And Though He Tread the Humple Ways of Men He Shall Not Speak the Common Tongue Again
Now, past this light, were I to go over again,
Madam, I would non wish a better begetter.
Some sins do acquit their privilege on earth,
And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,
Subjected tribute to commanding honey,
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The aweless lion could not wage the fight,
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
May hands win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
With all my centre I thank thee for my begetter!
Who lives and dares only say thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I volition testify thee to my kin;
And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
If grand hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. 
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your begetter's wife did later on marriage bear him,
And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
Had of your male parent merits'd this son for his?
In sooth, good friend, your male parent might have kept
This calf bred from his moo-cow from all the world;
In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother'due south,
My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
My mother's son did get your father's heir;
Your father's heir must take your father'south land.
Brother, adieu: expert fortune come up to thee!
For thousand wast got i' the way of honesty.
[Exeunt all only BASTARD]
A pes of honour improve than I was;
Just many a many foot of land the worse.
Well, at present tin can I brand whatever Joan a lady.
'Adept den, sir Richard!'—'God-a-mercy, young man!'—
And if his name be George, I'll phone call him Peter;
For new-made award doth forget men's names;
'Tis also respective and as well sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveller,
He and his toothpick at my worship'southward mess,
And when my knightly tummy is sufficed,
Why so I suck my teeth and catechise
My picked human being of countries: 'My dear sir,'
Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I brainstorm,
'I shall beseech you lot'—that is question at present;
And so comes answer similar an Absey book:
'O sir,' says respond, 'at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir;'
'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:'
And so, ere respond knows what question would,
Saving in dialogue of compliment,
And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean and the river Po,
It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
Simply this is worshipful society
And fits the mounting spirit like myself,
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of ascertainment;
And and so am I, whether I smack or no;
And non alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
But from the inward movement to evangelize
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's molar:
Which, though I volition not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For information technology shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
What woman-postal service is this? hath she no husband
That will accept pains to blow a horn earlier her?
[Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY]
O me! it is my female parent. How now, good lady!
What brings you here to courtroom so hastily?
And then plough your forces from this paltry siege
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your but demands,
Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him fourth dimension
To country his legions all as presently as I;
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces stiff, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen,
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
With her her niece, the Lady Flinch of Spain;
With them a bounder of the king'south deceased,
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 hazard of new fortunes hither:
In brief, a braver pick of dauntless spirits
Than now the English bottoms take waft o'er
Did nearer bladder upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scath in Christendom.
[Drum beats]
The suspension of their churlish drums
Cuts off more than circumstance: they are at hand,
To parley or to fight; therefore prepare.
Peace be to England, if that state of war return
From France to England, there to alive 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 piece of work of thine;
Simply thousand from loving England art so far,
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king
Cut off the sequence of posterity,
Out-faced infant state and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey'due south face;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his:
This trivial abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geffrey, and the manus of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother built-in,
And this his son; England was Geffrey's right
And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God
How comes it then that thousand art phone call'd a male monarch,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which owe the crown that yard o'ermasterest?
For our advantage; therefore hear us first.
These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the centre and prospect of your boondocks,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement:
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,
And ready mounted are they to spit along
Their fe indignation 'gainst your walls:
All training for a bloody siege
All merciless proceeding by these French
Confronts your city'south eyes, your winking gates;
And but for our arroyo those sleeping stones,
That as a waist doth girdle y'all about,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
Past this time from their fixed beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made
For bloody power to blitz upon your peace.
But on the sight of us your lawful male monarch,
Who painfully with much expedient march
Have brought a countercheque before your gates,
To salve unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks,
Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle;
And at present, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire,
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot only calm words folded upwardly in fume,
To make a faithless error in your ears:
Which trust appropriately, kind citizens,
And let us in, your male monarch, whose labour'd spirits,
Forwearied in this action of swift speed,
Require harbourage within your urban center walls.
When I take said, make answer to us both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him information technology holds, stands young Plantagenet,
Son to the elder brother of this human, 540
And male monarch o'er him and all that he enjoys:
For this down-trodden disinterestedness, we tread
In warlike march these greens earlier your town,
Existence no further enemy to you lot
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressed child
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that duty which you truly owe
To that owes it, namely this young prince:
And then our artillery, like to a muzzled bear,
Salve in attribute, hath all offence seal'd upward;
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against the invulnerable clouds of sky;
And with a blest and unvex'd retire,
With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised,
We will behave home that lusty blood again
Which here nosotros came to spout against your town,
And leave your children, wives and you in peace.
Just if you fondly pass our suggestion'd offer,
'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
Tin hibernate you from our messengers of state of war,
Though all these English and their field of study
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.
So tell us, shall your city call us lord,
In that behalf which we accept challenged information technology?
Or shall we give the bespeak to our rage
And stalk in claret to our possession?
By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements,
Equally in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be ruled by me:
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this boondocks:
By e and w permit 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 metropolis:
I'ld play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation
Exit them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And office your mingled colours once again;
Turn face up to face and bloody point to signal;
Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull along
Out of one side her happy minion,
To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And osculation him with a glorious victory.
How similar you lot this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks information technology not something of the policy?
That daughter there of Kingdom of spain, the Lady Blanch,
Is niece to England: look upon the years
Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid:
If lusty beloved should go in quest of beauty,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous dearest should go in search of virtue,
Where should he discover information technology purer than in Blanch?
If love ambitious sought a friction match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?
Such equally she is, in beauty, virtue, nascency,
Is the young Dauphin every way complete:
If not complete of, say he is non she;
And she again wants nada, to name want,
If desire it be not that she is not he:
He is the one-half part of a blessed homo,
Left to be finished past such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
O, two such silvery currents, when they join,
Do glorify the banks that bound them in;
And 2 such shores to ii such streams made 1,
Two such controlling bounds shall you exist, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This marriage shall do more than battery tin
To our fast-closed gates; for at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder tin can enforce,
The rima oris of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give yous archway: just without this match,
The sea enraged is not half and so deaf,
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motility, no, non Expiry himself
In moral fury half then peremptory,
Every bit we to keep this city.
So makest thou faith an enemy to faith;
And like a civil state of war set'st oath to oath,
Thy tongue against thy natural language. O, allow thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
That is, to exist the champion of our church!
What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself
And may not exist performed by thyself,
For that which grand hast sworn to do awry
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:
The improve act of purposes mistook
Is to mistake over again; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures, every bit fire cools fire
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
It is faith that doth make vows kept;
Simply g hast sworn confronting religion,
By what thou swear'st against the thing 1000 swear'st,
And makest an oath the surety for thy truth
Confronting an oath: the truth g art unsure
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn;
Else what a mockery should it exist to swear!
But thou dost swear only to exist forsworn;
And well-nigh forsworn, to go on what thou dost swear.
Therefore thy afterward vows against thy first
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;
And better conquest never canst m make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which ameliorate function our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, so know
The peril of our curses calorie-free on thee
And so heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
But in despair die nether their black weight.
Adept friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,
But thou shalt have; and pitter-patter time ne'er and so slow,
All the same information technology shall come from me to practise thee expert.
I had a thing to say, but let it go:
The sunday is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all also wanton and too full of gawds
To give me audience: if the midnight bong
Did, with his fe tongue and brazen oral fissure,
Sound on into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a churchyard where nosotros stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had baked thy claret and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, continue men'southward eyes
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes,
Or if that k couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make answer
Without a tongue, using conceit lonely,
Without eyes, ears and harmful audio of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful twenty-four hours,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But, ah, I will non! yet I honey thee well;
And, past my troth, I retrieve thou lovest me well.
Primal Pandulph: Your mind is all equally youthful as your claret.
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly atomic number 82
Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, i tranquility breath of rest.
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
Must be every bit boisterously maintain'd as gain'd;
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes prissy of no vile hold to stay him up:
That John may stand up, then Arthur needs must fall;
And then be information technology, for it cannot be only then.
Lewis: But what shall I proceeds by immature Arthur's fall?
Cardinal Pandulph: You lot, in the correct of Lady Blanch your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lewis: And lose information technology, life and all, as Arthur did.
Cardinal Pandulph: How green yous are and fresh in this old globe!
John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safe and untrue.
This act so evilly built-in shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,
That none and then small reward shall step forth
To cheque his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the heaven,
No scope of nature, no distemper'd mean solar day,
No common wind, no customed event,
Merely they will pluck away his natural cause
And call them meteors, prodigies and signs,
Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven,
Manifestly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lewis: May be he volition not touch young Arthur'south life,
Only hold himself rubber in his prisonment.
Central Pandulph: O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
If that immature Arthur be non gone already,
Even at that news he dies; and and so the hearts
Of all his people shall defection from him
And buss the lips of unacquainted modify
And pick stiff affair of revolt and wrath
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks I come across this hurly all on pes:
And, O, what amend affair breeds for yous
Than I take named! The bastard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending clemency: if but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To railroad train ten thousand English to their side,
Or equally a little snowfall, tumbled about,
Betimes becomes a mount. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent,
At present that their souls are topful of offence.
For England become: I volition whet on the king.
Arthur: Besides adequately, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine optics?
Hubert de Burgh: Young male child, I must.
Arthur: And volition yous?
Hubert de Burgh: And I will.
Arthur: Take you the heart? When your caput did merely ache,
I knit my handercher nigh your brows,
The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
And I did never ask it you lot again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy fourth dimension,
Maxim, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
Many a poor man's son would have lien still
And ne'er take spoke a loving word to you;
Merely you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, yous may think my dearest was crafty love
And call it cunning: practise, an if you will:
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why then yous must. Will you lot put out mine optics?
These eyes that never did nor never shall
And then much every bit pout on yous.
Hubert de Burgh: I take sworn to do information technology;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arthur: Ah, none simply in this fe age would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat ruddy-hot,
Budgeted near these eyes, would drink my tears
And quench his fiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust
But for containing fire to damage mine heart.
Are y'all more stubborn-difficult than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not take believed him,—no tongue merely Hubert's.
Hubert de Burgh: Come forth.
[Stamps]
[Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, &c]
Practise equally I bid yous do.
Arthur: O, salve me, Hubert, salve me! my eyes are out
Fifty-fifty with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hubert de Burgh: Give me the fe, I say, and bind him here.
Arthur: Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
I will non struggle, I will stand rock-still.
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me non exist bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men abroad,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a discussion,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thrust but these men abroad, and I'll forgive you,
Any torment you exercise put me to.
Go, acquit him in thine arms.
I am amazed, methinks, and lose my fashion
Amid the thorns and dangers of this world.
How easy dost thou take all England upwards!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling country.
At present for the bare-option'd bone of majesty
Doth indomitable war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from habitation and discontents at dwelling
Meet in 1 line; and vast defoliation waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-autumn'north beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear abroad that child
And follow me with speed: I'll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the state.
Philip the Bastard: So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
Simply wherefore do you droop? why look y'all distressing?
Be groovy in act, as you have been in thought;
Allow not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the fourth dimension; be burn with burn down;
Threaten the threatener and outface the forehead
Of bragging horror: then shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviors from the bang-up,
Grow great past your example and put on
The brave spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister similar the god of war,
When he intendeth to go the field:
Testify boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the king of beasts in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, allow it not be said: forage, and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he comes then almost.
King John: The legate of the pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.
Philip the Bastard: O inglorious league!
Shall nosotros, upon the ground of our country,
Transport off-white-play orders and brand compromise,
Insinuation, parley and base truce
To artillery invasive? shall a beardless male child,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And notice no check? Let u.s.a., my liege, to arms:
Peradventure the cardinal cannot brand your peace;
Or if he do, let it at least exist said
They saw we had a purpose of defence.
Rex John: Have g the ordering of this present time.
Philip the Bastard: Away, then, with practiced backbone! yet, I know,
Our political party may well come across a prouder foe.
Upon our sides it never shall exist broken.
And, noble Dauphin, admitting we swear
A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith
To your proceedings; yet believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd defection,
And heal the inveterate herpes of one wound
Past making many. O, it grieves my soul,
That I must describe this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker! O, and there
Where honourable rescue and defence
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
But such is the infection of the time,
That, for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot bargain but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused incorrect.
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends,
That we, the sons and children of this island,
Were born to see so distressing an hour as this;
Wherein we footstep after a stranger march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks,—I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,—
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here? O nation, that chiliad couldst remove!
That Neptune'due south arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it and then unneighbourly!
A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great angel wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
O, what a noble gainsay hast g fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Beingness an ordinary inundation;
Simply this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine optics, and makes me more than amazed
Than had I seen the vaulty pinnacle of heaven
Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy forehead, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave abroad the storm:
Commend these waters to those babe eyes
That never saw the giant world enraged;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come up, come up; for thou shalt thrust thy hand every bit deep
Into the bag of rich prosperity
As Lewis himself: and so, nobles, shall you lot all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
And even at that place, methinks, an affections spake:
[Enter CARDINAL PANDULPH]
Look, where the holy legate comes speedily,
To give united states warrant from the hand of heaven
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath.
Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at command,
Or useful serving-man and instrument,
To whatever sovereign country throughout the earth.
Your jiff first kindled the expressionless coal of wars
Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this burn;
And at present 'tis far besides huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
Yous taught me how to know the face of correct,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my eye;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honor of my marriage-bed,
After immature Arthur, claim this state for mine;
And, at present it is half-conquer'd, must I back
Considering that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? Is't not I
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business concern and maintain this war?
Have I non heard these islanders shout out
'Vive le roi!' as I take bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the all-time cards for the game,
To win this easy friction match play'd for a crown?
And shall I at present give o'er the yielded gear up?
No, no, on my soul, information technology never shall be said.
By all the blood that always fury breathed,
The youth says well. At present hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepared, and reason too he should:
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd masque and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
The rex doth smile at; and is well prepared
To whip this dwarfish state of war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you and make y'all accept the hatch,
To dive similar buckets in concealed wells,
To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks,
To hug with swine, to seek sugariness safety out
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and milk shake
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his vox an armed Englishman;
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: know the gallant monarch is in artillery
And similar an eagle o'er his aery towers,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.
And you degenerate, you lot ingrate revolts,
You encarmine Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, chroma for shame;
For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
Similar Amazons come up tripping after drums,
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
Have I not hideous decease inside my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away, even every bit a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the globe should make me at present deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die hither and alive hence by truth?
I say over again, if Lewis practise win the twenty-four hour period,
He is forsworn, if always those eyes of yours
Behold some other day intermission in the due east:
Only even tonight, whose black contagious breath
Already smokes well-nigh the burning crest
Of the onetime, feeble and 24-hour interval-wearied sun,
Even this sick night, your breathing shall expire,
Paying the fine of rated treachery
Fifty-fifty with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis past your assist win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert with your rex:
The love of him, and this respect likewise,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, carry me hence
From along the noise and rumour of the field,
Where I may call back the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this torso and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.
Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's championship 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, immature men, maids,
Who, having no external thing to lose
But the discussion 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that,
That smoothen-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world,
The earth, who of itself is peised well,
Made to run fifty-fifty upon fifty-fifty ground,
Till this reward, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this Article,
Makes it take caput from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, class, 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 determined aid,
From a resolved and honourable state of war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
And why rail I on this Article?
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 so shall be
To say there is no vice but abjection.
Since kings break organized religion upon article,
Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.
Proficient reverend father, brand my person yours,
And tell me how you lot would bequeath yourself.
This imperial hand and mine are newly knit,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and linked together
With all religious force of sacred vows;
The latest breath that gave the audio of words
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love
Between our kingdoms and our purple selves,
And fifty-fifty before this truce, but new before,
No longer than nosotros well could wash our hands
To clap this majestic deal up of peace, 1160
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-stain'd
With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings:
And shall these hands, and so lately purged of claret,
So newly join'd in beloved, and so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,
Brand such unconstant children of ourselves,
As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
Unswear organized religion sworn, and on the marriage-bed
Of smiling peace to march a encarmine host,
And brand a riot on the gentle brow
Of truthful sincerity? O, holy sir,
My reverend father, allow it not exist so!
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle social club; and then nosotros shall be blessed
To do your pleasure and continue friends.
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Source: https://www.shakespeare-monologues.org/men/plays/26
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