King John III

Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?

False blood to false blood joined? Gone to be friends?

Shall Lewis have Blanche and Blanche those provinces?

It is not so. Thou hast misspoke, misheard.

Be well advised, tell o’er thy tale again.

Constance

Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?

Then speak again, not all thy former tale,

But this one word – whether thy tale be true.

Constance

I do beseech you, madam, be content.

Arthur

If thou that bidst me be content wert grim,

Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb,

Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,

Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,

Patched with foul moles and eye-offending marks,

I would not care; I then would be content,

For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou

Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.

But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,

Nature and Fortune joined to make thee great.

Constance

Of Nature’s gifts thou mayest with lilies boast,

And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,

She is corrupted, changed, and won from thee.

Sh’ adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,

And with her golden hand hath plucked on France

To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,

And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.

France is a bawd to Fortune and King John;

That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John.

Tell me thou fellow, is not France forsworn?

Envenom him with words or get thee gone

And leave those woes alone which I alone

Am bound to underbear.

Constance

[To Arthur] Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss

As seal to this indenture of my love:

That to my home I will no more return

Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,

Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,

Whose foot spurns back the ocean’s roaring tides

And coops from other lands her islanders,

Even till that England, hedged in with the main,

That water-wallèd bulwark, still secure

And confident from foreign purposes,

Even till that utmost corner of the west

Salute thee for her King. Till then fair boy

Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Austria

By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause

To curse the fair proceedings of this day.

Have I not pawned to you my majesty?

King Philip

You have beguiled me with a counterfeit

Resembling majesty, which, being touched and tried,

Proves valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn.

Constance

Lady Constance, peace.

Austria

War, war, no peace. Peace is to me a war.

O Limoges, O Austria, thou dost shame

That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,

Thou little valiant, great in villainy;

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side;

Thou Fortune’s champion, that dost never fight

But when her humorous ladyship is by

To teach thee safety – thou art perjured too,

And sooth’st up greatness.

Constance

Good reverend father, make my person yours,

And tell me how you would bestow yourself.

This royal hand and mine are newly knit,

And the conjunction of our inward souls

Married in league, coupled, and linked together

With all religious strength of sacred vows.

The latest breath that gave the sound of words

Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love

Between our kingdoms and our royal selves….

King Philip

I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith

King Philip

So mak’st thou faith an enemy to faith,

And like a civil war set’st oath to oath,

Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vow

First made to heaven, first be to heaven performed,

That is, to be the champion of our church.

What since thou swor’st is sworn against thyself

And may not be performèd by thyself,

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,

The truth is then most done not doing it.

Pandulph

The better act of purposes mistook

Is to mistake again; though indirect,

Yet indirection thereby grows direct,

And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire

Within the scorchèd veins of one new burned.

It is religion that doth make vows kept,

But thou hast sworn against religion

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, swears only not to be forsworn,

Else what a mockery should it be to swear?

But thou dost swear only to be forsworn,

And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.

Therefore thy later vows against thy first

Is in thy self rebellion to thy self;

And better conquest never canst thou make,

Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts

Against these giddy loose suggestions,

Upon which better part our prayers come in,

If thou vouchsafe them.  

Pandulph

Come hither Hubert. [He takes Hubert aside.] O my gentle Hubert,

We owe thee much. Within this wall of flesh

There is a soul counts thee her creditor,

And with advantage means to pay thy love.

And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath

Lives in this bosom, dearly cherishèd.

Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,

But I will fit it with some better tune.

By heaven Hubert, I am almost ashamed

To say what good respect I have of thee.

King John

Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,

Hear me without thine ears, and make reply

Without a tongue, using conceit alone –

Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words –

Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,

  I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. 

King John

Death.

King John

My lord?

Hubert

A grave

King John

He shall not live

Hubert

Enough.

King John