not something of the policy?
KING JOHN.
Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well.—France, shall we knit our powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground;
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?
BASTARD.
An if thou hast the mettle of a king,—
Being wrong’d, as we are, by this peevish town,—
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,
As we will ours, against these saucy walls;
And when that we have dash’d them to the ground,
Why then defy each other, and, pellmell,
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell!
KING PHILIP.
Let it be so.—Say, where will you assault?
KING JOHN.
We from the west will send