as we will be in defending our city.
BASTARD.
Here's a stay
That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed,
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad.
Here's an obstacle
that will shake the rotten carcass of old Death
out of his rags! Here's a brave talker,
who goes on about death and mountains, rocks and seas;
talks as casually about roaring lions
as girls of thirteen do about puppies!
What artillery man fathered this lusty chap?
He speaks like a cannon, with smoke and explosions;
his tongue is like a club,
it cudgels our ears; everything he says
makes a better attack than any blows of France.
By God! I was never so clobbered with words
since I first called my brother's father dad.
ELINOR.
Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough;
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France;
Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls
Are capable of this ambition,
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.
Son, listen to this scheme, make this marriage;
give a good large dowry with our niece;
for making this marriage you will make your
currently dubious claim to the crown so solid
that that young lad will have no chance
of developing his claim.
I can see doubt in the looks of the French;
look how they whisper. Encourage them while they are
keen on this plan,
in case their keenness, strong at the moment due to
soft petitions, pity and remorse,
cools down again and returns to how it was.
CITIZEN.
Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town?
Why do the two kings not answer
this friendly request by our threatened town?
KING PHILIP.
Speak England first, that hath been forward first
To speak unto this city: what say you?
Let England speak first, who was the first one
to speak to this city: what do you say?
KING JOHN.
If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,
Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,'
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea-
Except this city now by us besieg'd-
Find liable to our crown and dignity,
Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,
As she in beauty, education, blood,
Holds hand with any princess of the world.
If your princely son, that Dauphin there,
looks at this beauty and loves her,
she shall have a dowry equal to the Queen;
Anjou, fair Touraine, Maine, Poitiers,
and everything that is ours on this side of the Channel–
except for this city we are now besieging–
that is subject to our rule,
will decorate her bridal bed, and make her rich
in titles, honours and promotions,
as rich as she is in beauty, education and nobility,
so that she can match any princess in the world.
KING PHILIP.
What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face.
What do you say, boy? Look at the lady's face.
LEWIS.
I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;
Which, being but the shadow of your son,
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.
I do protest I never lov'd myself
Till now infixed I beheld myself
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
I am, my lord, and in her eyes I see
something amazing, perhaps a miracle,
the shape of myself formed in her eye;
which, being only the shadow of your son,
becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.
I must say that I never loved myself
until now when I see myself
drawn in the flattering mirror of her eyes.
[Whispers with BLANCH]
BASTARD.
[Aside]Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,
Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,
And quarter'd in her heart-he doth espy
Himself love's traitor. This is pity now,
That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be
In such a love so vile a lout as he.
Drawn in the flattering mirror of her eyes,
hanged on the frowning wrinkles of her forehead,
and quartered in her heart–he sees himself
as a traitor to love. It's a pity now that
such a vile lout as him should be
hung drawn and quartered there.
BLANCH.
My uncle's will in this respect is mine.
If he see aught in you that makes him like,
That anything he sees which moves his liking
I can with ease translate it to my will;
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it eas'ly to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love,
Than this: that nothing do I see in you-
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge-
That I can find should merit any hate.
What my uncle wishes in this matter is what I wish.
If he sees anything in you that he likes,
if there is anything about you which makes him like you,
I can certainly make that liking my own;
or if you wish, to be more accurate,
I can easily make it part of my love.
I will not flatter you any further, my lord,
other than to say that all I see in you is
worthy love: but I don't see anything in you–
even judging by the harshest standards–
that gives me any reason to hate you.
KING JOHN.
What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?
What do these young ones say? What do you say, my niece?
BLANCH.
That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
That I am honour bound to do
whatever you wisely decide I should.
KING JOHN.
Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?
You speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?
LEWIS.
<
br /> Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.
No, ask me if I can stop myself loving her;
for I love her without trying.
KING JOHN.
Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
With her to thee; and this addition more,
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
Then I shall give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,
Poitiers and Anjou, these five provinces,
to you along with her; and I shall also add
thirty thousand marks in English money.
Philip of France, if you agree to all that,
tell your son and daughter to join hands.
KING PHILIP.
It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.
I'm very pleased with it; young Princes, hold hands.
AUSTRIA.
And your lips too; for I am well assur'd
That I did so when I was first assur'd.
And touch lips too; I can certainly remember
that I did so when I was first engaged.
KING PHILIP.
Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made;
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?
I know she is not; for this match made up
Her presence would have interrupted much.
Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.
Now, citizens of Angiers, open your gates,
and let in the love which you have created;
we shall celebrate the marriage at once
in St Mary's Chapel.
Isn't Lady Constance in this gathering?
I know she is not; for she would have done her best
to interrupt this marriage.
Where are her and her son? If anyone knows, tell me.
LEWIS.
She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.
She is at your Highness' tent, deeply sad.
KING PHILIP.
And, by my faith, this league that we have made
Will give her sadness very little cure.
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady? In her right we came;
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.
And, I swear, this agreement we have made
will not make her any happier.
Brother of England, how can we make this widow
happy? We came here to fight for her;
but now, God knows, we have changed direction,
for our own good.
KING JOHN.
We will heal up all,
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity. I trust we shall,
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we as well as haste will suffer us
To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.
We will heal everything,
for we will make young Arthur Duke of Brittany,
and Earl of Richmond; and also Lord of
this rich fair town. Call Lady Constance;
let some speedy messenger summon her
to our presence. I hope we shall,
if we can't do everything she wants,
at least we can give her enough satisfaction
so we can stop her complaining.
Let's go as quickly as we can
to this unexpected, unprepared ceremony.
Exeunt all but the BASTARD
BASTARD.
Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world-
The world, who of itself is peised well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent-
And this same bias, this commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this commodity?
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute my palm,
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
And say there is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be
To say there is no vice but beggary.
Since kings break faith upon commodity,
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.
Mad world! Mad kings! A mad arrangement!
John, to stop Arthur getting the whole thing
has willingly given up part of it:
and France, who was driven by conscience,
he came to the battlefield in pious charity
as a soldier of God, listened to the whispers
of that sly devil who makes men changeable,
that pimp who destroys all faith,
the daily promise breaker, who wins over everyone,
Kings, beggars, old men, young men, maids,
who, having nothing outside to lose
apart from the word “maid" cheats the poor maid out of that,
that deceitful gentleman, flattering self-interest,
self-interest, which unbalances the world,
the world, which is well-balanced in itself,
designed to run evenly along even ground,
until this bias comes in,
this changing motion, this self-interest,
which makes it run away from impartiality,
from all sense, purpose, and intentions:
this same bias, this self-interest,
this pimp, this broker, this always changing word,
has suddenly popped up in the eyes of fickle France,
and drawn him away from his own determined path,
from a settled and honourable war
to a dishonourable tawdry peace.
Why am I criticising this self-interest?
Because it hasn't come to offer me anything yet:
I don't have the power within my hands
which would make it worth his while;
and so my hand, yet to be tempted,
criticises the rich like a poor beggar.
Well, while I am a beggar, I will criticise
once I'm rich, I shall then say
that the only evil thing is begging.
Since kings break their promises out of self-interest,
gain, be my Lord, for I will worship you!
Exit
France. The FRENCH KING'S camp
Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY
CONSTANCE.
Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.
It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;
I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man:
Believe me I do not believe thee, man;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick and capable of fears,
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
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.
Gone to be married! Gone to swear to a peace agreement!
Joining false blood with false blood! Gone to be friends!
Will Louis have Blanche, and Blanche have these provinces?
It isn't true; you've described it wrong, or misheard;
think about it, tell your story over again.
It cannot be; it's just that you say it's true.
I'm sure I can't trust you, for your words
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 6