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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S 
 
 HISTORY OF KING JOHN 
 
 WITH 
 
 INTRODUCTION, AND NOTES EXPLANATORY AND CRITICAL. 
 FOR USE IN SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES. 
 
 Rev. HENRY N: HUDSON, LL.D. 
 
 GINN & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 
 
^ a, H* 
 
 t».^ .1 . . . . -^ 
 
 LIBRARY of CONGRESS, 
 I wo Uopies tieveivtM 
 
 JUL 124 )»08 
 
 LASS 7 /) **«' Nu ' 
 
 aMOMnmMMini 
 
 / 7^^ 7 / 
 
 SW-: 
 
 espefrf+fwa. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 
 
 Henry N. Hudson, 
 in the office of the Librarian oi Congress, at Washington, 
 36.12 
 
 %\)t gtfttnaum jflrcgg 
 
 GINN & COMPANY . PRO- 
 PRIETORS • BOSTON • U.S.A. 
 
s 
 
 TO TEACHERS. 
 
 HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. 
 
 AS I have long been in frequent receipt of letters asking 
 for advice or suggestions as to the best way of using 
 Shakespeare in class, I have concluded to write out and 
 print some of my thoughts on that subject. On one or two 
 previous occasions, I have indeed moved the theme, but 
 only, for the most part, incidentally, and in subordinate con- 
 nection with other topics, never with anything like a round 
 and full exposition of it. 
 
 And in the first place I am to remark, that in such a mat- 
 ter no one can make up or describe, in detail, a method of 
 teaching for another: in many points every teacher must 
 strike out his or her own method ; for a method that works 
 very well in one person's hands may nevertheless fail entirely 
 in another's. Some general reasons or principles of method, 
 together with a few practical hints of detail, is about all that 
 I can undertake to give ; this too rather with a view to setting 
 teachers' own minds at work in devising ways, than to mark- 
 ing out any formal course of procedure. 
 
 In the second place, here, as elsewhere, the method of 
 teaching is to be shaped and suited to the particular purpose 
 in hand; on the general principle, of course, that the end 
 is to point out and prescribe the means. So, if the purpose 
 
IV TO TEACHERS. 
 
 be to make the pupils in our public schools Shakespearians 
 in any proper sense of the term, I can mark out no practi- 
 cable method for the case, because I hold the purpose itself 
 to be utterly impracticable ; one that cannot possibly be 
 carried out, and ought not to be, if it could. I find divers 
 people talking and writing as if our boys and girls were to 
 make a knowledge of Shakespeare the chief business of their 
 life, and were to gain their living thereby. These have a 
 sort of cant phrase current among them about "knowing 
 Shakespeare in an eminent sense "; and they are instructing 
 us that, in order to this, we must study the English language 
 historically, and acquire a technical mastery of Elizabethan 
 idioms. 
 
 Now, to know Shakespeare in an eminent sense, if it means 
 any thing, must mean, I take it, to become Shakespearians, 
 or become eminent in the knowledge of Shakespeare ; that 
 is to say, we must have such a knowledge of Shakespeare 
 as can be gained only by making a special and continuous, 
 or at least very frequent, study of him through many long 
 years. So the people in question seem intent upon some 
 plan or program of teaching whereby the pupils in our 
 schools shall come out full-grown Shakespearians ; this too 
 when half-a-dozen, or perhaps a dozen, of the Poet's plays 
 is all they can possibly find time for studying through. And 
 to this end, they would have them study the Poet's language 
 historically, and so draw out largely into his social, moral, 
 and mental surroundings, and ransack the literature of his 
 time ; therewithal they would have their Shakespeare Gram- 
 mars and Shakespeare Lexicons, and all the apparatus for 
 training the pupils in a sort of learned verbalism, and in 
 analyzing and parsing the Poet's sentences. 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. V 
 
 Now I know of but three persons in the whole United 
 States who have any just claim to be called Shakespearians, 
 or who can be truly said to know Shakespeare in an eminent 
 sense. Those are, of course, Mr. Grant White, Mr. Howard 
 Furness, and Mr. Joseph Crosby. Beyond this goodly trio, 
 I cannot name a single person in the land who is able to go 
 alone, or even to stand alone, in any question of textual 
 criticism or textual correction. For that is what it is to 
 be a Shakespearian. And these three have become Shake- 
 spearians, not by the help of any labour-saving machinery, 
 such as special grammars and lexicons, but by spending many 
 years of close study and hard brain-work in and around their 
 author. Before reaching that point, they have not only had 
 to study all through the Poet himself, and this a great many 
 times, but also to make many excursions and sojournings in 
 the popular, and even the erudite authorship of his period. 
 And the work has been almost, if not altogether, a pure 
 labour of love with them. They have pursued it with im- 
 passioned earnestness, as if they could find no rest for their 
 souls without it. 
 
 Well, and what do you suppose the result of all this has 
 done or is doing for them in the way of making a living ? 
 Do you suppose they can begin to purchase their bread and 
 butter, or even so much as the bread without the butter, with 
 the proceeds of their great learning and accomplishments in 
 that kind ? No, not a bit of it ! For the necessaries of life, 
 every man of them has to depend mostly, if not entirely, on 
 other means. If they had nothing to feed upon but what 
 their Shakespeare knowledge brings them, they would have 
 mighty little use for their teeth. If you do not believe this, 
 ask the men themselves : and if they tell you it is not so, 
 
VI TO TEACHERS. 
 
 then I will frankly own myself a naughty boy, and will do 
 penance publicly for my naughtiness. For my own poor 
 part, I know right well that I have no claim to be called a 
 Shakespearian, albeit I may, perchance, have had some fool- 
 ish aspirations that way. Nevertheless I will venture to say 
 that Shakespeare work does more towards procuring a liveli- 
 hood for me than for either of the gentlemen named. This 
 is doubtless because I am far inferior to them in Shake- 
 spearian acquirement and culture. Yet, if I had nothing but 
 the returns of my labour in that kind to live upon, I should 
 have to live a good deal more cheaply than I do. And there 
 would probably be no difficulty in finding persons that were 
 not born till some time after my study of Shakespeare began, 
 who, notwithstanding, can now outbid me altogether in any 
 auction of bread-buying popularity. This, no doubt, is be- 
 cause their natural gifts and fitness for the business are so 
 superior to mine, that they might readily be extemporized 
 into what no length of time and study could possibly edu- 
 cate me. 
 
 In all this the three gentlemen aforesaid are, I presume, 
 far from thinking they have any thing to complain of, or from 
 having any disposition to complain ; and I am certainly as 
 far from this as they are. It is all in course, and all just 
 right, except that I have a good deal better than I deserve. 
 And both they and I know very well that nothing but a love 
 of the thing can carry any one through such a work ; that in the 
 nature of things such pursuits have to be their own reward ; 
 and that here, as elsewhere, " love's not love when it is 
 mingled with regards that stand aloof from th' entire point." 
 
 Such, then, is the course and process by which, and by 
 which alone, men can come to know Shakespeare in any 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. Vll 
 
 sense deserving to be called eminent. It is a process of 
 close, continuous, life-long study. And, in order to know 
 the Poet in this eminent sense, one must know a good deal 
 more of him than of any thing else ; that is to say, the pur- 
 suit must be something of a specialty with him ; unless his 
 mind be by nature far more encyclopedic than most men's 
 are. Then too, in the case of those who have reached this 
 point, the process had its beginning in a deep and strong 
 love of the subject : Shakespeare has been a passion with 
 them, perhaps I should say the master-passion of their life : 
 this was both the initiative impulse that set them a-going, 
 and also the sustaining force that kept them going, in the 
 work. Now such a love can hardly be wooed into life or 
 made to sprout by a technical, parsing, gerund-grinding 
 course of study. The proper genesis and growth of love 
 are not apt to proceed in that way. A long and loving 
 study may indeed produce, or go to seed in, a grammar or 
 a lexicon ; but surely the grammar or the lexicon is not the 
 thing to prompt or inaugurate the long and loving study. 
 Or, if the study begin in that way, it will not be a study of 
 the workmanship as poetry, but only, or chiefly, as the raw- 
 material of lingual science ; that is to say, as a subject for 
 verbal dissection and surgery. 
 
 If, then, any teacher would have his pupils go forth from 
 school knowing Shakespeare in an eminent sense, he must 
 shape and order his methods accordingly. What those 
 methods may be, or should be, I cannot say ; but I should 
 think they must be quite in the high-pressure line, and I 
 more than suspect they will prove abortive, after all. And 
 here I cannot forbear to remark that some few of us are so 
 stuck in old-fogyism, or so fossilized, as to hold that the 
 
Vlll TO TEACHERS. 
 
 main business of people in this world is to gain an honest 
 living ; and that they ought to be educated with a constant 
 eye to that purpose. These, to be sure, look very like 
 self-evident propositions ; axioms, or mere truisms, which, 
 nevertheless, our education seems determined to ignore 
 entirely, and a due application of which would totally 
 revolutionize our whole educational system. 
 
 Now knowing Shakespeare in an eminent sense does not 
 appear to be exactly the thing for gaining an honest living. 
 All people but a few, a very few indeed, have, ought to 
 have, must have, other things to do. I suspect that one 
 Shakespearian in about five millions is enough. And a vast 
 majority are to get their living by hand- work, not by head- 
 work ; and even with those who live by head-work Shake- 
 speare can very seldom be a leading interest. He can nowise 
 be the substance or body of their mental food, but only, at 
 the most, as a grateful seasoning thereof. Thinking of his 
 poetry may be a pleasant and helpful companion for them in 
 their business, but cannot be the business itself. His divine 
 voice may be a sweetening tone, yet can be but a single tone, 
 and an undertone at that, in the chorus of a well-ordered 
 life and a daily round of honourable toil. Of the students 
 in our colleges not one in a thousand, of the pupils in our 
 high schools not one in a hundred thousand, can think, or 
 ought to think, of becoming Shakespearians. But most of 
 them, it may be hoped, can become men and women of right 
 intellectual tastes and loves, and so be capable of a pure and 
 elevating pleasure in the converse of books. Surely, then, 
 in the little time that can be found for studying Shakespeare, 
 the teaching should be shaped to the end, not of making 
 the pupils Shakespearians, but only of doing somewhat — 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. IX 
 
 it cannot be much — towards making them wiser, better, 
 happier men and women. 
 
 So, in reference to school study, what is the use of this 
 cant about knowing Shakespeare in an eminent sense ? Why 
 talk of doing what no sane person can ever, for a moment, 
 possibly think of attempting ? The thing might well be 
 passed by as one of the silliest cants that ever were canted, 
 but that, as now often urged, it is of a very misleading and 
 mischievous tendency ; like that other common folly of tell- 
 ing all our boys that they may become President of the 
 United States. This is the plain and simple truth of the 
 matter, and as such I am for speaking it without any sort 
 of mincing or disguise. In my vocabulary, indeed, on most 
 occasions I choose that a spade be simply "a spade," and 
 not " an instrument for removing the earth." 
 
 This brings me to the main point, to what may be called 
 the heart of my message. Since any thing worthy to be 
 termed an eminent knowledge of Shakespeare cannot possi- 
 bly be gained or given in school, and could not be, even if 
 ten times as many hours were spent in the study as can be, 
 or ought to be, so spent, the question comes next, What, 
 then, can be done ? And my answer, in the fewest words, is 
 this : The most and the best that we can hope to do, is to 
 plant in the pupils, and to nurse up as far as may be, a 
 genuine taste and love for Shakespeare's poetry. The plant- 
 ing and nursing of this taste is purely a matter of culture, 
 and not of acquirement : it is not properly giving the pupils 
 knowledge ; it is but opening the road, and starting them 
 on the way to knowledge. And such a taste, once well set 
 in the mind, will be, or at least stand a good chance of 
 being, an abiding principle, a prolific germ of wholesome and 
 
X TO TEACHERS. 
 
 improving study : moreover it will naturally proceed till, in 
 time, it comes to act as a strong elective instinct, causing 
 the mind to gravitate towards what is good, and to recoil 
 from what is bad : it may end in bringing, say, one in two 
 millions to "know Shakespeare in an eminent sense"; but 
 it can hardly fail to be a precious and fruitful gain to many, 
 perhaps to most, possibly to all. 
 
 This I believe to be a thoroughly practicable aim. And 
 as the aim itself is practicable, so there are practicable ways 
 for attaining it or working towards it. What these ways are 
 or may be, I can best set forth by tracing, as literally and 
 distinctly as I know how, my own course of procedure in 
 teaching. 
 
 In the first place, I never have had, never will have, any 
 recitations whatever ; but only what I call, simply, exercises, 
 the pupils reading the author under my direction, correction, 
 and explanation ; the teacher and the taught thus commun- 
 ing together in the author's pages for the time being. Nor 
 do I ever require, though I commonly advise, that the 
 matter to be read in class be read over by the pupils in 
 private before coming to the exercise. Such preparation is 
 indeed well, but not necessary. I am very well satisfied by 
 having the pupils live, breathe, think, feel with the author 
 while his words are on their lips and in their ears. As I 
 wish to have them simply growing, or getting the food of 
 growth, I do not care to have them making any conscious 
 acquirement at all ; my aim thus always being to produce 
 the utmost possible amount of silent effect. And I much 
 prefer to have the classes rather small, never including more 
 than twenty pupils ; even a somewhat smaller number is 
 still better. Then, in Shakespeare, I always have the pupils 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XI 
 
 read dramatically right round and round the class, myself 
 calling the parts. When .a speech is read, if the occasion 
 seems to call for it, I make comments, ask questions, or 
 have the pupils ask them, so as to be sure that they under- 
 stand fairly what they are reading. That done, I call the 
 next speech ; and so the reading and the talking proceed 
 till the class-time is up. 
 
 In the second place, as to the nature and scope of these 
 exercises, or the parts, elements, particulars they consist of. — 
 In Shakespeare, the exercise is a mixed one of reading, 
 language, and character. And I make a good deal of hav- 
 ing the Poet's lines read properly ; this too both for the util- 
 ity of it and as a choice and refined accomplishment, and 
 also because such a reading of them greatly enhances the 
 pleasure of the exercise both to the readers themselves and 
 to the hearers. Here, of course, such points come in as the 
 right pronunciation of words, the right place and degree of 
 emphasis, the right pauses and divisions of sense, the right 
 tones and inflections of voice. But the particulars that make 
 up good reading are too well known to need dwelling upon. 
 Suffice it to say, that in this part of the exercise my whole 
 care is to have the pupils understand what they are read- 
 ing, and to pronounce it so that an intelligent listener may 
 understand it : that done, I rest content. But I tolerate 
 nothing theatrical or declamatory or oratorical or put on for 
 effect in the style of reading, and insist on a clean, clear, sim- 
 ple, quiet voicing of the sense and meaning ; no strut, no 
 swell, but all plain and pure ; that being my notion of taste- 
 fid reading. 
 
 Touching this point, I will but add that Shakespeare is 
 both the easiest and also the hardest of all authors to read 
 
Xll TO TEACHERS. 
 
 properly, — the easiest because he is the most natural, ancT 
 the hardest for the same reason ; and for both these reasons 
 together he is the best of all authors for training people in 
 the art of reading : for an art it is, and a very high one too, 
 insomuch that pure and perfect reading is one of the rarest 
 things in the world, as it is also one of the delightfullest. 
 The best description of what it is that now occurs to me is in 
 Guy Mannering, chapter 29th, where Julia Mannering writes 
 to her friend how, of an evening, her father is wont to sweeten 
 their home and its fireside by the choice matter and the taste- 
 ful manner of his reading. And so my happy life — for it is 
 a happy one — has little of better happiness in it than hear- 
 ing my own beloved pupils read Shakespeare. 
 
 As to the language part of the exercise, this is chiefly con* 
 cerned with the meaning and force of the Poet's words, but 
 also enters more or less into sundry points of grammar, word- 
 growth, prosody, and rhetoric, making the whole as little 
 technical as possible. And I use, or aim to use, all this for 
 the one sole purpose of getting the pupils to understand what 
 is immediately before them ; not looking at all to any lingual 
 or philological purposes lying beyond the matter directly in 
 hand. And here I take the utmost care not to push the part 
 of verbal comment and explanation so long or so far as to 
 become dull and tedious to the pupils. For as I wish them to 
 study Shakespeare, simply that they may learn to understand 
 and to love his poetry itself, so I must and will have them 
 take pleasure in the process ; and people are not apt to fall or 
 to grow in love with things that bore them. I would much 
 rather they should not fully understand his thought, or not 
 take in the full sense of his lines, than that they should feel 
 any thing of weariness or disgust in the study ; for the defect 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. Xlll 
 
 of present comprehension can easily be repaired in the future, 
 but not so the disgust. If they really love the poetry, and 
 find it pleasant to their souls, I'll risk the rest. 
 
 In truth, average pupils do not need nearly so much of cate- 
 chizing and explaining as many teachers are apt to suppose. 
 I have known divers cases where this process was carried to 
 a very inordinate and hurtful excess, the matter being all 
 chopped into a fine mince-meat of items ; questions and top- 
 ics being multiplied to the last degree of minuteness and 
 tenuity. Often well-nigh a hundred questions are pressed 
 where there ought not to be more than one or two ; the aim 
 being, apparently, to force an exhaustive grammatical study 
 of the matter. And exhaustive of the pupil's interest and 
 patience it may well prove to be. This is not studying Shake- 
 speare, but merely using him as an occasion for studying 
 something else. Surely, surely, such a course " is not, nor 
 it cannot come to, good" ; it is just the way to make pupils 
 loathe the study as an intolerable bore, and wish the Poet 
 had never been born. The thing to be aimed at before all 
 others is, to draw and hold the pupil's mind in immediate 
 contact with the poetry ; and such a multitude of mincing 
 questions and comments is just a thick wedge of tiresome 
 obstruction and separation driven in between the two. In 
 my own teaching, my greatest fear commonly is, lest I may 
 strangle and squelch the proper virtue and efficacy of the 
 Poet's lines with my own incontinent catechetical and exeget- 
 ical babble. 
 
 Next, for the character part of the exercise. And here I 
 have to say, at the start, that I cannot think it a good use of 
 time to put pupils to the study of Shakespeare at all, until 
 they have got strength and ripeness of mind enough to enter, 
 
XIV TO TEACHERS. 
 
 at least in some fair measure, into the transpirations of char- 
 acter in his persons. For this is indeed the Shakespeare of 
 Shakespeare. And the process is as far as you can think 
 from being a mere formal or mechanical or routine handling 
 of words and phrases and figures of speech : it is nothing 
 less than to hear and to see the hearts and souls of the 
 persons in what they say and do ; to feel, as it were, the 
 very pulse-throbs of their inner life. Herein it is that 
 Shakespeare's unapproached and unapproachable mastery of 
 human nature lies. Nor can I bear to have his poetry 
 studied merely as a curious thing standing outside of and 
 apart from the common life of man, but as drawing directly 
 into the living current of human interests, feelings, duties, 
 needs, occasions. So I like to be often running the Poet's 
 thoughts, and carrying the pupils with them, right out and 
 home to the business and bosom of humanity about them ; 
 into the follies, vices, and virtues, the meannesses and nobil- 
 ities, the loves, joys, sorrows, and shames, the lapses and 
 grandeurs, the disciplines, disasters, devotions, and divinities, 
 of men and women as they really are in the world. For so 
 the right use of his poetry is, to subserve the ends of life, 
 not of talk. And if this part be rightly done, pupils will 
 soon learn that "our gentle Shakespeare " is not a prodigious 
 enchanter playing with sublime or grotesque imaginations for 
 their amusement, but a friend and brother, all alive with the 
 same heart that is in them ; and who, while he is but little 
 less than an angel, is also at the same time but little more 
 than themselves ; so that, beginning where his feet are, they 
 can gradually rise, and keep rising, till they come to be at 
 home where his great, deep, mighty intellect is. 
 
 Such, substantially, and, in some detail, is the course I 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XV 
 
 have uniformly pursued in my Shakespeare classes. I have 
 never cared to have my pupils make any show in analyzing 
 and parsing the Poet's language, but I have cared much, 
 very much, to have them understand and enjoy his poetry. 
 Accordingly I have never touched the former at all, except 
 so far as was clearly needful in order to secure the latter. 
 And as the poetry was made for the purpose of being en- 
 joyed, so, when I have seen the pupils enjoying it, this has 
 been to me sufficient proof that they rightly understood it. 
 True, I have never had, nor have I ever wanted, any availa- 
 ble but cheap percentages of proficiency to set off my work : 
 perhaps my pupils have seldom had any idea of what they 
 were getting from the study. Very well ; then it has at least 
 not fostered conceit in them : so I wished to have it, so was 
 glad to have it : the results I aimed at were afar off in the 
 future ; nor have I had any fear of those results failing to 
 emerge in due time. In fact, I cleave rather fondly to the 
 hope of being remembered by my pupils with some affection 
 after I shall be no more ; and I know right well that the best 
 fruits of the best mental planting have and must have a 
 pretty long interval between the seed-time and the harvest. 
 
 Once, indeed, and it was my very first attempt, having a 
 class of highly intelligent young ladies, I undertook to put 
 them through a pretty severe drill in prosody : after endur- 
 ing it awhile, they remonstrated with me, giving me to 
 understand that they wanted the light and pleasure properly 
 belonging to the study, and not the tediousness that ped- 
 antry or mere technical learning could force into it. They 
 were right ; and herein I probably learnt more from them 
 than they did from me. And so teaching of Shakespeare 
 has been just the happiest occupation of my life : the whole- 
 
XVI TO TEACHERS. 
 
 somest and most tonic too ; disposing me more than any 
 other to severe and earnest thought ; no drudgery in it, no 
 dullness about it ; but " as full of spirit as the month of 
 May," and joyous as Wordsworth's lark hiding himself in the 
 light of morning, and 
 
 With a soul as strong as a mountain river 
 Pouring out praise to the almighty Giver. 
 
 But now certain wise ones are telling us that this is all 
 wrong ; that teaching Shakespeare in this way is making, or 
 tending to make, the study "an entertainment," and so not 
 the " noble study" that it ought to be ; meaning, I suppose, 
 by noble study, such a study as would bring the pupils to 
 know Shakespeare in the eminent sense remarked upon 
 before. What is this but to proceed in the work just as if 
 the pupils were to become Shakespearians ; that is, special- 
 ists in that particular line ? 
 
 Thus they would import into this study the same false and 
 vicious mode that has come to be used with the classics in 
 our colleges. This mode is, to keep pegging away continu- 
 ally at points of grammar and etymology, so as to leave no 
 time or thought for the sense and meaning of what is read. 
 Thus the classical author is used merely or mainly for the 
 purpose of teaching the grammar, not the grammar for the 
 purpose of understanding the author. For the practical 
 upshot of such a course is, to have the student learn what 
 modern linguists and grammarians have compiled, not what 
 the old Greeks and Romans thought. This hind-first or 
 hindmost-foremost process has grown to be a dreadful nui- 
 sance in our practice, making the study of Greek and Latin 
 inexpressibly lifeless and wearisome ; and utterly fruitless 
 withal as regards real growth of mind and culture of taste. 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XV11 
 
 Some years ago, I had a talk on this subject with our late 
 venerable patriarch of American letters, whose only grandson 
 had then recently graduated from college. He told me he 
 had gathered from the young man to what a wasteful and 
 vicious extreme the thing was carried ; and he spoke in 
 terms of severe censure and reprobation of the custom. And 
 so I have heard how a very learned professor one day spent 
 the time of a whole recitation in talking about a comma that 
 had been inserted in a Greek text ; telling the class who 
 inserted it, and when and why he did so ; also who had 
 since accepted it, and who had since rejected it, and when 
 and why ; also what effect the insertion had, and what the 
 omission, on the sense of the passage. Now, if the students 
 had all been predestined or predetermined specialists in 
 Greek, this might possibly have been the right way ; but, as 
 they were not so predestined or predetermined, the way 
 was most certainly wrong, and a worse one could hardly have 
 been taken. For the right course of study for those who are 
 to be specialists in this or that pursuit is one thing ; the right 
 course for those who cannot be, and have no thought of 
 being, specialists is a very different thing ; and to transfer 
 the former course to the latter class, is a most preposterous 
 blunder, yes, and a most mischievous one too. 
 
 I have lately been given to understand that some of our 
 best classical teachers have become sensible of this great 
 error, and have set to work to correct it in practice. I 
 understand also that noble old Harvard, wise in this, as in 
 many other things, is leading the return to the older and 
 better way. I hope most devoutly that it is so; for the 
 proper effect of the modern way can hardly be any other than 
 to attenuate and chill and dwarf the student's better facul- 
 
XV111 TO TEACHERS. 
 
 ties. The thing, to be sure, has been done in the name of 
 thoroughness ; but I believe it has proved thorough to no 
 end but that of unsinewing the mind, and drying the sap out 
 of it. 
 
 But now the self-same false mode that has thus run itself 
 into the ground in classical study must, it seems, be used 
 in the study of English authors. For so the wise ones afore- 
 said, those who are for having everybody know Shakespeare 
 in an eminent sense, would, apparently, have the study en- 
 nobled by continual diversions into the science of language, 
 exercising the pupil's logical faculty, or rather his memory, 
 with points of etymology, grammar, historical usage, &c; 
 points that are, or may be made to appear, scientifically 
 demonstrable. Thus the thing they seem to have in view is 
 about the same that certain positivist thinkers mean, when 
 they would persuade us that no knowledge is really worth 
 having but what stands on a basis of scientific demonstration, 
 so that we not only may be certain of its truth, but cannot 
 possibly be otherwise. 
 
 So I have somewhere read of a certain mathematician who, 
 on reading Paradise Lost, made this profound criticism, that 
 " it was a very pretty piece of work, but he did not see that 
 it proved any thing." But, if he had studied it in the 
 modern way of studying poetry, he would have found that 
 divers things might be proved from it ; as, for instance, that 
 a metaphor and a simile are at bottom one and the same 
 thing, differing only in form, and that the author very seldom, 
 if ever, makes use of the word its. And so the singing of a 
 bird does not prove any thing scientifically ; and your best 
 way of getting scientific knowledge about the little creature 
 is by dissecting him, so as to find out where the music comes 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XIX 
 
 from, and how it is made. And so, again, what good can 
 the flowers growing on your mother's grave do you, unless 
 you use them as things to " peep and botanize " about, like 
 the " philosopher " in one of Wordsworth's poems ? 
 
 The study of Shakespeare an entertainment ? Yes, to be 
 sure, precisely that, if you please to call it so ; a pastime, a 
 recreation, a delight. This is just what, in my notion of 
 things, such a study ought to be. Why, what else should it 
 be ? It is just what I have always tried my utmost, and I 
 trust I may say with some little success, to make the study. 
 Shakespeare's poetry, has it not a right to be to us a peren- 
 nial spring of sweetness and refreshment, a thing 
 
 Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood 
 Our pastime and our happiness may grow ? 
 
 And so my supreme desire has been that the time spent in 
 the study should be, to the pupils, brimful of quiet gladness 
 and pleasantness ; and in so far as at any time it has not 
 been so, just so far I have regarded my work as a sorry 
 failure, and have determined to try and do better next time. 
 What the dickens — I beg everybody's pardon — what can 
 be the proper use of studying Shakespeare's poetry without 
 enjoyment? Or do you suppose that any one can really 
 delight in his poetry, without reaping therefrom the highest 
 and purest benefit? The delectation is itself the appropriate 
 earnest and proof that the student is drinking in — without 
 knowing it indeed, and all the better for that — just the 
 truest, deepest, finest culture that any poetry can give. 
 What touches the mind's heart is apt to cause pleasure ; 
 what merely grubs in its outskirts and suburbs is apt to be 
 tedious and dull. Assuredly, therefore, if a teacher finds 
 
XX TO TEACHERS. 
 
 that his or her pupils, or any of them, cannot be wooed and 
 won to take pleasure in the study of Shakespeare, then either 
 the teacher should forthwith go to teaching something else, 
 or the pupils should be put to some other study. 
 
 What wise and wonderful ideas our progressive oblivion 
 of the past is putting into people's heads ! Why, it has 
 been, from time immemorial, a settled axiom, that the proper 
 aim of poetry is to please, of the highest poetry, to make 
 wisdom and virtue pleasant, to crown the True and the Good 
 with delight and joy. This is the very constituent of the 
 poet's art ; that without which it has no adequate reason for 
 being. To clothe the austere forms of truth and wisdom 
 with heart-taking beauty and sweetness, is its life and law. 
 But then it is only when poetry is read as poetry that it is 
 bound to please. When or so far as it is studied only as 
 grammar or logic, it has a perfect right to be unpleasant. 
 Of course I hold that poetry, especially Shakespeare's, ought 
 to be read as poetry ; and when it is not read with pleasure, 
 the right grace and profit of the reading are missed. For 
 the proper instructiveness of poetry is essentially dependant 
 on its pleasantness ; whereas in other forms of writing this 
 order is or may be reversed. The sense or the conscience 
 of what is morally good and right should indeed have a hand, 
 and a prerogative hand, in shaping our pleasures ; and so, 
 to be sure, it must be, else the pleasures will needs be tran- 
 sient, and even the seed-time of future pains. So right- 
 minded people ought to desire, and do desire, to find pleasure 
 in what is right and good ; the highest pleasure in what is 
 rightest and best : nevertheless the pleasure of the thing is 
 what puts its healing, purifying, regenerating virtue into act ; 
 and to converse with what is in itself beautiful and o-ood 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XXI 
 
 without tasting any pleasantness in it, is or may be a positive 
 harm. 
 
 But, indeed, our education has totally lost the idea of cul- 
 ture, and consequently has thrown aside the proper methods 
 of it : it makes no account of any thing but acquirement. 
 And the reason seems to be somewhat as follows : — The 
 process of culture is silent and unconscious, because it works 
 deep in the mind ; the process of acquirement is conscious 
 and loud, because its work is all on the mind's surface. 
 Moreover the former is exceedingly slow, insomuch as to 
 yield from day to day no audible results, and so cannot be 
 made available for effect in recitation : the latter is rapid, 
 yielding recitable results from hour to hour ; the effect comes 
 quickly, is quickly told in recitation, and makes a splendid ap- 
 pearance, thus tickling the vanity of pupils mightily, as also 
 of their loving (self-loving?) parents. 
 
 But then, on the other hand, the culture that you have 
 once got you thenceforward keep, and can nowise part with 
 or lose it ; slow in coming, it comes to stay with you, and to 
 be an indelible part of you : whereas your acquirement is, 
 for the most part, quickly got, and as quickly lost ; for, in- 
 deed, it makes no part of the mind, but merely hangs or 
 sticks on its outside. So, here, the pupil just crams in study, 
 disgorges in recitation, and then forgets it all, to go through 
 another like round of cramming, disgorging, and forgetting. 
 Thus the pulse of your acquirement is easily counted, and 
 foots up superbly from day to day ; but nobody can count 
 the pulse of your culture, for it has none, at least none that 
 is or can be perceived. In other words, the course of cul- 
 ture is dimly marked by years ; that of acquirement is plainly 
 marked by hours. 
 
XX11 TO TEACHERS. 
 
 And so no one can parse, or cares to parse, the delight he 
 has in Shakespeare, for the parsing just kills the delight : the 
 culture one gets from studying his poetry as poetry, he can 
 nowise recite, for it is not a recitable thing, and he can tell 
 you nothing about it : he can only say he loves the poetry, 
 and that talking with it somehow recreates and refreshes him. 
 But any one can easily learn to parse the Poet's words: what 
 he gets from studying his poetry as grammar, or logic, or 
 rhetoric, or prosody, this he can recite, can talk glibly about 
 it ; but it stirs no love in him, has no recreation or refresh- 
 ment for him at all ; none, that is, unless by touching his van- 
 ity, and putting him in love with himself for the pretty show 
 he makes in recitation. There is, to be sure, a way of hand- 
 ling the study of Shakespeare, whereby the pupils may be led 
 to take pleasure not so much in his poetry itself as in their 
 own supposed knowledge and appreciation of it. That way, 
 however, I just do not believe in at all ; no ! not even though 
 it be the right way for bringing pupils to know Shakespeare 
 in the eminent sense. I have myself learnt him, if I may 
 claim to know him at all, in a very uneminent sense, and have 
 for more than forty years been drawn onwards in the study 
 purely by the natural pleasantness of his poetry ; and so I 
 am content to have others do. Thus, you see, it has never 
 been with me " a noble study " at all. 
 
 Well now, our education is continually saying, in effect if 
 not in words, " What is the use of pursuing such studies, or 
 pursuing them in such a way, as can produce no available re- 
 sults, nothing to show, from day to day ? Put away your slow 
 thing, whose course is but faintly marked even by years, and 
 give us the spry thing, that marks its course brilliantly by 
 days, perhaps by hours. Let the clock of our progress tick 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XX111 
 
 loudly, that we may always know just where it is, and just 
 where we are. Except we can count the pulse of your pro- 
 cess, we will not believe that there is any life or virtue in it. 
 None of your silences for us, if you please ! " 
 
 A few words now on another, yet nearly connected, topic, 
 and I have done. — I have long thought, and the thought 
 has kept strengthening with me from year to year, that our 
 educational work proceeds altogether too much by recita- 
 tions. Our school routine is now a steady stream of these, 
 so that teachers have no time for any thing else ; the pupils 
 being thus held in a continual process of alternate crammings 
 and disgorgings. As part and parcel of this recitation system, 
 we must have frequent examinations and exhibitions, for a 
 more emphatic marking of our progress. The thing has 
 grown to the height of a monstrous abuse, and is threatening 
 most serious consequences. It is a huge perpetual-motion 
 of forcing and high pressure ; no possible pains being spared 
 to keep the pupils intensely conscious of their proficiency, 
 or of their deficiency, as the case may be : motives of pride, 
 vanity, shame, ambition, rivalry, emulation, are constantly 
 appealed to and stimulated, and the nervous system kept 
 boiling-hot with them. Thus, to make the love of knowl- 
 edge sprout soon enough, and grow fast and strong enough 
 for our ideas, we are all the while dosing and provoking it 
 with a sort of mental and moral cantharides. Surely, the 
 old arguments of the rod and the ferule, as persuasives to 
 diligence, were far wholesomer, yes, and far kinder too, than 
 this constant application of intellectual drugs and high- 
 wines : the former only made the skin tingle and smart a 
 little while, and that was the end of it ; whereas the latter 
 plants its pains within the very house of life, and leaves 
 
XXIV TO TEACHERS. 
 
 them rankling and festering there. So our way is, to spare 
 the skin and kill the heart. 
 
 And, if the thing is not spoiling the boys, it is at all events 
 killing the girls. For, as a general rule, girls are, I take it, 
 more sensitive and excitable naturally than boys, and there- 
 fore more liable to have their brain and nervous system 
 fatally wronged and diseased by this dreadful, this cruel, 
 fomenting with unnatural stimulants and provocatives. To 
 be sure, it makes them preternaturally bright and interesting 
 for a while, and we think the process is working gloriously : 
 but this is all because the dear creatures have come to 
 blossom at a time when as yet the leaves should not have 
 put forth ; and so, when the proper time arrives for them to 
 be in the full bloom of womanhood, leaf, blossom, and all 
 are gone, leaving them faded and withered and joyless ; and 
 chronic ill health, premature old age, untimely death, are 
 their lot and portion. Of course, the thing cannot fail to 
 have the effect of devitalizing and demoralizing and dwarf- 
 ing the mind itself. The bright glow in its cheeks is but the 
 hectic flush of a consumptive state. 
 
 This is no fancy-picture, no dream of a speculative imagi- 
 nation : it is only too true in matter of fact ; as any one may 
 see, or rather as no one can choose but see, who uses his 
 eyes upon what is going on about us. Why, Massachusetts 
 cannot now build asylums fast enough for her multiplying 
 insane ; and, if things keep on as they are now going, the 
 chances are that the whole State will in no very long time 
 come to be almost one continuous hospital of lunatics. All 
 this proceeds naturally and in course from our restless and 
 reckless insistence on forcing what is, after all, but a showy, 
 barren, conceited intellectualism. But, indeed, the conse- 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XXV 
 
 quences of this thing are, some of them, too appalling to be 
 so much as hinted here : I can but speak the word mother- 
 hood, — a word even more laden with tender and sacred 
 meaning than womanhood. 
 
 I have talked with a good many of our best teachers on 
 this subject, never with any one who did not express a full 
 concurrence with me in the opinion, that the recitation busi- 
 ness is shockingly and ruinously overworked in our teaching. 
 But they say they can do nothing, or at the best very little, 
 to help it ; the public will have it so ; the thing has come to 
 be a deep-seated chronic disease in our educational system : 
 this disease has got to run its course and work itself through ; 
 it is to be hoped that, when matters are at the worst, they 
 will take a turn, and begin to mend : at all events, time alone 
 can work out a redress of the wrong. In all this they are 
 perfectly right ; so that the blame of the thing nowise rests 
 with them. Neither does the blame rest ultimately with 
 superintendents, supervisors, or committee-men, where Gail 
 Hamilton, in her recent book, places it : the trouble lies 
 further back, in the state of the public mind itself, which has 
 for a long time been industriously, incessantly, systematically, 
 perverted, corrupted, depraved, by plausible but shallow 
 innovators and quacks. 
 
 The real truth is, things have come to that pass with us, 
 that parents will not believe there is or can be any real growth 
 of mind in their children, unless they can see them growing 
 from day to day ; whereas a growing that can be so seen is 
 of course just no growing at all, but only a bloating ; which 
 I believe I have said somewhere before. In this wretched 
 mispersuasion, they use all possible means to foster in their 
 children a morbid habit of conscious acquirement ; and a 
 
XXVI TO TEACHERS. 
 
 system of recitations, examinations, and exhibitions to keep 
 the process hot and steaming, is the thing to do it. 
 
 But I more than suspect the primitive root of the difficulty 
 lies deeper still, and is just here : That, having grown into a 
 secret disrelish of the old religion of our fathers, as being too 
 objective in its nature, and too firm and solid in its objec- 
 tiveness, to suit our taste, we have turned to an idolatry of 
 intellect and knowledge ; have no faith in any thing, no love 
 for any thing, but what we spin, or seem to spin, out of our 
 own minds. So in the idolatry of intellect, as in other idol- 
 atries, the marble statue with which it begins naturally comes, 
 in process of time, to be put aside as too weighty, too ex- 
 pensive, and too still, and to be replaced with a hollow and 
 worthless image all made up of paper and paint. And the 
 cheaper and falser the idol is, the more eagerly do the 
 devotees cut and scourge themselves in the worship of it. 
 Hence the prating and pretentious intellectualism which we 
 pursue with such suicidal eagerness. 
 
 I must add, that of the same family with the cant spoken 
 of before is that other canting phrase now so rife among us 
 about the "higher education." The lower education, yes, 
 the lower, is what we want ; and if this be duly cared for, 
 the higher may be safely left to take care of itself. The 
 latter will then come, and so it ought to come, of its own 
 accord, just as fast and as far as the former finds or develops 
 the individual aptitude for it ; and the attempting to give it 
 regardless of such aptitude can only do what it is now doing, 
 namely, spoil a great many people for all useful hand-work, 
 without fitting them for any sort of head-work. 
 
 Of course there are some studies which may, perhaps must, 
 proceed more or less by recitation. But, as a perpetual show 
 
HOW TO USE SHAKESPEARE IN SCHOOL. XXV11 
 
 of mind in the young is and can be nothing but a perpetual 
 sham, so I am and long have been perfectly satisfied that at 
 least three-fourths of our recitations ought to be abandoned 
 with all practicable speed, and be replaced by the better 
 methods of our fathers, — methods that hold fast to the old 
 law of what Dr. William B. Carpenter terms " unconscious 
 cerebration," which is indeed the irrepealable law of all true 
 mental growth and all right intellectual health. Nay, more ; 
 the best results of the best thinking in the best and ripest 
 heads come under the operation of the self-same law, ■ — just 
 that, and no other. 
 
 Assuredly, therefore, the need now most urgently pressing 
 upon us is, to have vastly more of growth, and vastly less of 
 manufacture, in our education ; or, in other words, that the 
 school be altogether more a garden, and altogether less a 
 mill. And a garden, especially with the rich multitudinous 
 flora of Shakespeare blooming and breathing in it, can it be, 
 ought it to be, other than a pleasant and happy place ? 
 
 The child whose love is here at least doth reap 
 One precious gain, that he forgets himself. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Shakespeare as an Historian. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE has probably done more to diffuse a 
 knowledge of English history than all the historians 
 put together ; our liveliest and best impressions of " merry 
 England in the olden time " being generally drawn from 
 his pages. Though we seldom think of referring to him as 
 authority in matters of fact, yet we are apt to make him our 
 standard of old English manners and character and life, 
 reading other historians by his light, and trying them by his 
 measures, without being distinctly conscious of it. 
 
 It scarce need be said that the Poet's labours in this kind 
 are as far as possible from being the unsouled political dia- 
 grams of history : they are, in the right and full sense of the 
 term, dramatic revivifications of the Past, wherein the shades 
 of departed things are made to live their life over again, to 
 repeat themselves, as it were, under our eye ; so that they 
 have an interest for us such as no mere narrative of events 
 can possess. If there are any others able to give us as just 
 notions, provided we read them, still there are none who 
 come near him in the art of causing themselves to be read. 
 And the further we push our historical researches, the more 
 we are brought to recognize the substantial justness of his 
 representations. Even when he makes free with chronology, 
 and varies from the actual order of things, it is commonly in 
 quest of something higher and better than chronological 
 
4 KING JOHN. 
 
 accuracy ; and the result is in most cases favourable to right 
 conceptions ; the persons and events being thereby so knit 
 together in a sort of vital harmony as to be better under- 
 stood than if they were ordered with literal exactness of time 
 and place. He never fails to hold the mind in natural inter- 
 course and sympathy with living and operative truth. Kings 
 and princes and the heads of the State, it is true, figure 
 prominently in his scenes ; but this is done in such a way as 
 to set us face to face with the real spirit and sense of the 
 people, whose claims are never sacrificed, to make an im- 
 posing pageant or puppet-show of political automatons. If 
 he brings in fictitious persons and events, mixing them up 
 with real ones, it is that he may set forth into view those 
 parts and elements and aspects of life which lie without the 
 range of common history ; enshrining in representative ideal 
 forms the else neglected substance of actual character. 
 
 But the most noteworthy point in this branch of the theme 
 is, that out of the materials of an entire age and nation he so 
 selects and uses a few as to give a just conception of the 
 whole ; all the lines and features of its life and action, its 
 piety, chivalry, wisdom, policy, wit, and profligacy, being 
 gathered up and wrought out in fair proportion and clear ex- 
 pression. Where he deviates most from all the authorities 
 known to have been consulted by him, there is a large, wise 
 propriety in his deviations, such as might well prompt the 
 conjecture of his having written from some traditionary mat- 
 ter which the historians had failed to chronicle. And indeed 
 some of those deviations have been remarkably verified by 
 the researches of latter times ; as if the Poet had exercised a 
 sort of prophetic power in his dramatic retrospections. So 
 that our latest study and ripest judgment in any historical 
 matter handled by him will be apt to fall in with and confirm 
 
INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 the impressions at first derived from him ; that which in the 
 outset approved itself to the imagination as beautiful, in the 
 end approving itself to the judgment as true. 
 
 These remarks, however, must not be taken as in dispar- 
 agement of other forms of history. It is important for us to 
 know much which it was not the Poet's business to teach, 
 and which if he had attempted to teach, we should probably 
 learn far less from him. Nor can we be too much on our 
 guard against resting in those vague general notions of the 
 Past which are so often found ministering to conceit and 
 flippant shallowness. For, in truth, however we may exult 
 in the free soarings of the spirit beyond the bounds of time 
 and sense, one foot of the solid ground of Facts, where our 
 thoughts must needs be limited by the matter that feeds 
 them, is worth far more than acres upon acres of cloud-land 
 glory where, as there is nothing to bound the sight, because 
 nothing to be seen, so a man may easily credit himself with 
 "gazing into the abysses of the infinite." And perhaps the 
 best way to keep off all such conceit is by holding the mind 
 down to the specialties of local and particular truth. These 
 specialties, however, it is not for poetry to supply ; nay, rather, 
 it would cease to be poetry, should it go about to supply 
 them. And it is enough that Shakespeare, in giving us what 
 lay within the scope of his art, facilitates and furthers the 
 learning of that which lies out of it ; working whatever mat- 
 ter he takes into a lamp to light our way through that which 
 he omits. This is indeed to make the Historical Drama 
 what it should be, a " concentration of history " ; setting our 
 thoughts at the point where the several lines of truth con- 
 verge, and from whence we may survey the field of his sub- 
 ject both in its unity and its variety. 
 
 All this is to be understood as referring specially to the 
 
6 KING JOHN. 
 
 Poet's dramas in English history ; though much of it holds 
 good also in regard to the Roman tragedies.* Of those 
 dramas, ten in number, King John comes first in the his- 
 torical order of time. And in respect of this piece the 
 foregoing remarks are subject to no little abatement or quali- 
 fication. As a work of art, the play has indeed considerable 
 merit ; but as a piece of historical portraiture its claims may 
 easily be overstated. In such a work, diplomatic or docu- 
 mentary exactness is not altogether possible, nor is it even 
 desirable any further than will run smooth with the conditions 
 of the dramatic form. For, to be truly an historical drama, 
 a work should not adhere to the literal truth of history in 
 
 * The dramas derived from the English history, ten in number, form 
 one of the most valuable of Shakespeare's works, and are partly the fruit of 
 his maturest age. I say advisedly one of his works ; for the Poet evidently 
 intended them to form one great whole. It is, as it were, an historical heroic 
 poem in the dramatic form, of which the several plays constitute the rhapso- 
 dies. The main features of the events are set forth with such fidelity ; their 
 causes, and even their secret springs, are placed in so clear a light ; that we 
 may gain from them a knowledge of history in all its truth ; while the living 
 picture makes an impression on the imagination which can never be effaced. 
 But this series of dramas is designed as the vehicle of a much higher and 
 more general instruction ; it furnishes examples of the political course of 
 the world, applicable to all times. This mirror of kings should be the man- 
 ual of princes : from it they may learn the intrinsic dignity of their heredi- 
 tary vocation ; but they will also learn the difficulties of their situation, the 
 dangers of usurpation, the inevitable fall of tyranny, which buries itself 
 under its attempts to obtain a firmer foundation ; lastly, the ruinous conse- 
 quences of the weaknesses, errors, and crimes of kings, for whole nations, 
 and many subsequent generations. Eight of these plays, from Richard the 
 Second to Richard the Third, are linked together in uninterrupted succes- 
 sions, and embrace a most eventful period of nearly a century of English 
 history. The events portrayed in them not only follow each other, but are 
 linked together in the closest and most exact connection ; and the cycle of 
 revolts, parties, civil and foreign wars, which began with the deposition of 
 Richard the Second, first ends with the accession of Henry the Seventh to 
 the throne. — SCHLEGEL. 
 
INTRODUCTION. J 
 
 such sort as to hinder the proper dramatic life ; that is, the 
 laws of the Drama are here paramount to the facts of his- 
 tory ; which infers that, where the two cannot stand together, 
 the latter are to give way. Yet, when and so far as they are 
 fairly compatible, neither ought to be sacrificed ; at least, 
 historical fidelity is so far essential to the perfection of the 
 work. And Shakespeare's mastery of his art is especially 
 apparent from the degree in which he has reconciled them. 
 And the historical inferiority of King John, as will be shown 
 hereafter, lies mainly in this, that, taking his other works in 
 the same line as the standard, the facts of history are disre- 
 garded much beyond what the laws of Art seem to require. 
 
 Time of the Composition. 
 
 The only extant or discovered notice of King John, till 
 it appeared in the folio of 1623, is in the often-quoted list 
 given by Francis Meres in his Palladis Tamia, 1598. So 
 that all we can say with certainty is, that the play was written 
 some time before that date. Various attempts have been 
 made to argue the date of the writing from allusions to 
 contemporary matters ; but I cannot see that those attempts 
 really amount to any thing at all. On the other hand, some 
 of the German critics are altogether out, when, arguing from 
 the internal evidences of style, structure of the verse, and 
 tone of thought, they refer the piece to the same period of 
 the author's life with The Tempest, The Winter's Tale, and 
 Cymbeli7ie. In these respects, it strikes me as having an 
 intermediate cast between The Two Gentlemen of Verona 
 and The Merchant of Venice. From the characteristics of 
 style alone, I am quite persuaded that the play was written 
 some considerable time before King Henry the Fourth. It 
 
8 KING JOHN. 
 
 thus synchronizes, I should say, very nearly with King Rich- 
 ard the Second. The matter is well stated by Schlegel : " In 
 King John the political and warlike events are dressed out 
 with solemn pomp, for the very reason that they have little 
 of true grandeur. The falsehood and selfishness of the 
 monarch speak in the style of a manifesto. Conventional 
 dignity is most indispensable where personal dignity is want- 
 ing. Falconbridge is the witty interpreter of this language ; 
 he ridicules the secret springs of politics, without disap- 
 proving of them ; for he owns that he is endeavouring to 
 make his fortune by similar means, and would rather be of 
 the deceivers than the deceived ; there being in his view of 
 the world no other choice." Schlegel thus regards the 
 peculiarities in question as growing naturally out of the 
 subject ; whereas I have no scruple of referring them to 
 the undergraduate state of the Poet's genius ; for in truth 
 they are much the same as in several other plays where no 
 such cause has been alleged. These remarks, however, 
 are hardly applicable except to the first three Acts of the 
 play ; in the last two we have much more of the full-grown 
 Shakespeare, sure-footed and self-supporting; the hidden 
 elements of character, and the subtle shapings and turnings 
 of guilty thought shining out in clear transparence, or flash- 
 ing forth amidst the stress of passion ; with kindlings of 
 poetic and dramatic inspiration not unworthy the best work- 
 manship of the Poet's middle period. 
 
 Bale's Pageant of King John. 
 
 Shakespeare drew the material of his other histories from 
 Holinshed, and no doubt had or might have had access to 
 the same source in writing King John. Yet in all the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 others the rights of historic truth are for the most part duly 
 observed. Which would seem to argue that in this case he 
 not only left his usual guide, but had some special reason for 
 doing so. Accordingly it appears that the fore-mentioned 
 sins against history were not original with him. The whole 
 plot and plan of the drama, the events and the ordering of 
 them, all indeed but the poetry and character, were borrowed. 
 The reign of King John was specially fruitful of doings 
 such as might be made to tell against the old claims and 
 usages of the Mediaeval Church. This aptness of the matter 
 caused it to be early and largely used in furthering the 
 great ecclesiastical revolution of the sixteenth century. 
 The precise date is not known, but Bishop Bale's pageant 
 of King John was probably written in the time of Edward 
 the Sixth. The design of this singular performance was to 
 promote the Reformation, of which Bale was a very stren- 
 uous and unscrupulous supporter. Some of the leading 
 events of John's reign, his disputes with the Pope, the 
 sufferings of his kingdom under the interdict, the surrender 
 of his crown to the Legate, and his reputed death by 
 poison, are there used, or abused, in a way to suit the time 
 and purpose of the writer. The historical characters are 
 the King himself, Pope Innocent the Third, Pandulf, Lang- 
 ton, Simon of Swinstead, and a monk called Raymundus. 
 With these are mixed various allegorical personages, — 
 England, who is said to be a widow, Imperial Majesty, 
 Nobility, Clergy, Civil Order, Treason, Verity, and Sedition, 
 the latter serving as the Jester of the piece. Thus we have 
 the common material of the old Moral-plays rudely com- 
 bined with some elements of the Historical Drama such as 
 grew into use on the public stage forty or fifty years later. 
 And the piece, though written by a bishop, teems with the 
 
IO KING JOHN. 
 
 lowest ribaldry and vituperation : therewithal it is totally 
 barren of any thing that can pretend to the name of poetry 
 or wit ; in short, the whole thing is at once thoroughly stu- 
 pid, malignant, and vile. There is no likelihood that Shake- 
 speare knew any thing of Bale's pageant, as it was never 
 printed till some fifty years ago, the original manuscript 
 having then been lately discovered in the library of the Duke 
 of Devonshire. 
 
 Foundation of the Play. 
 
 The Troublesome Reign of John, King of England, upon 
 which Shakespeare's play was founded, came from the press 
 first in 1591, again in 161 1, and a third time in 1622. The 
 first issue was anonymous ; the other two were put forth 
 with Shakespeare's name as author ; which really does noth- 
 ing towards proving it to be his, as we have divers instances 
 of other men's workmanship being fathered upon him. 
 Steevens at one time thought it to be Shakespeare's, but 
 afterwards gave it up, as well he might. Several of the Ger- 
 man critics have taken the other side, arguing the point at 
 great length, but with little effect. To answer their argu- 
 ments were more easy than profitable ; and such answer can 
 better be spared than the space it would fill, since no Eng- 
 lish reader able to understand the reasoning will need it, after 
 once reading the play. Coleridge indeed went so far in 1802 
 as to pronounce it "not his, yet of him"; a judgment in 
 which few, I apprehend, will concur. In effect, all the Eng- 
 lish critics agree that he did not write it, though scarce any 
 two of them agree who did. 
 
 The Troubleso?ne Reign, which is in two Parts, bears strong 
 internal marks of having been written when the enthusiasm 
 of the nation was wrought up to the height about the Spanish 
 
INTRODUCTION. II 
 
 Armada, and when the Papacy was spitting its impotent 
 thunders against the throne and State of the lion-Queen. 
 Abounding in spoken and acted satire and invective, the 
 piece must have been hugely grateful to that national feeling 
 which issued in the Reformation, and which was mightily 
 strengthened afterwards by the means made use of to put the 
 Reformation down. The subject was strikingly apt for the 
 purpose ; which was no doubt the cause of its being chosen. 
 
 The piece, however, is a prodigious advance upon Bale's 
 performance. The most considerable exception to this is 
 where Falconbridge, while by the King's order he is plunder- 
 ing the religious houses, finds a fair young nun hidden in a 
 chest which is supposed to contain the Abbot's treasures. 
 Campbell regrets that the Poet did not retain this incident, — 
 a regret in which I am far from sympathizing ; for, surely, to 
 hold up the crimes of individuals in such a way or at such a 
 time as to set a stigma upon whole classes of men, was a 
 work that might well be left to meaner hands. 
 
 An intense hatred of Popery runs as a special purpose 
 through both of the older pieces. Which matter is reformed 
 altogether in Shakespeare ; who understood well enough, no 
 doubt, that any such special purpose was quite inconsistent 
 with the just proportions of Art. He therefore discovers no 
 repugnance to Popery save in the form of a just and genuine 
 patriotism ; has no particular symptoms of a Protestant spirit, 
 but only the natural beatings of a sound, honest English 
 heart, resolute to withstand alike all foreign encroachments, 
 whether from kings or emperors or popes. Thus his feeling 
 against Rome is wisely tempered in that proportion which is 
 required by the laws of morality and Art, issuing in a firm, 
 manly national sentiment such as all men may justly respond 
 to, be their creed what it may. 
 
12 KING JOHN. 
 
 So that King John, as compared with the piece out of 
 which it was built, yields a forcible instance and proof of the 
 Poet's universality. He follows his predecessor in those 
 things which appeal to the feelings of man as man, but for- 
 sakes him in whatever flatters the prejudices and antipathies 
 of men as belonging to this or that party or sect. And as 
 aversion to Rome is chastised down from the prominence of 
 a special purpose, the parts of Arthur and Constance and 
 Falconbridge proportionably rise ; parts that spontaneously 
 knit in with the common sympathies of humanity, — such a 
 language as may always dwell together with the spirit of a 
 man, and be twisted about his heart for ever. 
 
 Still the question recurs, Why did Shakespeare, with the 
 authentic materials of history at hand, and with his own 
 matchless power of shaping those materials into beautiful 
 and impressive forms, — why did he, in this single instance, 
 depart from his usual course, preferring a fabulous history 
 to the true, and this too when, for aught now appears, the 
 true would have answered his purpose just as well? It is to 
 come at a probable answer to this question that I have dwelt 
 so long on the two older pieces. We thus see that for spe- 
 cial causes the subject was early brought upon the stage. The 
 same causes long operated to keep it there. The King John 
 of the stage, striking in with the passions and interests of the 
 time, had become familiar to the people, and twined itself 
 closely with their feelings and thoughts. A faithful version 
 would have worked at great disadvantage in competition with 
 the theatrical one thus established. This prepossession of the 
 popular mind Shakespeare may well have judged it unwise 
 to disturb. In other words, the current of popular associa- 
 tion being so strong, he probably chose rather to fall in with 
 it than to stem it. We may regret that he did so ; but we 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 3 
 
 can hardly doubt that he did it knowingly and on principle : 
 nor should we so much blame him for not stemming that 
 current as thank him for purifying it. 
 
 Historic Outline. 
 
 I will next present, as briefly as may be, so much of au- 
 thentic history as will throw light directly on the subject. — 
 Henry the Second, the first of the Plantagenet kings, had 
 four sons, Henry, Richard, Geoffrey, and John. Eleanor, 
 his queen, was first married to Louis the Seventh of France, 
 and some sixteen years after the marriage was divorced on 
 suspicion of conjugal infidelity. Within six weeks after the 
 divorce, she was married to Henry, then Earl of Anjou, 
 and much younger than herself. She brought him large 
 possessions indeed, but not enough to offset the trouble she 
 caused in his family and kingdom. Unfaithful to her first 
 husband, and jealous of the second, she instigated his sons 
 into rebellion against him. In 1189, after a reign of thirty- 
 five years, Henry died, invoking the vengeance of Heaven 
 on the ingratitude of his children, and was succeeded by 
 Richard, Henry and Geoffrey having died before him. 
 Geoffrey, Duke of Bretagne in right of Constance his wife, 
 left one son, Arthur. Inn 90, when Arthur was a mere 
 child, Richard contracted him in marriage with the daughter 
 of Tancred, King of Sicily, at the same time owning him as 
 " our most dear nephew, and heir, if by chance we should 
 die without issue." At Richard's death, however, in 1199, 
 John produced a testament of his brother's, giving him the 
 crown. Anjou, Touraine, and Maine were the proper patri- 
 mony of the Plantagenets, and therefore devolved to Arthur 
 as the acknowledged representative of that House, the rule 
 
14 KING JOHN. 
 
 of lineal succession being there fully established. To the 
 ducal chair of Bretagne Arthur was the proper heir in right 
 of his mother, who was then Duchess-regnant of that province. 
 John claimed the dukedom of Normandy, as the proper inher- 
 itance from his ancestor, William the Conqueror, and his 
 claim was there admitted. Poitou, Guienne, and five other 
 French provinces were the inheritance of Eleanor his mother ; 
 but she made over her title to him ; and there also his claim 
 was recognized. The English crown he claimed in virtue of 
 his brother's will, but took care to strengthen that claim by a 
 parliamentary election. In the strict order of inheritance, 
 all these possessions, be it observed, were due to Arthur; 
 but that order, it appears, was not then fully established, save 
 in the provinces belonging to the House of Anjou. 
 
 As Duke of Bretagne, Arthur was a vassal of France, and 
 therefore bound to homage as the condition of his title. 
 Constance, feeling his need of a protector, engaged to 
 Philip Augustus, King of France, that he should do homage 
 also for the other provinces, where his right was clogged 
 with no such conditions. Philip accordingly met him at 
 Mans, received his oath, gave him knighthood, and took 
 him to Paris. Philip was cunning, ambitious, and unscrupu- 
 lous, and his plan was to drive his own interests in Arthur's 
 name : with the Prince entirely in his power, he could use 
 him as an ally or a prisoner, whichever would best serve his 
 turn ; and in effect " Arthur was a puppet in his hands, to be 
 set up or knocked down, as he desired to bully or cajole 
 John out of the territories he claimed in France." In the 
 year 1200, Philip was at war with John in pretended mainte- 
 nance of Arthur's rights ; but before the end of that year the 
 war ended in a peace, by the terms of which John was to 
 give his niece, Blanche of Castile, in marriage to Louis the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 5 
 
 Dauphin, with a dowry of several valuable fiefs ; and Arthur 
 was to hold even his own Bretagne as a vassal of John. At 
 the time of this treaty Constance was still alive ; and Arthur, 
 fearing, it is said, his uncle's treachery, remained in the care 
 of Philip. In less than two years, however, the peace was 
 broken. John, though his former wife was still living, hav- 
 ing seized and married Isabella of Angouleme, already be- 
 trothed to the Count de la Marche, the Count headed an 
 insurrection, and Philip joined him, brought Arthur again 
 upon the scene, and made him raise the flag of war against 
 his uncle. For some time Philip was carrying all before 
 him, till at length Arthur was sent with a small force against 
 the town of Mirabeau, where his grandmother Eleanor was 
 stationed ; and, while he was besieging her in the castle, 
 John " used such diligence, that he was upon his enemies' 
 necks ere they could understand any thing of his coming." 
 His mother was quickly relieved, Arthur fell into his hands, 
 and was conveyed to the castle of Falaise ; and Philip with- 
 drew from the contest, as the people would have nothing to 
 do with him but as the protector of their beloved Prince. 
 The capture of Arthur took place in July, 1202, he being 
 seventeen or eighteen years old. 
 
 The King then betook himself to England, and had his 
 coronation repeated. Shortly after, he returned to France, 
 where, a rumour being spread abroad of Arthur's death, the 
 nobles made great suit to have him set at liberty. Not 
 prevailing in this, they banded together, and "began to 
 levy sharp wars against King John in divers places, inso- 
 much that it was thought there would be no quiet in those 
 parts so long as Arthur lived." A charge of murder being 
 then carried to the French Court, the King was summoned 
 thither for trial, but refused to go ; whereupon he " was 
 
l6 KING JOHN. 
 
 found guilty of felony and treason, and adjudged to forfeit 
 all the lands which he held by homage." Thence sprang 
 up a war in which John was totally stripped of his French 
 possessions, and at last stole off with inexpressible baseness 
 to England. 
 
 The quarrel of John with Pope Innocent did not break 
 out till 1207. It was about the election of Cardinal Lang- 
 ton to the See of Canterbury. First came the interdict; 
 then, some two years after, the excommunication ; and 
 finally, at a like interval, the deposition ; Philip being en- 
 gaged to go with an army, and execute the sentence ; 
 wherein he was likely to succeed, till at length, in the Spring 
 of 1 2 13, John made his full submission. The next year, he 
 was desperately involved in the famous contest with his 
 barons, which resulted in the establishment of the Great 
 Charter. Of this great movement, so decisive for the lib- 
 erties of England, Langton was the life and soul. As Pri- 
 mate he had been forced upon the King by the Pope ; but 
 he now stood by his country against both Pope and King. 
 No sooner had John confirmed the Charter than his tyr- 
 anny and perfidy broke out afresh ; whereupon the barons, 
 finding that no laws nor oaths could curb the faithless and 
 cruel devil within him, offered the crown to Louis the Dau- 
 phin on condition of his helping them put down the hated 
 tyrant. John died in 12 16. 
 
 Breaches of History. 
 
 The point where all the parts of King John centre and 
 converge into one has been rightly stated to be the fate of 
 Arthur. This is the heart, whose pulsations are felt through- 
 out the entire structure. The alleged right of Arthur to the 
 throne draws on the wars between Philip and John, and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 7 
 
 finally the loss from the English crown of the provinces in 
 France. And so far the drama is strictly true to historical 
 fact. But, besides this, the real or reputed murder of Arthur 
 by John is set forth as the main cause of the troubles which 
 distracted the latter part of John's reign, and ended only with 
 his life. Which was by no means the case. For though, by 
 the treatment of his nephew, John did greatly outrage the 
 loyalty and humanity of the nation, still that was but one act 
 in a life-long course of cruelty, cowardice, lust, and perfidy, 
 which stamped him all over with baseness, and finally drew 
 upon him the general hatred and execration of his subjects. 
 Had he not thus sinned away and lost the hearts of the peo- 
 ple, he might have safely defied the papal interdict ; for who 
 can doubt that they would have braved the thunders of the 
 Vatican for him, since they did not scruple afterwards to do 
 so against him ? But the fact or the mode of Arthur's death 
 was far from being the main cause of that loss. Pope Inno- 
 cent the Third was a very great man ; his proceedings against 
 John were richly deserved : at that time there was no other 
 power in Europe that could tame or restrain the savagery of 
 such lawless and brutal oppressors ; and the Church had, by 
 her services to liberty and humanity, well earned the preroga- 
 tives then exercised in her name. The death of Arthur, 
 though the consequences thereof survived in a general weak- 
 ening of the English State, had quite ceased to be an active 
 force in European politics when the ecclesiastical tempest 
 broke loose upon John. 
 
 Here, then, we have a breach of history in the very cen- 
 tral point of the drama ; this too without any apparent reason 
 in the laws of the dramatic form. Such a flaw at the heart 
 of the piece must greatly disarrange the order of the work as 
 a representation of facts, and make it very untrue to the ideas 
 
15 KING JOHN. 
 
 and sentiments of the English people at the time ; for it 
 implies all along that Arthur was clearly the rightful sover- 
 eign, and that he was so regarded ; whereas in truth the rule 
 of lineal descent was not then settled in the State, and the 
 succession of John to the throne was so far from being irreg- 
 ular, that of the last five occupants four had derived their 
 main title from election, — the same right whereby John him- 
 self held it. 
 
 The same objection holds proportionably against another 
 feature of the play. The life of the Austrian Archduke who 
 had behaved so harshly and so meanly towards Richard the 
 First is prolonged five or six years beyond its actual period, 
 for no other purpose, apparently, than that Richard's natural 
 son may have the honour of revenging his father's wrongs 
 and death. Richard fell in a quarrel with Vidomar, Viscount 
 of Limoges, one of his own vassals. A treasure having been 
 found on Vidornar's estate, the King refused the offer of a 
 part, and insisted on having the whole ; and while, to enforce 
 this claim, he was making war on the owner, he was wounded 
 with an arrow by one of Vidornar's archers. This occurred 
 in 1 199, when Leopold of Austria had been dead several 
 years. The play, however, drives the sin against history to 
 the extreme point of making Austria and Limoges the same 
 person. Now, if such an exploit were needful for the proper 
 display of Falconbridge's character, it does not well appear 
 but that the real Vidomar would have answered the purpose ; 
 at all events, the thing might surely have been compassed 
 without so signal a breach of historical truth. Here, how- 
 ever, the vice stops with itself, instead of vitiating the other 
 parts, as in the former case. 
 
 Again : In the play the people of Angiers stoutly refuse 
 to own either John or Arthur as their king, until the ques- 
 
INTRODUCTION. IO, 
 
 tion shall have first been decided in battle between them ; 
 whereas in fact Anjou, Touraine, and Maine declared for 
 Arthur from the first, and did not waver at all in their 
 allegiance. The drama also represents the imprisonment 
 and death of Arthur as occurring in England ; while in fact 
 he was first put under guard in the castle of Falaise, and 
 afterwards transferred to a dungeon in the castle of Rouen, 
 from whence he was never known to come out alive. These, 
 however, are immaterial points in the course of the drama, 
 save as the latter has the effect of bringing Arthur nearer to 
 the homes and hearts of the English people ; who would 
 naturally be more apt to resent his death, if it occurred at 
 their own doors. Other departures from fact there are, 
 which may easily be justified, as being more than made up 
 by a gain of dramatic truth and effect. Such, for instance, 
 are the freedoms taken with Constance, who, in the play, 
 remains a widow after the death of her first husband, and 
 survives to bewail the captivity of her son and the wreck 
 of his hopes ; but who, in fact, after a short widowhood was 
 married to Guy of Thouars, and died in 1201, the year before 
 Arthur fell into the hands of his uncle. A breach of history 
 every way justifiable, since it gives an occasion, not otherwise 
 to be had, for some noble outpourings of maternal grief and 
 tenderness. And the mother's transports of sorrow might 
 well consist with a second marriage, though to have repre- 
 sented her thus would have impaired the pathos of her 
 situation, and at the same time have been a needless em- 
 barrassment of the action. It is enough that so she would 
 have felt and spoken, had she been still alive : her proper 
 character being thus allowed to transpire in circumstances 
 which she did not live to see. 
 
 But, of the justifiable departures from fact, the greatest 
 
20 KING JOHN. 
 
 consists in anticipating by several years the papal instigations 
 as the cause of the war in which Arthur was taken prisoner. 
 For in reality Rome had no hand in setting on that war ; it 
 was undertaken, as we have seen, by Philip of his own will 
 and for his own ends ; there being no rupture between John 
 and the Pope till some time after Arthur had disappeared. 
 But the laws of dramatic effect often require that the force 
 and import of divers actual events be condensed and massed 
 together. To disperse the interest over many details of 
 action involves such a weakening of it as poetry does not 
 tolerate. So that the Poet was eminently judicious in this 
 instance of concentration. The conditions of right dramatic 
 interest clearly required something of the kind. United, the 
 several events might stand in the drama ; divided, they must 
 fall. Thus the course of the play in this matter was fitted 
 to secure as much of actual truth as could be told dramati- 
 cally without defeating the purpose of the telling. Shake- 
 speare has many happy instances of such condensation in 
 his historical pieces. 
 
 Political Bearings. 
 
 The reign of King John was specially remarkable as being 
 the dawn of genuine English nationality, such as it has con- 
 tinued substantially to the present day. And the faults and 
 crimes of the sovereign seem to have had the effect of testing 
 and so toughening the national unity ; just as certain diseases 
 in infancy operate to strengthen the constitution of the man, 
 and thus to prepare him for the struggles of life. England 
 was then wrestled, as it were, into the beginnings of that just, 
 sturdy, indomitable self-reliance, or selfhood, which she has 
 ever since so gloriously maintained. 
 
 The Poet's vigorous and healthy national spirit is strongly 
 
INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 manifested in the workmanship of King John. Falconbridge 
 serves as a chorus to give a right political interpretation of 
 the events and action of the play. To him, John imperson- 
 ates the unity and majesty of the nation ; so that defection 
 from him tends to nothing less than national dissolution. 
 Whatever he may be as a man, as King Patriotism has no 
 way but to stand by him at all hazards ; for the rights and 
 interests of England are inseparably bound up with the rever- 
 ence of his person and the maintenance of his title. The 
 crimes of the individual must not be allowed to peril the 
 independence and life of the nation. Thus, in Falcon- 
 bridge's view, England can only rest true to herself by stick- 
 ing to the King against all comers whatsoever. And such, 
 undoubtedly, is the right idea of the English State, and of 
 the relation which the Crown bears to the other parts of her 
 political Constitution. No philosophy or statesmanship has 
 got beyond Shakespeare in the mastery of this principle. 
 And this principle is the moral backbone of the drama, how- 
 ever the poetry of it may turn upon other points. 
 
 As for the politics of the piece, these present a rather 
 tangled and intricate complication, which it would hardly 
 pay to trace out in detail ; at least, the doing so would 
 strike something too wide of my usual method and purpose 
 in these discourses. Besides, the ground in this respect is 
 well covered by Gervinus, who has worked through the 
 process with great ability indeed, though, as it seems to me, 
 at a rather unconscionable length.* 
 
 * Here is a brief portion : " John, imprudent once in resting on false 
 supports, is so now in the wicked removal of weak enemies, and in the dan- 
 gerous provocation of strong opposition. He contrives the murder of the 
 harmless Arthur, and irritates the already-disturbed Church by fresh extor- 
 tions. The legate Pandulf, a master of Machiavelian policy, watches these 
 
22 KING JOHN. 
 
 The characterization of King John corresponds very well, 
 in the degree of excellence, with the period to which I have 
 on other grounds assigned the writing. Much of it, and 
 indeed nearly all, at least in the germs and outlines, was 
 taken from The Troublesoine Reign ; and the use of the 
 borrowed matter discovers a mark-worthy exercise of judg- 
 ment in much retrenching of superfluities, in not a little 
 moral purging and refining, in skilful recasting of features, 
 and in many ennobling additions. 
 
 The delineation of the English barons is made to reflect 
 the tumultuous and distracted condition of the time, when 
 the best men were inwardly divided and fluctuating be- 
 tween the claims of parliamentary election and actual pos- 
 session on the one side, and the rights of lineal succession 
 on the other. In such a conflict of duties and motives, the 
 
 errors, and builds upon them the new unhallowed league between France 
 and Rome ; with cold blood he speculates how Arthur's death may be oc- 
 casioned by a French invasion, and this again may be advanced by the 
 accusation produced by the murder. This practical prophecy is fulfilled : 
 the country becomes unruly: the King's evil conscience is roused; sus- 
 piciously he has himself crowned a second time, and this makes his nobles 
 suspicious also. The murder of Arthur comes to their hearing; they revolt 
 from the King. A new antinational league is formed between the English 
 vassals on the one side and France and the Pope on the other; and the 
 French Dauphin prepares on his part a treacherous death for the traitors to 
 England. Meanwhile the fearful and perplexed John loses his old courage 
 and confidence so far, that he takes his land as a fief from the Pope, and 
 enters into a shameful treaty of subjection to the most virulent of his ene- 
 mies. The King has forgotten his former vigour, which the enemy has now 
 learned from him ; he turns his hardened zeal against poor prophets, only 
 to benumb his superstitious fear ; his energy is gone. The unnaturalness 
 of all these complicated alliances is now speedily manifested ; the league 
 between England and the Papacy, that between the Papacy and France, 
 that between France and the English vassals, all are are broken up, without 
 attaining the object of one of them : they change throughout into the natural 
 enmity which several interests necessitate." 
 
INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 When workmen strive to do better than well, 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness. 
 
 In pursuance of the same thought, Bacon finely remarks the 
 great practical difference between the love of excellence and 
 the love of excelling. And so here we seem to have rather 
 too much of that elaborate artificialness which springs more 
 from ambition than from inspiration. But the fault is among 
 tho^e which I have elsewhere noted as marking the work- 
 manship of the Poet's earlier period. 
 
 Tie idea pervading the delineation is well stated by Haz- 
 litt as " the excess of maternal tenderness, rendered desper- 
 ate by the fickleness of friends and the injustice of fortune, 
 and made stronger in will, in proportion to the want of all 
 other power." In the judgment of Gervinus, "ambition 
 spured by maternal love, maternal love fired by ambition 
 and womanly vanity, form the distinguishing features " of 
 Constance ; and he further describes her as " a woman 
 whose weakness amounts to grandeur, and whose virtues 
 sink into weakness." I am not indeed greatly in love with 
 this brilliant way of putting things ; but Gervinus is apt to 
 be substantially right in such matters. My own tamer view 
 is that the character, though drawn in the best of situations 
 for its amiability to appear, is not a very amiable one. 
 Herein the play is perhaps the truer to history; as the 
 chioniclers make Constance out rather selfish and weak; 
 no: so religious in motherhood but that she betrayed a 
 sonewhat unvenerable impatience of widowhood. Never- 
 theless it must be owned that the soul of maternal grief and 
 affection speaks from her lips with not a little majesty of 
 pathos, and occasionally flows in strains of the most melting 
 tenderness. I know not how the voice of a mother's sorrow 
 CDuld discourse more eloquently than in these lines : 
 
30 KING JOHN. 
 
 Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form : 
 Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 
 Nor is there any overstraining of nature in the imagery here 
 used ; for the speaker's passion is of just the right kind and 
 degree to kindle the imagination into the richest and finest 
 utterance. 
 
 On the other hand, the general effect of her sorrow is 
 marred by too great an infusion of anger, and she shows 
 too much pride, self-will, and volubility of scorn, to have 
 the full touch of our sympathies. Thus, when Eleanor 
 coarsely provokes her, she retorts in a strain of still coarser 
 railing ; and the bandying of taunts and slurs between them, 
 each not caring what she says, so her speech bites the other, 
 is about equally damaging to them both ; a storm of mutual 
 abuse, in which there is neither modesty nor wit. It is true, 
 she meets with very sore trials of patience, but these can 
 hardly be said to open any springs of sweetness or betuty 
 within her. When she finds that her heart's dear cause is 
 sacrificed to the schemes of politicians ; when it turns out 
 that the King of France and the Archduke of Austria ire 
 driving their own ends in her name, and only pretending 
 pity for her and conscience of right, to cover their selfish 
 projects, the heart-wringing disappointment inflames her 
 into outbursts of sarcastic bitterness and scorn ; her speech 
 is stinging and spiteful, and sounds quite as much of the in- 
 temperate scold as of the sorrowing and disconsolate mother. 
 The impression of her behaviour in these points is well de- 
 scribed by Gervinus : " What a variety of feeling is expressed 
 in those twenty lines where she inquires anxiously after the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 1 
 
 truth of that which shocks her to hear ! How her grief, so 
 long as she is alone, restrains itself in calmer anguish in the 
 vestibule of despair ! how it first bursts forth in the presence 
 of others in powerless revenge, rising to a curse which brings 
 no blessing to herself ! and how atoningly behind all this 
 unwomanly rage lies the foil of maternal love ! We should 
 be moved with too violent a pity for this love, if it did not 
 weaken our interest by its want of moderation ; we should 
 turn away from the violence of the woman, if the strength 
 of her maternal affection did not irresistibly enchain us." 
 
 Prince Arthur. 
 
 As Shakespeare used the allowable license of art in stretch- 
 ing the life of Constance beyond its actual date, that he 
 might enrich his work with the eloquence of a mother's love ; 
 so he took a like freedom in making Arthur younger than 
 the facts prescribed, that he might in larger measure pour in 
 the sweetness of childish innocence and wit. Both of these 
 departures from strict historic order are highly judicious ; at 
 least they are amptly redeemed by the dramatic wealth which 
 comes in fitly through them. And in the case of Arthur there 
 is the further gain, that the sparing of his eyes is owing to his 
 potency of tongue and the piercing touch of gentleness ; 
 whereas in the history he is indebted for this to his strength 
 of arm. The Arthur of the play is an artless, gentle, natural- 
 hearted, but high-spirited, eloquent boy, in whom we have 
 the voice of nature pleading for nature's rights, unrestrained 
 by pride of character or place ; who at first braves his uncle, 
 because set on to do so by his mother ; and afterwards fears 
 him, yet knows not why, because his heart is too full of "the 
 holiness of youth " to conceive how any thing so treacherous 
 
32 KING JOHN. 
 
 and unnatural can be, as that which he fears. And he not 
 only has a most tender and loving disposition, such as cruelty 
 itself can hardly resist, but is also persuasive and wise far 
 beyond his years ; though his power of thought and magic 
 of speech are so managed as rather to aid the impression of 
 his childish age. Observe, too, how in the scene with 
 Hubert his very terror operates in him a sort of preternatural 
 illumination, and inspires him to a course of innocent and 
 unconscious cunning, — the perfect art of perfect artlessness. 
 Of the scene in question Hazlitt justly says, " If any thing 
 ever were penned, heart-piercing, mixing the extremes of 
 terror and pity, of that which shocks and that which soothes 
 the mind, it is this scene." Yet even here the tender pathos 
 of the loving and lovely boy is marred with some "quirks of 
 wit," such as I can hardly believe the Poet would have 
 allowed in his best days. In Arthur's dying speech, — "O 
 me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones," — our impression 
 against John is most artfully heightened ; all his foregoing 
 inhumanity being, as it were, gathered and concentrated into 
 an echo. — Shakespeare has several times thrown the witch- 
 ery of his genius into pictures of nursery life, bringing chil- 
 dren upon the scene, and delighting us with their innocent 
 archness and sweet-witted prattle ; as in the case of Mamil- 
 lius in The Winter's Tale, and of Lady Macduff and her son ; 
 but Arthur is his most powerful and charming piece in that 
 line. That his great, simple, manly heart loved to play with 
 childhood, is indeed evident enough. Nor is it the least of 
 his claims to our reverence, as an organ of Nature's bland 
 and benignant wisdom. 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Philip, King of France. 
 LOUIS, the Dauphin. 
 Archduke of Austria. 
 Pandulph, the Pope's Legate. 
 Melun, a French Lord. 
 CHATILLON, Ambassador 
 France to King John. 
 
 from 
 
 King John. 
 
 Prince Henry, his Son. 
 
 Arthur, Duke of Bretagne. 
 
 MARESHALL, Earl of Pembroke. 
 
 Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex. 
 
 LONGSWORD, Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. 
 
 Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain. 
 
 Robert Falconbridge. 
 
 Philip, the Bastard, his Half- 
 
 Brother. 
 James Gurney, Servant to Lady 
 
 Falconbridge. 
 Peter of Pomfret, a Prophet. 
 Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE. — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. 
 
 Elinor, Mother to King John. 
 Constance, Mother to Arthur. 
 BLANCH, Daughter to Alphonsq 
 
 King of Castile. 
 Lady Falconbridge. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, Salis- 
 bury, and others, with Chatillon. 
 
 K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with 
 us? 
 
38 KING JOHN. ACT I. 
 
 Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France, 
 In my behaviour, 1 to the majesty, 
 The borrow'd majesty of England here. 
 
 Eli. A strange beginning : borrow'd majesty ! 
 
 K. John. Silence, good mother ; hear the embassy. 
 
 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
 Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
 Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island and the territories, — 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine ; 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword 
 Which sways usurpingly these several titles, 
 And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
 Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K.John. What follows, if we disallow of this? 
 
 Chat. The proud control 2 of fierce and bloody war, 
 T' enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 
 
 K.John. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood, 
 Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 
 
 Chat. Then take my King's defiance from my mouth, 
 The farthest limit of my embassy. 
 
 K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace : 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
 
 1 " In the speech and action I am now going to use." So in v. 2, of this 
 play : " Now hear our English King ; for thus his royalty doth speak in 
 me." 
 
 2 Control here means coercion or constraint. Hooker often uses the word 
 in the kindred sense of to rebuke, censure, or chastise ; as in Preface, ii. 4: 
 " Authority to convent, to control, to punish, as far as excommunication," 
 &c. And viii. 7 : " They began to control the ministers of the Gospel for 
 attributing so much force and virtue to the Scriptures o f God read." Also 
 in Book vii. 16, 6: " Which letters he justly taketh in marvellous evil part, 
 and therefore severely controlleth his great presumption in making himself 
 a judge of a judge." 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 39 
 
 For, ere thou canst report I will be there, 
 The thunder of my cannon 3 shall be heard : 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, 
 And sullen 4 presage of your own decay. — 
 An honourable conduct let him have : — 
 Pembroke, look to't. — Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 [Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 
 
 EH. What now, my son ! have I not ever said 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease 
 Till she had kindled France and all the world 
 Upon the right and party of her son ? 
 This might have been prevented and made whole 
 With very easy arguments of love ; 
 Which now the manage 5 of two kingdoms must 
 With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 
 
 K, John. Our strong possession and our right for us. 
 
 Eli. \_Aside to John.] Your strong possession much more 
 than your right, 
 Or else it must go wrong with you and me : 
 
 3 The Poet here antedates the use of gunpowder by more than a hundred 
 years. So, again, in ii. i, we have the expression, " bullets wrapp'd in fire." 
 John's reign began in 1199, and cannon are said to have been first used in 
 the battle of Cressy, 1346. Shakespeare was never studious of historical 
 accuracy in such points : he aimed to speak the language that was most 
 intelligible to his audience, rendering the ancient engines of war by their 
 modern equivalents. 
 
 4 Gloomy, dismal, doleful are among the old senses of sullen. So in 
 2 Henry IV., i. 1: "And his tongue sounds ever after as a sullen bell, re- 
 member'd knolling a departing friend." Also in Milton's sonnet to Law- 
 rence : " And by the fire help waste a sullen day." — Trumpet, in the line 
 before, is put for trtitnpeter. Often so. And, in the line after, conduct for 
 escort ; also a frequent usage. See Twelfth Night, page 105, note 20. 
 
 5 Manage for ma?iagement , conduct, or administration ; a frequent usage. 
 So in The Merchant, iii. 4 : " I commit into your hands the husbandry and 
 manage of my house until my lord's return." 
 
40 KING JOHN. ACT I. 
 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear, 
 Which none but Heaven and you and I shall hear. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire who whispers Essex. 
 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, 
 Come from the country to be judged by you, 
 That e'er I heard : shall I produce the men? 
 
 K. John. Let them approach. — \Exit Sheriff. 
 
 Our abbeys and our priories shall pay 
 This expedition's charge. — 
 
 Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Falconbridge, and Philip his 
 dastard Brother. 
 
 What men are you? 
 
 Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman 
 Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son, 
 As I suppose, to Robert Falconbridge, 
 A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
 Of Cceur-de-lion knighted in the field. 
 
 K.John. What art thou? 
 
 Rob. The son and heir to that same Falconbridge. 
 
 K.John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? 
 You came not of one mother, then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty King, 
 That is well known ; and, as I think, one father : 
 But for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
 I put you o'er to Heaven and to my mother. 
 
 Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy mother 
 And wound her honour with this diffidence. 
 
 Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it : 
 That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 41 
 
 At least from fair five hundred pound a year : 
 Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land ! 
 
 K. John. A good blunt fellow. — Why, being younger born, 
 Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
 But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
 But wher 6 I be as true begot or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head. 
 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap hath Heaven sent us here ! 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick 7 of Coeur-de-lion's face; 
 The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 8 
 Do you not read some tokens of my son 
 In the large composition of this man ? 
 
 K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, 
 And finds them perfect Richard. — Sirrah, speak, 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's land ? 
 
 Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father, 
 With that half-face would he have all my land : 
 A half- faced groat 9 five hundred pound a year ! 
 
 Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father lived, 
 Your brother did employ my father much, — 
 
 Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land. 
 
 Rob. — And once dispatch'd him in an embassy 
 
 6 A frequent contraction of whether. 
 
 7 Trick, as here used, is properly an heraldic term for mark or vote ; 
 hence meaning a peculiarity of countenance or expression. 
 
 8 To affect a thing is, in one sense, to draw or incline towards it ; that is, 
 to resemble it. The meaning here is, that the Bastard's speech has a smack 
 of his alleged father's. 
 
 9 The groats of Henry VII. differed from other coins in having a half- 
 face, or profile, instead of a full-face. Hence the phrase half-faced groat 
 came to be used of a meagre visage. So in The Downfall of Robert Earl 
 of Huntingdon, 1601 : " You halffac'd groat, you thin-cheek'd chitty face." 
 
42 KING JOHN. 
 
 To Germany, there with the Emperor 
 To treat of high affairs touching that time. 
 Th' advantage of his absence took the King, 
 And in the mean time sojourn 'd at my father's. 
 Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
 His lands to me ; and took it on his death, 10 
 That this my mother's son was none of his : 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate, 
 Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him : 
 Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 
 Rob. Shall, then, my father's will be of no force 
 To dispossess that child which is not his ? 
 
 Eli. Wher hadst thou rather, 11 be a Falconbridge, 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, 
 Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, 12 and no land besides? 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
 And I had his, Sir Robert his, 13 like him ; 
 
 10 This appears to have been a common form of making oath, or swear- 
 ing to a thing. So in / Henry IV., v. 4 : " I'll take it upon my death, I gave 
 him this wound in the thigh." 
 
 11 Wher, again, for whether. And in alternative questions whether is 
 often used as equivalent to which, or which of the two. So that the mean- 
 ing here is, " Which wouldst thou prefer, to be a Falconbridge," &c. 
 
 12 Presence is here equivalent to person ; and the meaning is lord in 
 right of thy own person. The lord of a thing is, properly, the owner of it ; 
 and lords are commonly such in virtue of the lands and titles that belong to 
 them. As the son of a king, Falconbridge will be a lord by personal right, 
 whether he has any lands or not. Sir Henry Wotton's Happy Man has a 
 similar expression : " Lord of himself, though not of lands." 
 
 13 Sir Robert his is merely equivalent to Sir Robert's ; his being the old 
 sign of the genitive. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 43 
 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 
 My arms such eel-skins stuff'd ; my face so thin, 
 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, 
 
 Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings goes f 14 
 
 And, to 15 his shape, were heir to all this land ; 
 
 Would I might never stir from off this place, 
 
 I'd give it every foot to have this face : 
 
 I would not be Sir Nob in any case. 
 
 Eli. I like thee well : wilt thou forsake thy fortune, 
 Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? 
 I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance : 
 Your face hath got five hundred pound a year ; 
 Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear. — 
 Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. 
 
 Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. 
 
 Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 
 
 K.John. What is thy name ? 
 
 Bast. Philip, my liege, — so is my name begun, — 
 Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eld'st son. 
 
 K.John. From henceforth bear his name whose form 
 thou bear'st : 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great, — 
 Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet. 16 
 
 14 Alluding to the three-farthing pieces of Elizabeth, which, being of sil- 
 ver, were of course very thin. These pieces had a profile of the Queen on 
 the obverse side, and a rose on the reverse. Staunton notes that, " as with 
 the profile of the sovereign it bore the emblem of a rose, its similitude to a 
 weazen-faced beau with that flower stuck in his ear, according to a courtly 
 fashion of Shakespeare's day, is sufficiently intelligible and humorous." 
 
 15 Here to has the force of in addition to ; a frequent usage. 
 
 16 Plantagenet was originally an epithet conferred upon a member of the 
 House of Anjou from his wearing a stalk of the broom-plant, planta genista, 
 in his cap or bonnet 
 
44 KING JOHN. ACT I 
 
 Bast. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand : 
 My father gave me honour, yours gave land. 
 
 Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet ! — 
 I am thy grandam, Richard ; call me so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : what though ? 
 Something about, a little from the right, 17 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch ; 18 
 Who dares not stir by day must walk by night ; 
 And have is have, however men do catch ; 
 Near or far off, well won is still well shot. 
 
 K. John. Go, Falconbridge : now hast thou thy desire ; 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. — 
 Come, madam, — and come, Richard ; we must speed 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 
 
 Bast. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to thee ! — 
 
 \_Exeunt all but the Bastard. 
 A foot of honour better than I was, 
 But many a many foot of land the worse. 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 
 Good den, 19 Sir Richard : — God-a-mercy, fellow / 
 
 17 That is, " I am your grandson, though, to be sure, somewhat irregu- 
 larly so ; but that matters little, since what a man has, he has, however he 
 came by it ; and, in a shooting-match, it makes no difference whether one 
 hits close or wide of the mark, so long as he wins the game." Such is in 
 substance Johnson's explanation. Here, as often, truth is put for honesty. 
 So true man often means honest man. 
 
 18 These were proverbial phrases applied to persons born illegitimately. 
 So in The Family of Love, 1608 : " Woe worth the time that ever I gave 
 suck to a child that came in at a window." And in The Witches of Lanca- 
 shire, 1634 : " I would not have you think I scorn my grannam's cat to leap 
 over the hatch" 
 
 19 Good den was a common colloquialism for good even. — God-a-mercy 
 is an old colloquialism for God have mercy; that is, "God pardon tne." 
 Here it stands as a sort of apology for non-recognition. — "Joan, in the line 
 before, is used as a common term meaning about the same as wench. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 45 
 
 And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; 
 
 For new-made honour doth forget men's names ; 
 
 'Tis too respective and too sociable 
 
 For your conversion. 20 Now your traveller, — * 
 
 He and his toothpick at my Worship's mess ; 
 
 And, when my knightly stomach is sufficed, 
 
 Why, then I suck my teeth, and catechize 
 
 My picked man, of countries : 21 My dear sir, 
 
 Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 
 
 / shall beseech you — that is Question now ; 
 
 20 Conversion here means change of condition, such as the speaker has 
 just undergone in being transferred to a higher rank. Respective is mind- 
 ful or considerate ; a very frequent usage. The language of the passage is 
 elliptical ; the meaning being, that remembering mens names implies too 
 much thought of others, and too much community of feeling, for one that 
 has just been lifted into nobility of rank. The Bastard is ridiculing the 
 affectations of aristocratic greenhorns. See Critical Notes. 
 
 21 Picked is scrupulously nice, fastidious, or coxcombical ; as in Love's 
 Labours Lost, v. i : " He is too picked, too spruce, too odd, too affected, as 
 it were, too peregrinate." " My picked man " here is a man who pranks up 
 his behaviour with foreign airs, or what may pass for such ; and the mean- 
 ing is, catechize him of, or about, the countries he claims to have seen. In 
 Shakespeare's time, which was an age of newly-awakened curiosity, with 
 but small means of gratifying it, travellers were much welcomed to the 
 tables of the rich and noble, for the instruction and entertainment of their 
 talk. This naturally drew on a good deal of imposture from such as were 
 more willing to wag their tongues than to work with their hands. It seems 
 that the tooth-pick was wont to cut a prominent figure in the conduct of 
 such persons. So in Jonson's Cynthia's Revels, ii. i : " Amorphus, a travel- 
 ler, one so made out of the mixture of shreds of forms, that himself is truly 
 deform'd. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his 
 mouth ; he is the mint of compliment ; all his behaviours are printed," &c. 
 Also in Overbury's Characters : " His attire speakes French or Italian, and 
 his gate cries, Behold me. He censures all things by countenances and 
 shrugs, and speakes his own language with shame and lisping: he will 
 choake rather than confess beere good drinke; and his pick-tooth is a 
 maine part of his behaviour." 
 
/\6 KING JOHN. ACT I 
 
 And then comes Answer like an A B C-book : 22 
 
 O sir, says Answer, at your best command; 
 
 At your employment ; at your service, sir : 
 
 No, sir, says Question ; /, sweet sir, at yours : 
 
 And so, ere Answer knows what Question would, — > 
 
 Saving in dialogue of compliment, 
 
 And talking of the Alps and Appennines, 
 
 The Pyrenean and the river Po, — 
 
 It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
 
 But 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 observation : 23 
 
 And so am I, — whether I smack or no, — 
 
 And not alone in habit and device, 
 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement, 
 
 But from the inward motion, to deliver 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : ^ 
 
 Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
 
 Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 25 
 
 22 A B C-book was for teaching children their letters, catechism, &c. 
 
 23 The meaning is, that the present time thinks scorn of a man who does 
 not show by his dress and manners that he has travelled abroad, and ob- 
 served the world. Sir Richard here uses bastard in a double sense ; for one 
 born illegitimately, and also for one that the time regards as base, that is, 
 low-born or low-bred. 
 
 24 Something of obscurity here, perhaps. But I take the infinitive to de- 
 liver as depending upon / am. Motion is motive, or moving power ; and 
 " inward motion " is an honest, genuine impulse or purpose in antithesis to 
 the mere externals spoken of just before. So that Sir Richard means that 
 he is going to humour the world in his outward man, and at the same time 
 be thoroughly sound within ; or that he will appear what the age craves . and 
 yet be what he ought. 
 
 25 The which, in this latter member of the sentence, I understand as 
 referring to the whole sense of the preceding member. The speaker means 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 47 
 
 For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. 
 But who comes in such haste in riding- robes ? 
 What woman-post is this ? hath she no husband, 
 That will take pains to blow a horn before her? 26 
 
 Enter Lady Falconbridge and James Gurney. 
 
 O me ! it is my mother. — How now, good lady ! 
 What brings you here to Court so hastily? 
 
 Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he 
 That holds in chase mine honour up and down ? 
 
 Bast. My brother Robert ? old Sir Robert's son ? 
 Colbrand the giant, 27 that same mighty man? 
 Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so ? 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreverend boy, 
 Sir Robert's son : why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert ? 
 He is Sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. 
 
 Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile ? 
 
 Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 
 
 Bast. Philip / sparrow ! 28 James, 
 
 to learn the arts of popularity, and to practise them, not hollowly, that he 
 may cheat the people, or play the demagogue, but from the heart, and that 
 he may be an overmatch for the cheats and demagogues about him. The 
 Poet here prepares us for the honest and noble part which Falconbridge 
 takes in the play ; giving us an early inside taste of this most downright and 
 forthright humourist, who delights in a sort of righteous or inverted 
 hypocrisy, talking like a knave, and acting like a hero. 
 
 26 A double allusion, to the horns blown by postmen, and to such horns 
 as Lady Falconbridge has endowed her husband with. See The Merchafit, 
 page 184, note 9. 
 
 27 The famous Danish giant whom Guy of Warwick vanquished in the 
 presence of King Athelstan. The History of Guy was a popular book. 
 
 28 The sparrow was called Philip, because its note resembles that name. 
 So in Lyly's Af other Bombie : "Phip,p/iip, the sparrows as they fly." And 
 Catullus, in his elegy on Lesbia's sparrow, formed the verb pipilabat, to 
 express the note of that bird. The new Sir Richard tosses off the name 
 Philip with affected contempt. 
 
48 KING JOHN. ACT I. 
 
 There's toys 29 abroad : anon I'll tell thee more. — 
 
 \_Exit Gurney. 
 Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son ; 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 Upon Good- Friday, and ne'er broke his fast. 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, 
 That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour ? 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ? 
 
 Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, — Basilisco-like : 30 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
 But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son ; 
 I have disclaim 'd Sir Robert ; and my land, 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good my mother, 31 let me know my father ; 
 Some proper 32 man, I hope : who was it, mother ? 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Falconbridge ? 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as I deny the Devil. 
 
 Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father : 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to thy charge ! 
 
 Bast. Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
 
 29 Toys sometimes means rumours or idle reports : here it probably 
 means slight changes or novelties ; alluding humorously to the changes in 
 the speaker's name and rank. 
 
 30 Referring to the old play of Solyman and Perseda, 1599, in which there 
 is a bragging, cowardly knight called Basilisco. Piston, a buffoon, jumps 
 upon his back, and forces him to take an oath as " the aforesaid Basilisco " ; 
 whereupon he says, "I, the aforesaid Basilisco, — knight, good fellow, 
 knight" ; and Piston replies, "Knave, good fellow, knave!' 
 
 31 We should say, " my good mother." Such inversions occur very often 
 all through these plays. So we have " dread my lord," " sweet my sister," 
 "'gentle my brother," "gracious my mother," &c. 
 
 82 Proper is handsome, fine-looking ; such being then the more common 
 meaning of the word. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 49 
 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 
 The avvless lion could not wage the fight, 
 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand: 
 
 He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 33 
 
 May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
 
 With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — -France. Before the Walls of Angiers. 
 
 Enter, on one side, Philip, King of France, Louis, Con- 
 stance, Arthur, and Forces ; on the other, the Archduke 
 of Austria and Forces. 
 
 K. Phi. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria ! — 
 Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, 
 And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave Duke came early to his grave : x 
 
 33 It is sayd that a lyon was put to Kynge Richarde, beynge in prison, to 
 have devoured him ; and, when the lyon was gapynge, he put his arm in his 
 mouthe, and pulled the lyon by the harte so hard, that he slew the lyon ; 
 and therefore some say he is called Rycharde Cure de Lyon : but some say 
 he is called Cure de Lyon because of his boldnesse and hardy stomake. — 
 RASTALL's Chronicle. 
 
 1 In point of fact, Leopold, the Duke of Austria who imprisoned Richard, 
 died by a fall from his horse in 1195, four years before John came to the 
 throne; and Richard fell by the hand of the Viscount of Limoges, one of 
 his own vassals. But Shakespeare, following the old play, makes Limoges 
 and Austria the same person. So in iii. 1 : " O Limoges ! O Austria/ thou 
 dost shame that bloody spoil." And in the old play : " The Bastard chaseth 
 Lymogcs the Austrich Duke, and maketh him leave the lyon's skin." 
 
50 KING JOHN. ACT II. 
 
 And, for amends to his posterity, 
 
 At our importance 2 hither is he come, 
 
 To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 
 
 And to rebuke the usurpation 
 
 Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 
 
 Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 
 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Cceur-de-lion's death 
 The rather that you give his offspring life, 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war : 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
 But with a heart full of unstained love : 3 
 Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke. 
 
 K. Phi. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee right ? 
 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
 As seal to this indenture 4 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-walled bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes, — 
 
 2 Importance for importunity ; a frequent usage. See Twelfth Night, 
 page 136, note 29. 
 
 3 We have an instance of similar language in Pericles, i. 1 : " My un- 
 spotted fire of love." Also near the close of this play : " And the like tender 
 of our love we make, to rest without a spot for evermore." 
 
 4 An indenture is, properly, a written contract drawn in duplicate on one 
 piece of parchment, and then two copies cut with indentations, so as to 
 guard against counterfeits. Setting the seal to such an instrument was the 
 finishing stroke of the process, and made the contract good in law. — In the 
 third line after, " that pale, that white-faced shore " refers to the chalky 
 cliffs at Dover which from the opposite coast appear as a whitened wall. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 5 1 
 
 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. 
 
 Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength 
 To make a more 5 requital to your love ! 
 
 Aust. The peace of Heaven is theirs that lift their swords 
 In such a just and charitable war. 
 
 K. Phi. Well, then, to work : our cannon shall be bent 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. — 
 Call for our chiefest men of discipline, 
 To cull the plots of best advantages : 6 
 We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
 Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
 Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood : 
 My Lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in peace which here we urge in war ; 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly 7 shed. 
 
 K. Phi. A wonder, lady ; lo, upon thy wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arrived ! — 
 
 Enter Chatillon. 
 
 What England says, say briefly, gentle lord ; 
 
 5 Afore in the sense of greater. So in I Henry IV., iv. 3: "The more 
 and less came in with cap and knee." 
 
 6 That is, to select the most advantageous places for assault. 
 
 7 Indirectly in the Latin sense of indirectus ; that is, wrongfully. Such 
 a wanton or needless shedding of blood would be unrighteous ; so Con- 
 stance thinks. 
 
52 KING JOHN. ACT II 
 
 We coldly pause for thee ; Chatiilon, speak. 
 
 Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
 And stir them up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands, 
 Hath put himself in arms : the adverse winds, 
 Whose leisure I have stay'd, 8 have given him time 
 To land his legions all as soon as I ; 
 His marches are expedient 9 to this town, 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him along is come the mother-queen, 
 An Ate, 10 stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her, her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain ; 
 With them, a bastard of the King deceased : 
 And all th' unsettled humours of the land, — 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, 11 — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights 12 proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here : 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft 13 o'er, 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scathe in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums \Drums within, 
 
 8 The winds whose quietness, or whose subsiding, I have waited for. 
 
 9 Expedient for rapid or expeditious ; a common usage in the Poet's 
 time. See Richard III., page 6i, note 18. 
 
 10 At6 was the goddess of discord, the unholy spirit of hate. 
 
 11 The spleen was supposed to be the special seat of the electric and gun- 
 powder passions. See A Midsummer, page 29, note 17. 
 
 12 A birthright, as the word is here used, is an inherited estate. 
 
 13 Waft for wafted. The Poet has many preterites formed the same way 
 such as quit, hoist, &c. See The Tempest, page 56, note 43. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 53 
 
 Cuts off more circumstance : 14 they are at hand, 
 
 To parley or to fight ; therefore prepare. 
 
 K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition \ - 
 Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
 
 We must awake endeavour for defence ; 
 
 For courage mounteth with occasion : 
 
 Let them be welcome, then ; we are prepared. 
 
 Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, Lords, and 
 Forces. 
 
 K. John. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit 
 Our just and lineal entrance to our own ! 
 If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to Heaven ! 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
 Their proud contempt that beat his peace to Heaven. 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war return 
 From France to England, there to live 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 work of thine ; 
 But thou from loving England art so far, 
 That thou hast under-wrought 16 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's face : 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his : 
 This little abstract doth contain that large 
 
 14 Circumstance for particulars, or circumstantial detail. Often so. See 
 The Merchant, page 87, note 38. 
 
 15 Expedition in the same sense as expedient, a little before ; speed or 
 swiftness. 
 
 16 Under-wrought for undermined ; supplanted by underhand practices. 
 
54 KING JOHN. ACT II. 
 
 Which died in Geffrey ; 17 and the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
 That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
 And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, 
 And his is Geffrey's : 18 in the name of God, 
 How comes it, then, that thou art call'd a king, 
 When living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 Which owe 19 the crown that thou o'ermasterest? 
 
 K.John. From whom hast thou this great commission, 
 France, 
 To draw my answer to thy articles ? 
 
 K. Phi. From that supernal Judge that stirs good thoughts 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 That Judge hath made me guardian to this boy : 
 Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong ; 
 And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 
 
 K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Excuse, — it is to beat usurping down. 
 
 Eli. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France ? 
 
 Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son. 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king, 
 That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world ! 20 
 
 Const. My heart was ever to thy son as true 
 
 17 This miniature contains, in little, that which died large, or full-grown, 
 in Geffrey. Abstract here means the same as brief "in the next clause. 
 
 18 Meaning that whatever was Geffrey's is now his, that is, Arthur's. 
 The sense would be clearer if the order of the words were inverted. See 
 Critical Notes. 
 
 19 Owe for own, possess ; continually so in Shakespeare. 
 
 20 " The allusion," says Staunton, " is obviously to the Queen of the chess- 
 board, which, in this country, was invested with those remarkable powers 
 that rendered her by far the most powerful piece of the game, somewhere 
 about the second decade of the i6th century." 
 
5CENE I. KING JOHN. 55 
 
 As thine was to thy husband ; and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey 
 Than thou and John in manners ; being as like 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
 
 Aust. Peace ! 
 
 Bast. Hear the crier. 21 
 
 Aust. What the Devil art thou? 
 
 Bast. One that will play the Devil, sir, with you, 
 And 'a may catch your hide and you alone : 22 
 You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
 Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard : 23 
 I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; 
 Sirrah, look to't ; i'faith, I will, i'faith. 
 
 Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe 
 That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 
 
 Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
 As great Alcides' does upon an ass : — 
 But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back, 
 Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 21 Alluding to the order for silence proclaimed by criers in courts of 
 justice. The Bastard is baiting Austria. 
 
 22 What most of all kindles the wrath of Falconbridge against Austria is, 
 that the latter, after having caused the death of King Richard, now wears 
 the lion's hide which had belonged to that prince. In the old play Falcon- 
 bridge is made to exclaim, " My father's foe clad in my father's spoyle! " — 
 The 'a in this line is an old colloquialism for he or she, much used in the 
 Poet's time. So in the preceding scene: "The which if he can prove, 'a 
 pops me out," &c. 
 
 23 This proverb is met with in the Adagia of Erasmus : " Mortuo leoni 
 et lepores insultant." So in The Spanish Tragedy : " So hares may pull 
 dead lions by the beard." — Smoke, in the next line, is an old provincialism 
 for to cudgel, to drub, or thrash. So Cotgrave's Dictionary : "L'en auray, 
 — blowes being understood, — I shall be well beaten ; my skin-coat will be 
 soundly curried." This explanation is Halliwell's. 
 
56 KING JOHN. ACT II. 
 
 Aust. What cracker 24 is this same that deafs our ears 
 With this abundance of superfluous breath ? — 
 King Philip, determine what we shall do straight. 
 
 K. Phi. Women and fools, break off your conference. — 
 King John, this is the very sum of all, 
 England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
 Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? 
 
 K.John. My life as soon ! I do defy thee, France. — 
 Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
 And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' ~ 5 grandam, child ; 
 Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
 There's a good grandam. 
 
 Arth. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 I would that I were low laid in my grave : 
 I am not worth this coil 26 that's made for me. 
 
 Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 
 
 24 Cracker for boaster ; of course with a punning allusion to the word 
 crack used just before. So we often speak of cracking up a thing ; that is, 
 bragging of it. And so in Cymbeline, v. 5 : " Our brags were crack' d of 
 kitchen-trulls," &c. 
 
 25 Shakespeare has many instances of it used possessively, for its, which 
 was not then an accepted word. In such cases, modern editors generally, 
 and justly, print its instead of it. The text, however, should probably pass 
 as an exception to the rule, since, as Lettsom remarks, " Constance here is 
 evidently mimicking the imperfect babble of the nursery." Doubtless we 
 have all heard it so used in " baby talk." 
 
 26 Coil is bustle, tumult, or fuss. Often so. See Much Ado, page 121, 
 note 7. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 57 
 
 Const Now shame upon you, wher she does or no ! 
 His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
 Draw those Heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, 
 Which Heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 
 Ay, with these crystal beads Heaven shall be bribed 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
 Const. Thou monstrous injurer of Heaven and Earth ! 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou and thine usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights 
 Of this oppressed boy, thy eld'st son's son, 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee : 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
 The canon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 
 
 K. John. Bedlam, have done. 
 
 Const. I have but this to say, 
 
 That he's not only plagued for her sin, 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue ; — plagued for her, 
 And with 27 her plagued ; her sin his injury; 
 Her injury the beadle 28 to her sin : 
 
 27 Shakespeare often uses with where the present idiom requires by; as 
 in yulius Ccssar, iii. 2 : " Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors." 
 — Constance still has in mind the words of the second Commandment, 
 " visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth 
 generation." And she means, that Arthur not only suffers in consequence 
 of Elinor's crime, or on her account, but is also plagued by her, as the direct 
 agent or instrument of his sufferings. 
 
 28 The beadle is the officer who, as the sheriff with us, executes the sen- 
 tence of the court upon persons condemned. The meaning is, that Elinor's 
 sin draws evil upon Arthur, and that her sin is moreover the executioner of 
 that evil. 
 
58 KING JOHN. 
 
 ACT U 
 
 All punish'd in the person of this child, 
 And all for her. A plague upon her ! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised 29 scold, I can produce 
 A will that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Const. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked will ; 
 A woman's will ; a canker'd 30 grandam's will ! 
 
 K. Phi. Peace, lady ! pause, or be more temperate : 
 It ill beseems this presence to cry aim 31 
 To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
 Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
 These men of Angiers : let us hear them speak, 
 Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 
 
 I Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls ? 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 
 
 K. John. England, for itself. 
 
 You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, — 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle, — 
 
 K. John. For our advantage ; therefore hear us first. 
 These flags of France, that are advanced here 
 Before the eye and prospect of your town, 
 Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
 The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, 
 And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
 
 29 Unadvised here means inconsiderate, reckless, or rash. So the Poet 
 often has advised for considerate or careful. So unadvised in the preceding 
 scene : " Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood." See, also, 
 Richard III., page i68, note 30. 
 
 30 Here ca?iker'd probably means malignant ; as in cancer, a malignant 
 sore. See The Tempest, page 127, note 41. 
 
 81 To cry ai?n was a term in archery, meaning to encourage or instigate. 
 
scene l< KING JOHN. 59 
 
 Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
 
 All preparation for a bloody siege 
 
 And merciless proceeding by these French 
 
 Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
 
 And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, 
 
 That as a waist do girdle you about, 
 
 By the compulsion of their ordinance 32 
 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 
 For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful King, — 
 
 Who painfully, with much expedient march, 
 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
 
 To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, — 
 
 Behold, the French, amazed, vouchsafe a parle ; 
 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
 
 To make a shaking fever in your walls, 
 
 They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 
 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, 
 
 And let us in, your King ; whose labour'd spirits, 
 
 Forwearied in this action of swift speed, 
 
 Crave harbourage within your city-walls. 
 
 K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, 
 Son to the elder brother of this man, 
 And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys : 
 
 32 Ordinance for ordnance. The Poet uses it so, where the verse wants 
 si trisyllable. — ■ Dishabited, second line below, is dislodged. 
 
60 KING JOHN. act H. 
 
 For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
 
 In warlike march these greens 33 before your town ; 
 
 Being no further enemy to you 
 
 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 him that owes 34 it, namely, this young Prince*. 
 
 And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; 
 
 Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
 
 Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven ; 
 
 And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
 
 With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, 
 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again 
 
 Which here we came to spout against your town, 
 
 And leave your children, wives, and you in peace. 
 
 But, if you fondly pass our proffer'd peace, 
 
 'Tis not the rondure 35 of your old-faced walls 
 
 Can hide you from our messengers of war, 
 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 
 Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
 
 Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord, 
 
 In that behalf which we have challenged it? 
 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
 
 And stalk in blood to our possession? 
 
 i Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's subjects : 
 
 83 "Greens for plants, or vegetation in general," says Walker. 
 
 34 Owes for owns, while owe, in the preceding line, has the present mean- 
 ing of that word. 
 
 35 Rondure is circle or girdle ; from the French rondeur. — Fondly, line 
 before, is foolishly ; a common usage. 
 
scene I. KING JOHN. 6l 
 
 For him, and in his right, we hold this town. 
 
 K. John. Acknowledge, then, the King, and let me in. 
 
 i Cit. That can we not ; but he. that proves the King, 
 To him will we prove loyal : till that time 
 Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 
 
 K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the King? 
 And if not that, I bring you witnesses, 
 Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, — 
 
 Bast. Bastards, and else. 
 
 K.John. — To verify our title with their lives. 
 
 K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods as those, — 
 
 Bast. Some bastards too. 
 
 K. Phi. — Stand in his face, to contradict his claim. 
 
 i Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, 
 We for the worthiest hold the right from both. 
 
 K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls 
 That to their everlasting residence, 
 Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
 In dreadful trial of our kingdom's King ! 
 
 K. Phi. Amen, amen ! — Mount, chevaliers ! to arms ! 
 
 Bast. Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'ei 
 since 
 Sits on his horse' back at mine hostess' door, 36 
 Teach us some fence ! — \To Aust.] Sirrah, were I at home, 
 At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, 
 I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And make a monster of you. 
 
 Aust. Peace ! no more. 
 
 Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar ! 
 
 K.John. Up higher to the plain ; where we'll set forth 
 
 36 Pictures of Saint George armed and mounted, as when he overthrew 
 the Dragon, were used for innkeepers' signs. 
 
62 KING JOHN. ACT IL 
 
 In best appointment all our regiments. 
 
 Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the field. 
 
 K. Phi. It shall be so ; — \To Louis.] and at the other hill 
 Command the rest to stand. — God and our right ! 
 
 \_Exeimt, severally, the English and French Kings, cVv. 
 
 After excursions, enter a French Herald, with trumpets, to 
 the gates. 
 
 F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, 
 And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, 
 Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English mother, 
 Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground : 
 Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, 
 Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
 And victory, with little loss, doth play 
 Upon the dancing banners of the French, 
 Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, 
 To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 Arthur of Bretagne England's King and yours. 
 
 Enter an Eng/ish Herald, with trumpets. 
 
 E. Her. 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 ; 37 
 There stuck no plume in any English crest 
 That is removed by a staff of France ; 
 
 37 The phrase gilded or gilt with blood was common. So in Chapman's 
 Iliad, book xvi. : " The curets from great Hector's breast all gilded with his 
 gore? 
 
scene r. KING JOHN. 63 
 
 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, 
 
 Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes : 38 
 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 
 1 Cit. 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. 
 
 Re-enter, on one side, King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bas- 
 tard, Lords, and Forces ; on the other, King Philip, Louis, 
 Austria, and Forces. 
 
 K. 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 waters keep 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. 
 
 K. Phi. England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
 Rather, lost more : and by this hand I swear, 
 
 38 It appears that, at the conclusion of a deer-hunt, the huntsmen used 
 to stain their hands with the blood of the deer as a trophy 
 
64 KING JOHN. ACT n. 
 
 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. 
 
 Bast. Ha, Majesty ! how high thy glory 39 towers, 
 When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 
 O, now doth Death line his dead chops with steel ; 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
 And now he feasts, mousing 40 the flesh of men, 
 In undetermined differences of kings. — 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? 
 Cry havoc, Al Kings ! back to the stained field, 
 You equal-potent, fiery-kindled spirits ! 
 Then let confusion of one part confirm 
 The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death ! 
 
 K.John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your King? 
 
 I Cit. The King of England, when we know the King. 
 
 K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. 
 
 K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 1 Cit. A greater Power than ye denies all this ; 
 
 39 Glory for glorying, that is, vamiting ; one of the senses of the Latin 
 gloria. A frequent usage. 
 
 40 To mouse is to tear in pieces, or to devour eagerly. So in Dekker's 
 Wonderful Year, 1603 : " Whilst Troy was swilling sack and sugar, and 
 
 mousing fat venison, the mad Greeks made bonfires of their houses." See, 
 also, A Midsummer, page 107, note 19. 
 
 41 Crying havoc I in battle, was a signal for indiscriminate massacre, 01 
 for giving no quarter. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 65 
 
 And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates ; 
 King'd of our fears, 42 until our fears, resolved, 43 
 Be by some certain king purged and deposed. 
 
 Bast. By Heaven, these scroyles 44 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 ruled by me : 
 Do like the mutines 45 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 46 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, 
 
 42 " King'd ofoux fears " is the same as ruled by our fears. We have a 
 like expression in King Henry V., ii. 3 : " For, my good liege, she [England] 
 is so idly king'd" 
 
 43 I am not quite sure as to the sense of resolved here. Sometimes the 
 word, in Shakespeare, means to inform, assure, or satisfy ; sometimes to 
 melt or dissolve. The latter seems to accord best with the sense of purged 
 and deposed. 
 
 44 Scroyles is scurvy rogues ; from the French escrouelles. 
 
 45 Mutines for mutineers ; as in Hamlet, v. 2 : " Methought I lay worse 
 than the mutines in the bilboes." The allusion is probably to the combina- 
 tion of the civil factions in Jerusalem when the city was threatened by Titus. 
 
 46 Soul-appalling. The Poet often uses the verb to fear in the sense of 
 making afraid or scaring. 
 
66 KING JOHN. ACT II 
 
 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? 47 
 
 Smacks it not something of the policy ? 
 
 K. 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 ? 
 
 Bast. 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, pell-mell, 
 Make work upon ourselves, for Heaven or Hell. 
 
 K. Phi. Let it be so. — Say, where will you assault ? 
 
 K.John. We from the west will send destruction 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 
 Aust. I from the north. 
 
 K. Phi. Our thunders from the south 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 
 Bast. \_Aside^\ O prudent discipline ! From north to 
 south, 
 
 47 States here may be equivalent to thrones, the chairs of state being put 
 for the occupiers of them. Sometimes state is used for person of high rank; 
 as in Cytnbeline, iii. 4: " Kings, queens, and states." — The meaning of the 
 next line appears to be, " Is there not some smack of policy, or of politic 
 shrewdness, in this counsel ? " 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 6? 
 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 
 I'll stir them to it. — Come, away, away ! 
 
 1 Cit. Hear us, great Kings : vouchsafe awhile to stay. 
 And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league : 
 Win you this city without stroke or wound ; 
 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
 That here come sacrifices for the field : 
 Persever not, but hear me, mighty Kings. 
 
 K.John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent to hear. 
 
 1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch. 
 Is niece to England : 48 look upon the years 
 Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid : 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? 
 If zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete : 
 If not complete, then say he is not she ; 
 And she, again, wants nothing, to name want, 
 If want it be, but that she is not he : 49 
 He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 Left to be finished by such a she ; 
 And she a fair divided excellence, 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 
 48 Blanch was in fact daughter to Alphonso IX., King of Castile, and 
 niece to King John by his sister Eleanor. 
 
 49 The sense appears to be, " And she, again, wants nothing, but that she 
 is not he ; if there be any thing wanting in her, and if it be right to speak 
 of want in connection with her." 
 
68 KING JOHN. ACT IL 
 
 0, two such silver currents, when they join, 
 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in ; 
 
 And two such shores to two such streams made one, 
 
 Two such controlling bounds shall you be, Kings, 
 
 To these two Princes, if you marry them. 
 
 This union shall do more than battery can 
 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
 
 With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
 
 The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, 
 
 And give you entrance : but, without this match- 
 
 The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 
 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 
 More free from motion ; 50 no, not Death himself 
 
 In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here's a flaw, 51 
 
 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 ; 52 
 
 60 If the text be right, the meaning is, " Lions are not more confident, nor 
 mountains and rocks more free from motion." 
 
 51 Maw, in one of its senses, signifies a violent gust of wind. So in 
 Smith's Sea Grammar, 1627: " KJlaw of wind is a gust, which is very vio 
 lent upon a sudden, but quickly endeth." Shakespeare has it repeatedly 
 so ; as in Coriolanus, v. 3 : " Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, and 
 saving those that eye thee." 
 
 52 Bounce is the old word for the report of a gun, the same as our bang. 
 So in 2 Henry the Fourth, iii. 2: " There was a little quiver fellow, and 'a 
 would manage you his piece thus : rah, tah, tah, would 'a say ; bounce would 
 
scene I. KING JOHN. 69 
 
 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. 
 
 Eli: \_Aside to John.] 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-unsured 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 53 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. 
 
 1 Cit. Why answer not the double Majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town ? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward firs*; 
 To speak unto this city : — what say you ? 
 
 K.John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, 
 Can in this book of beauty read 7" 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 besieged — 
 
 ? asay; and away again would 'a go," &c. — To give the bastinado is to beat 
 with a cudgel ; the same as to baste, or to give a basting. 
 
 53 Capable here is equivalent to susceptible. So in the next scene : " For 
 I am sick, and capable of fears." See, also, Richard III., page 95, note 3. 
 
JO KING JOHN. ACT II. 
 
 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. 
 
 K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's face, 
 
 Lou. I do, my lord ; and in her eye I find 
 A wonder, or a wonderous 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 loved myself, 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself 
 Drawn in the flattering table 54 of her eye. 
 
 [ Whispers with Blanch 
 
 Bast. [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. 
 
 Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine : 
 If he see aught in you that makes him like, 
 That any thing 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 easily 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, 
 
 54 Table for the board or canvas on which a picture is made. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 71 
 
 Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your 
 
 judge, 
 That I can find should merit any hate. 
 
 K. John. What say these young ones ? — What say you. 
 my niece ? 
 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
 What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 
 
 K. John. Speak, then, Prince Dauphin ; can you love this 
 lady? 
 
 Lou. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
 For I do love her most unfeignedly. 
 
 K.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 pleased withal, 
 Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
 
 K. Phi. It likes 55 us well. — Young Princes, close your 
 hands. 
 
 Aust. And your lips too ; for I am well assured 
 That I did so when I was first affied. 56 
 
 K. Phi. 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 solemnized. — 
 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. 
 
 65 Likes was continually used thus, in all sorts of writing, for suits 01 
 ■pleases. 
 
 56 Affied is betrothed or affianced. 
 
72 KING JOHN. ACT II. 
 
 Lou'. She's sad and passionate 57 at your Highness' tent. 
 
 K. Phi. 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'd lady ? In her right we came ; 
 Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
 To our own vantage. 
 
 K. John. We will heal up all ; 
 
 For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne 
 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. 
 
 \_Exeunt all but the Bastard. The Citizens 
 retire from the walls. 
 
 Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition ! 
 John, to stop Authur's title in the whole, 
 Hath willingly departed 58 with a part; 
 And France, — whose armour conscience buckled on, 
 Whom zeal and charity brought to the field 
 As God's own soldier, — rounded 59 in the ear 
 
 57 Passionate here means perturbed or agitated. So in The True Tragedy 
 of Richard Duke of York, 1600 : " Tell me, good madam, why is your Grace 
 so passionate of late ? " 
 
 58 Departed in the sense of parted, the two being formerly synonymous. 
 
 59 To round, or rown, was sometimes used for to whisper. So in The 
 Examination of William Thorpe, x^yj : " And the archbishop called then 
 
scene I. KING JOHN. 73 
 
 With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ; 
 
 That broker, 00 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-faced gentleman, tickling commodity, 61 — 
 
 Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
 
 The world, who of itself is peised 62 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, 63 
 
 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 64 of fickle France, 
 
 Hath drawn him from his own determined aim, 
 
 From a resolved and honourable war, 
 
 To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — 
 
 to him a clerke, and rowned with him : and that clerke went forth, and soone 
 brought in the constable of Saltwood castle, and the archbishop rowned a 
 good while with him." See, also, The Winter's Tale, page 50, note 31. 
 
 60 A broker was properly a pander or pimp ; hence, sometimes, as here, 
 a dissembler or cheat. 
 
 61 Commodity here is advantage, profit, ox interest. So, in 2 Henry IV., 
 i. 2, Falstaff says, " A good wit will make use of any thing : I will turn dis- 
 eases to commodity." 
 
 62 Peised is balanced or poised. To peise is, properly, to weigh. 
 
 63 Indifferency in the sense of impartiality. The world, swayed by inter- 
 est, is compared to a biassed bowl, which is deflected from an impartial 
 course by the load in one side. 
 
 64 The allusion to the game of bowls is still kept up. Staunton says, 
 " The aperture on one side which contains the bias or weight that inclines 
 the bowl, in running, from the direct course, was sometimes called the eye." 
 
74 KING JOHN. ACT IIL 
 
 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 65 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 ! [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — France. The French King's Tent. 
 
 Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
 
 Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
 False blood to false blood join'd ! gone to be friends ! 
 Shall Louis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces? 
 It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard ; 
 Be well advised, 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 : 
 
 65 Angel was the name of a gold coin. See Merchant, page 124, note 7. — 
 The sense of the passage is, " I rail at bribery, not because I have the virtue 
 to keep my hand closed when a bribe tempts me to open it, but because I 
 am as yet untempted." 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 75 
 
 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 j 
 
 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, 1 
 
 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, 2 
 
 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. 
 
 Sal. As true as I believe you think them false 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 
 Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, 
 Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
 And let belief and life encounter so 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
 Which in the very meeting fall and die ! — 
 Louis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art thou ? 
 
 1 To take truce is old language for to make peace. So in Romeo and 
 Juliet, iii. i : " Could not take truce with the unruly spleen of Tybalt deaf 
 to peace." 
 
 2 Lamentable for lamenting; the passive form with the active sense, 
 according to the old usage which I have often noted. See Much Ado, page 
 63, note 11. — Rheum was used indifferently for tears, and for the secretions 
 of the nose and mouth. 
 
j6 KING JOHN. act m. 
 
 France friend with England ! what becomes of me? — 
 Fellow, be gone : I cannot brook thy sight ; 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
 But spoke the harm that is by others done? 
 
 Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, 
 As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arih. I do beseech you. madam, be content. 
 
 Const If thou, that bidd*st me be content, wert grim, 
 Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb. 
 Full ofunpleasing blots ami sightless 3 stains, 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious. 
 Patch'd with foul moles ami eye-offending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content ; 
 For then 1 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 join'd to make thee great : 
 i ){ Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast 
 Ami with the half-blown rose : but Fortune, O ! 
 She is corrupted, changed, ami won from thee ; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
 Ami with her golden hand hath pluck'd 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 harlot Fortune, that usurping John ! — 
 Fell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? 
 
 for unsightly. The Toot has a like use of several other words; 
 as in '.'., iv. i: "The bloody office of his timeless end." 
 
 — Swart, in the next line, is .. . t in the sense of 
 
 misshapen or monstrous. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 77 
 
 Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone, 
 And leave those woes alone which I alone 
 Am bound to under-bear. 
 
 Sat. Pardon me, madam, 
 
 I may not go without you to the Kings. 
 
 Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt ; I will not go with thee : 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 4 
 To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
 Let kings assemble ; for my griefs so great, 
 That no supporter but the huge firm Earth 
 Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 
 [Scats herself on the ground. 
 
 Enter King John, King Philip, Louis, Blanch, Elinor, the 
 Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed day 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
 To solemnize this day the glorious Sun 
 Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist, 
 Turning with splendour of his precious eye 
 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
 The yearly course that brings this day about 
 Shall never see it but a holiday. 
 
 Const. \_Rising.~\ A wicked day, and not a holy day ! 
 What hath this day deserved ? what hath it done, 
 
 4 Stout in a moral sense; that is, proud. — "Distress," says Johnson, 
 " while there remains any prospect of relief, is weak and flexible ; but, when 
 no succour remains, is fearless and stubborn : angry alike at those that 
 injure, and at those that do not help ; careless to please where nothing can 
 be gained, and fearless to offend when there is nothing further to be 
 dreaded." 
 
?8 KING JOHN. ACT in. 
 
 That it in golden letters should be set 
 Among the high tides in the calendar ? 5 
 Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, 
 This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
 Or, if it must stand still, let teeming wives 
 Pray that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 6 
 But 7 on this day let seamen fear no wreck ; 
 No bargains break that are not this day made : 
 This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
 Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 
 
 K. Phi. By Heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
 To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
 Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? 
 
 Const. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit 
 Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd and tried, 
 Proves valueless : you are forsworn, forsworn ; 
 You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
 But now in arms you strengthen it with yours : 
 The grappling vigour and rough frown of war 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace, 
 And our oppression hath made up this league. — 
 Arm, arm, you Heavens, against these perjured Kings ! 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, Heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured Kings ! 
 Hear me, O, hear me ! 
 
 5 " High tides of the calendar " are times set down in the almanac to be 
 specially observed ; days marked for public honour and celebration. 
 
 6 Lest their hopes be frustrated by monstrous births. 
 
 7 But in the exceptive sense ; from be out. 
 
SCENE i. KING JOHN. 79 
 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace ! 
 
 Const 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 soothest up greatness. What a fool wert thou, 
 A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear, 
 Upon my party ! 8 Thou cold-blooded slave, 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
 Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
 And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
 And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. O, that a man should 9 speak those words to me ! 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 K.John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself. 
 
 K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope. 
 
 Etiter Pandulph, attended. 
 Band. Hail, you anointed deputies of Heaven ! 
 
 8 Party for part ; that is, side. The two words were often used inter- 
 changeably. 
 
 9 Should for would ; the two being often used indiscriminately. Con- 
 stance means that Austria is a coward, and that a calf s-skin would fit him 
 better than a lion's. 
 
80 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 To thee, King John, my holy errand is. 
 
 I Pandulph, of fair Milan Cardinal, 
 
 And from Pope Innocent the legate here, 
 
 Do in his name religiously demand, 
 
 Why thou against the Church, our holy mother, 
 
 So wilfully dost spurn, and, force perforce, 10 
 
 Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop 
 
 Of Canterbury, from that holy see? 
 
 This, in our foresaid holy father's name, 
 
 Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 
 
 K.John. What earthly name to interrogatories 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 11 
 Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
 To charge me to an answer, as the Pope. 
 Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England 
 Add thus much more, That no Italian priest 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
 But as we, under Heaven, are supreme head, 
 So, under Him, that great supremacy, 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 Without th' assistance of a mortal hand : 
 So tell the Pope ; all reverence set apart 
 To him and his usurp'd authority. 12 
 
 K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 
 
 10 Force and perforce were often thus used together, merely to intensify 
 the expression. Cotgrave explains it, " of necessitie, will he nill he, in spite 
 of his teeth." 
 
 11 The order is, " What earthly name can task to interrogatories the free 
 breath," &c. ; meaning, simply, " what earthly power can hold a free king 
 responsible, or call him to account ? " 
 
 12 "All reverence to him and his usurp'd authority being set apart " ; that 
 is, cast off. 
 
scene i. KING JOHN. 8 1 
 
 K.John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
 Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
 And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
 Who in that sale sells pardon from himself; 
 Though you and all the rest, so grossly led, 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
 Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, 
 Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate : 
 And blessed shall he be that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
 Can6nized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 
 That takes away by any secret course 
 Thy hateful life. 
 
 Const. O, lawful let it be 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse awhile ! 
 Good father Cardinal, cry thou amen 
 To my keen curses ; for without my wrong 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 
 
 Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 
 
 Const. And for mine too : when law can do no right, 
 Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong : 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
 For he that holds his kingdom holds the law : 
 Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
 Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
 
82 KING JOHN. ACT II 
 
 And raise the power of France upon his head, 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 
 
 Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand. 
 
 Const. Look to that, devil ; lest that France repent, 
 And by disjoining hands, Hell lose a soul. 
 
 Aust. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf s-skin on his recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, 
 Because — 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 
 
 K.John. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal? 
 
 Const. What should he say, but as the Cardinal ? 
 
 Lou. Bethink you, father ; for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
 Forgo the easier. 
 
 Blanch. That's the curse of Rome. 
 
 Const. O Louis, stand fast ! the Devil tempts thee here 
 In likeness of a new-uptrimmed bride. 
 
 Blanch. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith, 
 But from her need. 
 
 Const. O, if thou grant my need, 
 
 Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
 That need must needs infer this principle, 
 That faith would live again by death of need ! 
 O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ; 
 Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down ! 
 
 K.John. The King is moved, and answers not to this. 
 
 Const. O, be removed from him, and answer well ! 
 
 Aust. Do so, King Philip ; hang no more in doubt. 
 
 Bast. Hang nothing but a calf s-skin, most sweet lout. 
 
 K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 83 
 
 Pand. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more, 
 If thou stand excommunicate and cursed? 
 
 K. Phi. 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 link'd 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 ; 
 And even before this truce, but new before, — 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands, 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, — 
 Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd 
 With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint 
 The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
 And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood, 
 So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, 13 
 Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet? 14 
 Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with Heaven, 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 
 As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
 Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage-bed 
 Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 Of true sincerity? O, holy sir, 
 My reverend father, let it not be so ! 
 Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 
 13 So strong both in deeds of 'blood and in deeds of 'love. 
 
 14 Regreet here means interchange of salutation. 
 
84 KING JOHN. ACT HI. 
 
 Some gentle order ; then we shall be blest 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our Church ! 
 Or let the Church, our mother, breathe her curse, — 
 A mother's curse, — on her revolting son. 
 France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A chafed lion by the mortal 15 paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
 Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 
 
 K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 
 
 Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
 And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath, 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow 
 First made to Heaven, first be to Heaven perform'd ; 
 That is, to be the champion of our Church ! 
 What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself, 
 And may not be performed by thyself: 
 For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 
 Is most amiss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The truth is then most done, not doing it : 16 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 Is to mistake again ; though indirect, 
 Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
 
 15 Mortal is deadly, that which kills. Commonly so in Shakespeare. 
 The venom of serpents, or snakes, was formerly supposed to be seated in 
 the tongue ; and snakes in general were held to be poisonous. 
 
 16 A specimen of argument in converso. "On the one hand, the wrong 
 which you have sworn to do, is most wrong when your oath is truly per- 
 formed ; on the other hand, when a proposed act tends to ill, the truth is 
 most done by leaving the act undone." 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 85 
 
 And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire 
 
 Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd. 17 
 
 It is religion that doth make vows kept : 
 
 But thou hast sworn against religion ; 
 
 By which thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st, 
 
 And makest an oath — the surety for thy truth — 
 
 Against an oath, — the test thou art unsure. 18 
 
 Who swears, 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. 19 
 
 Therefore thy later vow against thy first 
 
 Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; 
 
 And better conquest never canst thou make 
 
 Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
 
 Against these giddy-loose suggestions : 20 
 
 Upon which better part our prayers come in, 
 
 If thou vouchsafe them ; but if not, then know 
 
 The peril of our curses light 21 on thee, 
 
 So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off, 
 
 But in despair die under their black weight. 
 
 17 The Poet has several references to the mode of curing a burn by hold 
 ing the burnt place up to the fire. So in Romeo and Juliet, i. 2 : " Tut, 
 man, one fire burns out another's burning." And in Julius Ccssar, iii. 1 : 
 " As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity." 
 
 18 " By which act, thou swearest against the thing thou swearest by; 
 and, by setting an oath against an oath, thou makest that which is the surety 
 for thy truth the proof that thou art untrue." See Critical Notes. 
 
 19 That is, " in keeping that which thou dost swear." An instance of the 
 infinitive used gerundively. See Julius Ccssar, page 137, note 2. 
 
 20 Suggestions, as usual in Shakespeare, for temptations or seductions. 
 See The Tempest, page 89, note 53. 
 
 21 An instance of false concord ; the verb agreeing with the nearest sub- 
 stantive, curses, instead of with the proper subject, peril. 
 
86 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 
 
 Bast. Will't not be? 
 
 Will not a calf s-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 
 
 Lou. Father, to arms ! 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day? 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
 What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men ? 
 Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums — 
 Clamours of Hell — be measures to our pomp? 
 O husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new 
 Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name, 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
 Upon my knee, I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee, 
 
 Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
 Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Forethought by Heaven ! 
 
 Blanch. Now shall I see thy love : what motive may 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 
 
 Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, 
 His honour : — O, thine honour, Louis, thine honour ! 
 
 Lou. I muse 22 your Majesty doth seem so cold, 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 
 Band. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 
 K. Bhi. Thou shalt not need. — England, I'll fall from 
 thee. 
 
 Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! 
 
 Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 
 
 22 Muse for wonder. Often so. — Respects, in the next line, is considera- 
 tions ; a frequent usage. See Much Ado, page 63, note 10. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 87 
 
 K.John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this 
 hour. 
 
 Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, 
 Is it as he will? well, then, France shall rue. 
 
 Blanch. The Sun's o'ercast with blood : fair day, adieu ! 
 Which is the side that I must go withal ? 
 I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder and dismember me. — 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; — 
 Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose ; — 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; — 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : — 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
 Assured loss before the match be play'd. 
 
 Lou. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 
 
 Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. 
 
 K.John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. — 
 
 \_Exit Bastard. 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
 A rage whose heat hath this condition, 
 That nothing can allay't, nothing but blood, 
 The best and dearest-valued blood of France. 
 
 K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms let's 
 hie 1 \Exeunt, severally, the English and French 
 
 Kings, <5rv. 
 
88 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 Scene II. — The Same. Plains near Anglers. 
 
 Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's 
 
 head. 
 
 Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot ; 
 Some fiery devil hovers in the sky, 
 And pours down mischief. — Austria's head lie there, 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 
 
 K. John. Hubert, keep thou this boy. — Philip, make up : l 
 My mother is assailed in our tent, 
 And ta'en, I fear. 
 
 Bast. My lord, I rescued her ; 
 
 Her Highness is in safety, fear you not : 
 But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
 Will bring this labour to an happy end. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Same. Another Part of the Plains. 
 
 Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter Xing John, Elinor, 
 Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. 
 
 K.John. \To Elinor.] So shall it be; your Grace shall 
 
 stay behind, 
 More strongly guarded. — \To Arthur.] Cousin, look not 
 
 sad : 
 Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
 As dear be to thee as thy father was. 
 
 1 Make up is an old military term for advance. — Here John calls the 
 Bastard Philip, notwithstanding he has knighted him as Sir Richard, and 
 has before called him by the latter name. 
 
SCENE III. KING JOHN. 89 
 
 Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief ! 
 
 K.John. \To the Bast.] Cousin, away for England ; haste 
 before : 
 And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots ; set at liberty 
 Imprison'd angels : 2 the fat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry war be fed upon : 
 Use our commission in his utmost force. 
 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle 3 shall not drive me back, 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your Highness. — Grandam, I will pray — 
 If ever I remember to be holy — 
 For your fair safety ; so, I kiss your hand. 
 
 Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 
 
 K.John. Coz, farewell. 
 
 \_Exit Bastard. 
 
 Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 
 
 \Takes Arthur aside. 
 
 K.John. Come hither, Hubert. 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 cherished. 
 
 2 The gold coin so named. See page 74, note 65. 
 
 3 Alluding to the old forms used in pronouncing the final curse of excom- 
 munication. On such occasions, the bishop and clergy went into the church, 
 with a cross borne before them, and with several waxen tapers lighted. At 
 the climax of the cursing, the tapers were extinguished, with a prayer that 
 the soul of the excommunicate might be " given over utterly to the power 
 of the fiend, as this candle is now quenched and put out." What with these 
 things, and what with the tolling of bells and the using of books, it was an 
 appalling ceremony. 
 
90 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
 But I will fit it with some better time. 
 By Heaven, Hubert, I'm almost ashamed 
 To say what good respect I have of thee. 
 
 Hub. I am much bounden to your Majesty. 
 
 K.John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : 
 But thou shalt have ; and, creep time ne'er so slow, 
 Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 
 I had a thing to say, — but let it go : 
 The Sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 Is all too wanton and too full of gauds 
 To give me audience : if the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one 4 into the drowsy ear of night ; 
 If this same were a churchyard where we stand, 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
 Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy-thick, 
 Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 A passion hateful to my purposes ; 
 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 ; 
 
 4 There is an apparent discrepancy here between midnight and sound 
 one. But such notes of inexactness were not uncommon in all sorts of 
 writing. So in The Famous History of Doctor Faustus, quoted by Dyce : 
 " It happened that, betweene twelve and one a clocke at tnidnight, there 
 blew a mighty storme of winde against the house." 
 
SCENE in. KING JOHN. 91 
 
 Then, in despite of brooded 5 watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
 But, ah, I will not ! yet I love thee well ; 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well. 
 
 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
 By Heaven, I'd do't. 
 
 K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst? 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend, 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
 He lies before me : dost thou understand me ? 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I'll keep him so, 
 
 That he shall not offend your Majesty. 
 
 K.John. Death. 
 
 Hub. My lord? 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 K. John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee ; 
 Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : 
 Remember. — Madam, fare you well : 
 I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty. 
 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 
 K. John. For England, cousin, go : 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, t' attend oh you 
 With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! \Exeunt. 
 
 5 Brooded for brooding, under the old indiscriminate use of active and 
 passive forms. See Tempest, page 135, note 10. — Milton has a like expres- 
 sion in his L Allegro : " Find out some uncouth cell, where brooding darkness 
 spreads his jealous wings." 
 
92 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Same. The French King's Tent. 
 Enter King Philip, Louis, Pandulph, and Attendants 
 
 K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
 A whole armado of convented l sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 
 
 K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill? 
 Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost ? 
 Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
 And bloody England into England gone, 
 O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 
 
 Lou. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : 
 So hot a speed with such advice 2 disposed, 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a course, 
 Doth want example : who hath read or heard 
 Of any kindred action like to this ? 
 
 K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, 
 So we could find some pattern of our shame. 
 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
 Holding th' eternal 3 spirit, against her will, 
 In the vile prison of afflicted breath. — 
 
 Enter Constance. 
 
 I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 
 
 4, 1 Convented is assembled or collected. — Armado is a fleet of war. The 
 word was adopted from the Spanish, and was made familiar to English ears 
 by the defeat of the Armada. 
 
 2 Advice here is judgment or consideration. Often so. See The Mer- 
 chant, page 180, note i. 
 
 3 Eternal for immortal. So in Othello, iii. 3 : "By the worth of man's 
 eternal soul." — " The vile prison of afflicted breath " is the body, of course. 
 
SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 93 
 
 Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! 
 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Constance ! 
 
 Const. No, I defy 4 all counsel, all redress, 
 But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
 Death, death. — O amiable lovely death ! 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
 And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows ; 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms j 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust ; 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
 Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smilest, 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 O, come to me ! 
 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace ! 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry : — 
 O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ! 
 Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
 Which scorns a mother's invocation. 
 
 Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 
 
 Const. Thou art unholy to belie me so ; 
 I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
 I am not mad : I would to Heaven I were ! 
 For then 'tis like I should forget myself: 
 
 4 To refuse or reject is among the old senses of to defy. 
 
94 KING JOHN. ACT III. 
 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
 And thou shalt be can6nized, Cardinal ; 
 For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
 My reasonable part produces reason 5 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad, I should forget my son, 
 Or madly think a babe of clouts 6 were he : 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calamity. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note 
 In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fall'n, 
 Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glue themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 7 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 
 
 Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will I do it ? 
 I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud, 
 O, that these hands could so redeem my son, 
 As they have given these hairs their liberty I 
 But now I envy at their liberty, 
 And will again commit them to their bonds, 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. — 
 
 5 Reason in the sense of reasoning or consideration. 
 
 6 " A babe of clouts" is simply a doll, or a rag-baby. 
 
 7 It is not very apparent what Constance means by these words, or what 
 object she is addressing. Perhaps, as Staunton suggests, she " apostrophizes 
 her hair, as she madly tears it from its bonds." 
 
SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 95 
 
 And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say 
 
 That we shall see and know our friends in Heaven : 
 
 If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
 
 For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
 
 There was not such a gracious 8 creature born. 
 
 But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud, 
 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek ; 
 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
 
 As dim and meagre as an ague-fit : 
 
 And so he'll die; and, rising so again, 
 
 When I shall meet him in the Court of Heaven 
 
 I shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 
 
 Pand. You hold too heinous a respect 9 of grief. 
 
 Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child. 
 
 Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form : 
 Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 I could give better comfort than you do. 10 
 
 8 Gracious in the sense of grace fill or lovely. So, again, in " all his 
 gracious parts," a little after. — The sense of the next line is, that sorrow, 
 like a canker-worm, will eat the bud, &c. So in Romeo and Juliet, i. I : 
 " As is the bud bit with an envious worm." See Tempest, page 71, note 96. 
 
 9 Respect in the sense of favour or regard. " Such a perverse and wilful 
 eherishing of grief is a heinous wrong." 
 
 10 This is a sentiment which great sorrow always dictates. Whoever 
 
g6 KING JOHN. ACT in. 
 
 1 will not keep this form upon my head, 
 
 \_Dishevelling her hair. 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. — 
 O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! \Exit. 
 
 K. Phi.- I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. 
 
 Lou. There's nothing in this world can make me joy : 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale 11 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, 
 That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health, 
 The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave, 
 On their departure most of all show evil : 
 What have you lost by losing of this day ? 
 
 Lou. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand, If you had won it, certainly you had. 
 No, no ; when Fortune means to men most good, 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
 'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost 
 In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner ? 
 
 Lou. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
 Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit ; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
 
 cannot help himself casts his eyes on others for assistance, and often mis- 
 takes their inability for coldness. — JOHNSON. 
 
 11 So in Psalm xc. : "For when Thou art angry all our days are gone; 
 we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told." 
 
scene iv. KING JOHN. 97 
 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little nib, 12 
 Out of the path which shall directly lead 
 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 one hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest : 
 A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand 
 Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; 
 And he that stands upon a slippery place 
 Makes nice 13 of no vile hold to stay him up : 
 That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. 
 
 Lou. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? 
 
 Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, 
 May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 
 
 Lou. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old world ! 
 John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you ; 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood 14 
 Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly borne, 15 shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, 
 
 12 Rub was a term at bowls, for hindrance, obstruction, any thing that 
 turned the bowl from its aim. See Hamlet, page 127, note 7. 
 
 13 To make nice is to be scrupulous, to stick at. So the Poet uses nice 
 repeatedly. And we still say, he makes no scruple of doing so and so. 
 
 14 True blood here means the blood of the true, that is, just or rightful, 
 claimant of the crown. The Poet has several instances of blood put for 
 person. So in Julius Ccssar, iv. 3 : " I know young bloods look for a time 
 of rest." 
 
 15 Evilly borne is wickedly carried on or performed. The Poet often 
 uses to bear in this sense. In what follows, shall for will. Often so. 
 
98 KING JOHN. 
 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth 
 To check his reign, but they will cherish it : 
 No natural exhalation 16 in the sky, 
 No scape of Nature, 17 no distemper'd day, 
 No common wind, no customed event, 
 But they will pluck away his 18 natural cause, 
 And call them meteors, 19 prodigies, and signs, 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of Heaven, 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 
 Lou. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life, 
 
 16 The Poet sometimes uses exhalation in a way that seems strange to 
 us. So in Julius Ccssar, ii. 1 : " The exhalations, whizzing in the air, give 
 so much light that I may read by them." As this is said amidst a fierce 
 thunder-storm at night, exhalations must mean flashes of lightning. And 
 such, or something such, may well be the meaning in the text. 
 
 17 " Scape of Nature " may well mean any irregularity in the course of 
 things, or any event which, though natural, is uncommon enough to excite 
 particular notice, such as a " distemper'd day," or an " exhalation in the sky." 
 So the Poet has " "scapes of wit " for sallies, flights, or frolics of wit. And 
 so Nature may be said to have her frolics, sometimes merry, and sometimes 
 mad ; her weather, for instance, sometimes plays very wild pranks. It is 
 observable that in the text we have a sort of climax proceeding from things 
 less common to things more and more common. 
 
 18 His for its, referring to event. The form its, though repeatedly used 
 by Shakespeare, especially in his later plays, had not then the stamp of 
 English currency. See page 56, note 25. — The Poet seems to have been 
 specially fond of the ■word, pluck for pull, tear, wrench, jerk, or draw. 
 
 19 Meteor was used in much the same way as exhalation, only it bore a 
 more ominous or ill-boding sense; any strikingly black or any strikingly 
 brilliant phenomenon in the heavens. So in 1 Henry the Fourth, v. 1 : 
 " And be no more an exhaled meteor, a prodigy of fear, and a portent of 
 broached mischief to the unborn times." Also in Romeo and Juliet, iii. 5 : 
 "Yon light is not day-light: it is some meteor that the Sun exhales!' And 
 in v. 2, of this play : " Makes me more amazed than had I seen the vaulty 
 top of heaven figured quite o'er with burning meteors." — Abortives are 
 monstrous births, whether of man or beast, which were thought to portend 
 calamities and disasters. 
 
SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 99 
 
 But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 
 
 Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
 Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
 Of all his people shall revolt from him, 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted 20 change ; 
 And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath 
 Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
 Methinks I see this hurly 21 all on foot : 
 And, O, what better matter breeds for you 
 Than I have named ! The bastard Falconbridge 
 Is now in England, ransacking the Church, 
 Offending charity : if but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 22 
 To train ten thousand English to their side ; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. 23 O noble Dauphin, 
 Go with me to the King : 'tis wonderful 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent, 
 Now that their souls are topful of offence : 
 For England go : I will whet on the King. 
 
 Lou. Strong reasons make strong actions : let us go : 
 If you say ay, the King will not say no. \_Exeunt. 
 
 20 Unacquainted for unaccustomed or extraordinary. 
 
 21 Hurly is tumult, commotion ; like hurly-burly. 
 
 22 An allusion to the reed, or pipe, termed a bird-call ; or to the practice 
 of bird-catchers, who, in laying their nets, place a caged bird over them, 
 which they term the <:a//-bird or bird-call, to lure the wild birds to the 
 snare. — STAUNTON. 
 
 23 Bacon, in his History of Henry VII., speaking of Simnel's march, re- 
 marks that their snowball did not gather as it went. 
 
IOO KING JOHN. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Hubert and two Attendants. 
 
 Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and look you stand 
 Within the arras : 1 when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
 And bind the boy which you shall find with me 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 
 i Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you : look to't. — 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 
 Enter Arthur. 
 
 Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Good morrow, little Prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince, having so great a title 
 To be more 2 prince, as may be. You are sad. 
 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
 Methinks no body should be sad but I : 
 Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
 
 1 Arras were the hangings or tapestries with which rooms were lined, 
 before the days of plastering. To keep them from being rotted by the 
 damp, they were hung on frames, far enough from the walls to admit of a 
 person's hiding behind them. 
 
 2 More for greater, again. See page 51, note 5. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. IOI 
 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 
 Only for wantonness. 3 By my Christendom, 4 
 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 
 I should be merry as the day is long ; 
 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 5 
 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? 
 
 No, indeed, is't not ; and I would to Heaven 
 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. \_Aside.~] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
 Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: 
 In sooth, 6 I would you were a little sick, 
 That I might sit all night and watch with you : 
 I warrant I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. \_Aside.~\ His words do take possession of my 
 bosom. — 
 Read here, young Arthur. — \Showing a paper. 
 
 \_Aside^\ How, now, foolish rheum ! 7 
 Turning dispiteous 8 torture out of door ! 
 I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. — 
 
 3 This fashionable affectation is ridiculed by Lyly in his Midas : " Now 
 every base companion, being in his muble-fubles, says he is melancholy" 
 
 4 Christendom for christening or baptism. The usage was common. 
 
 5 Doubt in the sense of fear or suspect ; a frequent usage. — Practises, in 
 the next line, is contrives, plots, or uses arts. Repeatedly so. 
 
 6 In truth or truly. This use of sooth occurs very often. 
 
 7 Rheum, again, for tears. See page 75, note 2. 
 
 8 Dispiteous for unpiteous, that is, pitiless. — In the next line, brief is 
 quick, prompt, or sudden. Often so. 
 
102 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Can you not read it ? is't not fairly writ ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 
 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arth. And will you ? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but 
 ache, 
 I knit my handkercher about your brows, — 
 The best I had, a princess wrought it me, — 
 And I did never ask it you again ; 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 9 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, 
 Saying, IVJiat lack you ? and, Where lies your g?-ief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service 10 had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
 And call it cunning ; do, an if n you will : 
 If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? 
 These eyes that never did nor never shall 
 So much as frown on you? 
 
 Hub. I've sworn to do it ; 
 
 9 That is, as the minutes watch over, or mark, the progress or passage 
 of the hour. A pretty way of expressing a minute and sedulous attention. 
 — " Still and anon," in the next line, is the same as our " ever and anon." 
 
 10 Sick service is of course merely an instance of what is called transferred 
 epithet : service done to the sick. 
 
 11 An if is an old reduplication much used in the Poet's time. So we 
 have an, or if, or an if used indifferently. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. I03 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it ! 
 The iron of itself, though heat 12 red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench his fiery indignation 
 Even in the water of mine innocence ; 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eyes. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard 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 have believed him, — no tongue but Hubert's. 
 
 Hub. Come forth ! \Siamps. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. 
 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For Heaven-sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
 Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 1 Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants 
 
 12 Heat for heated, as, before, waft for wafted. See page 52, note 13. 
 
104 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend ! 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O Heaven, that there were but a mote in yours, 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boisterous 13 there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert ; 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine eyes, 
 Though to no use but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be used 
 In undeserved extremes : 14 see else yourself; 
 There is no malice burning in this coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 
 13 Boisterous was used much more variously than at present ; as a com- 
 mon antithesis to gentle, and so for rough, rude, violent, &c. 
 
 14 Extremities, or extreme severities, that are unmerited. Johnson para- 
 phrases the passage as follows : " The fire, being created not to hurt, but to 
 comfort, is dead with grief for finding itself used in acts of cruelty, which, 
 being innocent, I have not deserved." 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. IO5 
 
 And strew'cl repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. An if you do, you will but make it blush, 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
 Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre 15 him on. 
 All things that you should use to do me wrong 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy which fierce fire and iron extend, 
 Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace ; no more. Adieu. 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead ; 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports : 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless 16 and secure 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O Heaven ! I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence ; no more : go closely 17 in with me : 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. \_Exeunt. 
 
 15 To tarre is to incite, to instigate, as in setting on dogs. So in Hamlet, 
 ii. 2 : " The nation holds it no sin to tarre them to the controversy." Also 
 in Troilus and Cressida, i. 3 : " Pride must tarre the mastiffs on." 
 
 16 Doubtless for fearless, as doubt for fear a little before. 
 
 17 Closely is secretly ; a frequent usage. So in Hamlet, iii. 1 : " For we 
 have closely sent for Hamlet hither." So we have " keep close," and " stand 
 elose," for any furtive or hidden act. 
 
I06 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Scene II. — The Same. A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, crowned ; Pembroke, Salisbury, and other 
 Lords. The King takes his state. 
 
 K.John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, 
 And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 
 Pern. This once again, but that your Highness pleased, 
 Was once superfluous : 1 you were crown'd before, 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
 Fresh expectation troubled not the land 
 With any long'd-for change or better state. 
 
 Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
 To guard 2 a title that was rich before, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
 Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. 
 
 Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done, 
 This act is as an ancient tale new-told ; 
 And in the last repeating troublesome, 
 Being urged at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
 It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 
 
 1 " Once superfluous " means once more than enough. 
 
 2 To guard is to face, or ornament with facings. St;^ The Merchant, 
 page in, note 30. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 107 
 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 
 For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 3 
 
 Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness ; 4 
 And oftentimes excusing of a fault 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
 As patches set upon a little breach 
 Discredit more in hiding of the fault 
 Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, 
 We breathed our counsel : but it pleased your Highness 
 To overbear't ; and we are all well pleased, 
 Since all and every part of what we would 
 Doth make a stand at what your Highness will. 
 
 K.John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
 And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear, 
 I shall indue you with : meantime but ask 
 What you would have reform'd that is not well, 
 And well shall you perceive how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Pern. Then I — as one that am the tongue of these, 
 To sound 5 the purposes of all their hearts, 
 Both for myself and them, but, chief of all, 
 Your safety, for the which myself and they 
 
 3 Properly, " so new-fashion'd a robe." The Poet has many such in- 
 versions for metre's sake. See The Tempest, page 123, note 25. 
 
 4 Covetousness here means over-eager desire of excelling. Bacon, in like 
 sort, distinguishes between the love of excelling and the love of excellence 
 and ascribes the failures of certain men to the former. 
 
 6 To sound, as the word is here used, is to speak or express. 
 
108 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Bend their best studies — heartily request 
 
 Th' enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 
 To break into this dangerous argument : 
 
 If what in rest you have, in right you hold, 6 
 
 Why should your fears — which, as they say, attend 
 
 The steps of wrong — then move you to mew up 
 
 Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 
 The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
 
 That the time's enemies may not have this 
 
 To grace occasions, 7 let it be our suit, 
 
 That you have bid us ask, his liberty ; 8 
 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask 
 
 Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
 
 Counts it your weal he have his liberty. 
 
 K.John. Let it be so : I do commit his youth 
 To your direction. — 
 
 Enter Hubert ; whom King John takes aside. 
 
 Hubert, what news with you ? 
 Pent. This is the man should do the bloody deed ; 
 He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 The image of a wicked heinous fault 
 Lives in his eye ; that close aspect 9 of his 
 
 6 That is, " if you rightly hold that which you are possessed of." 
 
 7 " That they may not have this to urge in behalf of, or for giving plausi- 
 bility to, alleged occasions ; " that is, occasions of revolt. 
 
 8 The order, according to the sense, is, " let his liberty be our suit, that 
 you have bid us ask." The language would be better with make instead 
 of ask. To ask a suit is hardly English. 
 
 9 Close aspect is look of secrecy, of concealment, or of keeping dark. See 
 page 105, note 17. 
 
scene II. KING JOHN. IO9 
 
 Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
 And I do fearfully believe 'tis done, 
 What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 
 
 Sal. The colour of the King doth come and go 
 Between his purpose and his conscience, 10 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles sent : ] x 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. I y // ^ 
 
 Pent. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence 
 The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 K.John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. 
 Good lords, although my will to give is living, 
 The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
 He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night. 12 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 
 
 Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was 
 Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
 This must be answer'd either here or hence. 
 
 K.John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? 
 Think you I bear the shears of destiny ? 
 Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 
 
 Sal. It is apparent 13 foul-play ; and 'tis shame 
 
 10 Between his wicked purpose and his conscience of right. Hubert 
 gives the King to understand that his order for Arthur's death has been 
 performed. — Perhaps I should note here, that in Shakespeare's time con- 
 science was used as a dissyllable or trisyllable indifferently, as prosody 
 might require. Here it is properly a trisyllable. The same was the case 
 with patience, and other like words. And we have, in this play, many in- 
 stances of words ending in -tion or -sion, where that ending is properly dis- 
 syllabic ; as in " Startles and frights consideration," in this scene. 
 
 11 Not betwixt two battles, in our sense of the word, but betwixt two 
 armies drawn up in battle array. Battle was often used thus. 
 
 12 To-7iight for last tiight, or the past night. See The Merchant, page 
 117, note 2. 
 
 13 Apparent, here, is evident or manifest. See King Richard III., page 
 loo, note 15. 
 
HO KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
 So thrive it in your game ! and so, farewell. 
 
 Pern. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee, 
 And find th' inheritance of this poor child, 
 His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
 That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle, 
 Three foot 14 of it doth hold : bad world the while ! 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break out, 
 To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. 15 \Exeunt Lords. 
 
 K.John. They burn in indignation. I repent : 
 There is no sure foundation set on blood, 
 No certain life achieved by others' death. — 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 A fearful eye 16 thou hast : where is that blood 
 
 That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? 
 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 
 Pour down thy weather. How goes all in France? 
 
 Mess. From France to England. 17 Never such a power 
 For any foreign preparation 
 Was levied in the body of a land. 
 The copy 18 of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
 For when you should be told they do prepare, 
 The tidings come that they are all arrived. 
 
 14 In words denoting measurement of time, space, and quantity, the 
 singular form is often used with the plural sense. So we have, year for years, 
 mile for miles, pound for pounds, and, as here, foot for feet. See The 
 Tempest, page 51, note 13. 
 
 15 Doubt, again, for fear or suspect. See page 101, note 5. 
 
 16 " A fearful eye " here means an eye full of fear ; that is, frightened. 
 
 17 The messenger plays upon goes ; meaning, " all in France now goes 
 to England." 
 
 18 Copy in the sense of example or pattern. Often so. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 1 1 1 
 
 K.John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk? 
 Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's ear, 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of it ? 
 
 Mess. My liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April died 
 Your noble mother : and, as I hear, my lord, 
 The Lady Constance in a frenzy died 
 Three days before ; but this from rumour's tongue 
 I idly heard ; if true or false I know not. 
 
 K.John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! 
 O, make a league with me, till I have pleased 
 My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead ! 
 How wildly, then, walks my estate in France ! — 
 Under whose conduct come those powers of France 
 That thou for truth givest out are landed here ? 
 
 Mess. Under the Dauphin. 
 
 K.John. Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 With these ill tidings. — 
 
 Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pom/ret. 
 
 Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuff 
 My head with more ill news, for it is full. 
 
 Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 K.John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amazed 
 Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
 Aloft the flood ; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
 The sums I have collected shall express. 
 
112 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 But as I travell'd hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams, 
 Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : 
 And here's a prophet, that I brought with me 
 From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
 That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
 Your Highness should deliver up your crown. 
 
 K.John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 
 
 K.John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; 
 And on that day at noon, whereon he says 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd. 
 Deliver him to safety ; 19 and return, 
 For I must use thee. — \Exit Hubert with Peter. 
 
 O my gentle cousin, 
 Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived? 
 
 Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full 
 of it: 
 Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury 
 With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, 
 And others more, going to seek the grave 
 Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night 
 On your suggestion. 
 
 K.John. Gentle kinsman, go, 
 
 And thrust thyself into their companies : 
 I have a way to win their loves again ; 
 Bring them before me. 
 
 19 Safety for safe-keeping, or custody. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. II.3 
 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot before. 
 O, let me have no subjects enemies, 
 When adverse foreigners affright my towns 
 With dreadful pomp of stout 20 invasion ! 
 Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels, 
 And fly like thought from them to me again. 
 
 Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 
 
 K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. — 
 
 [Exit Bastard. 
 Go after him ; for he perhaps shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; 
 And be thou he. 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 
 
 K.John. My mother dead ! 
 
 Re-enter Hubert. 
 
 Hub. My lord, they say five Moons were seen to-night ; 
 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four in wondrous motion. 
 
 K. John. Five Moons ! 
 
 Hub. Old men and beldams in the streets 
 
 Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
 Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
 And, when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear ; 
 And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
 Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 
 20 Stout, here, is bold, proud. See page 77, note 4. 
 
1 14 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, — which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, — 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French 
 That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent : 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
 Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had a mighty cause 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 
 Hub. No had, 21 my lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? 
 
 K.John. It is the curse of kings to be attended 
 By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life ; 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns 
 More upon humour than advised respect. 22 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 
 K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt Heaven and Earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Make ill deeds done ! Hadst thou not then been by, 
 
 21 No had is an ancient form of speech, equivalent to had not. This ap- 
 pears from various corresponding phrases in old writers, such as no does, 
 no did, no will, &c. 
 
 22 Advised respect is deliberate judgment or consideration. See page 8$ 
 note 32. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 115 
 
 A fellow by the hand of Nature mark'd, 
 Quoted, 23 and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind : 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 
 Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 Hub. My lord, — 
 
 K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed, 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 Or bid me tell my tale in Express words, 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 And consequently thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. 24 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved, 
 
 23 To note is among the old meanings of to quote. Shakespeare often 
 has it so. 
 
 24 There are many touches of nature in this conference of John with 
 Hubert. A man engaged in wickedness would keep the profit to himself, 
 and transfer the guilt to his accomplice. This timidity of guilt is drawn ab 
 ipsis recessibus, from the intimate knowledge of mankind ; particularly that 
 line in which he says that to have bid him tell his tale in express words would 
 have struck him dumb : nothing is more certain than that bad men use all 
 the arts of fallacy upon themselves, palliate their actions to their own minds 
 by gentle terms, and hide themselves from their own detection in ambigui- 
 ties and subterfuges. — JOHNSON. 
 
Il6 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 
 Hostility and civil tumult reign 
 
 Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 
 
 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive : this hand of mine 
 Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful motion of a murderous thought ; 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form, 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers, 
 Throw this report on their incensed rage, 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 Forgive the comment that my passion made 
 Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
 And foul-imaginary eyes of blood 
 Presented 25 thee more hideous than thou art. 
 O, answer not ; but to my closet bring 
 The angry lords with all expedient haste ! 
 I c6njure thee but slowly ; run more fast. [Exeunt, 
 
 26 Presented for represented. Repeatedly so. 
 
SCENE III. KING JOHN. 117 
 
 Scene III. — The Same. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter, on the walls, Arthur, disguised as a Ship-boy. 
 
 Arth. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down : — 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
 There's few or none do know me : if they did, 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. 
 I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
 
 As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down. 
 
 O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies. 
 
 Efiter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's-Bury : 
 It is our safety, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal ? 
 
 Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
 Whose private x with me of the Dauphin's love 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 
 Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him, then. 
 
 Sal. Or rather then set forward ; for 'twill be 
 Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er 2 we meet. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 1 Private here may mean secret information ox personal conference. But 
 I suspect the text is wrong. See Critical Notes. 
 
 2 Or ever was a common phrase for before. See Tempest, page 49, note 3. 
 
Il8 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Bast. Once more to-day well-met, distemper'd 3 lords ! 
 The King by me requests your presence straight. 
 
 Sal. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us : 
 We will not line his sin-bestained cloak 
 With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
 That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. 
 Return and tell him so : we know the worst. 
 
 Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. 
 
 Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason 4 now. 
 
 Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
 Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. 
 
 Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
 
 Bast. 'Tis true, — to hurt his master, no man else. 
 
 Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here ? 
 
 [Seeing Arthur. 
 
 Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! 
 The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 
 
 Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
 Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 
 
 Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
 Found it too precious-princely for a grave 
 
 Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld, 
 Or have you read or heard? or could you think? 
 Or do you almost think, although you see, 
 That you do see ? could thought, without this object, 
 Form such another? This is the very top, 
 The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
 Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
 
 3 Distemper'd in the sense of angry or out of temper. So in Hamlet, iii. 
 2 : " The King, sir, is, in his retirement, marvellous distemper 'd." 
 
 4 Reason for talk or converse. Often so. See King Richard III., page 
 178, note 46. 
 
SCENE III. KING JOHN. 119 
 
 The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 
 That ever wall-eyed 5 wrath or staring rage 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 6 
 
 Pern. All murders past do stand excused in this : 
 And this, so sole and so unmatchable, 
 Shall give a holiness, a purity, 
 To the yet-unbegotten sins of time ; 
 And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
 Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand, — 
 If that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ! 
 We had a kind of light what would ensue : 
 It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
 The practice and the purpose of the King : 
 From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
 And breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a holy vow, 
 Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
 Never to be infected with delight, 
 Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
 Till I have set a glory to this head, 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. 
 
 5 Wall-eyed is " having eyes with a white or pale-gray iris, — glaring-eyed, 
 fierce-eyed." So says Dyce; and quotes from Co tgrave "A Whall, over- 
 white eye. Oeil de ckevre." And the author of The Dialect of Craven, 
 after quoting Shakespeare's " wall-eyed wrath," says, " It frequently happens 
 that, when a person is in an excessive passion, a large portion of the white 
 of the eye is visible. This confirms the propriety and force of the above 
 expression." 
 
 6 Remorse is pity or compassion. Generally so in the Poet's time. 
 
120 KING JOHN. act iv. 
 
 em " \ Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 
 Big. ) 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
 Arthur doth live ; the King hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
 Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 Sal. [Drawing his sword.'] Must I rob the law? 
 
 Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. 
 
 Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, — stand back, I say ; 
 By Heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours : 
 I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 7 
 Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
 Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 
 
 Big. Out, dunghill ! darest thou brave a nobleman? 
 
 Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
 My innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Hub. Do not prove me so ; 8 
 
 Yet I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
 Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pent. Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 
 
 Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Falconbridge. 
 
 Bast. Thou wert better gall the Devil, Salisbury : 
 
 7 " True defence " is honest defence ; that is, defence in a just cause. 
 
 8 Meaning, " Do not prove me a murderer by forcing or provoking me 
 to kill you." — Yet, in the next line, has the force of as yet. 
 
SCENE III. KING JOHN. 121 
 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, 
 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
 
 I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
 
 Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, 
 
 That you shall think the Devil is come from Hell. 
 
 Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Falconbridge ? 
 Second a villain and a murderer ? 
 
 Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 
 
 Big. Who kill'd this Prince ? 
 
 Hub. Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
 I honour'd him, I loved him ; and will weep 
 My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
 For villainy is not without such rheum ; 
 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
 Away with me, all you whose souls abhor 
 Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; 
 For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 
 
 Big. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there ! 
 
 Pern. There, tell the King, he may inquire us out. 
 
 \_Exeunt Lords. 
 
 Bast. Here's a good world ! Knew you of this fair work? 
 Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
 Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Do but hear me, sir : — 
 
 Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; 
 Thou'rt damn'd as black 9 — nay, nothing is so black; 
 
 9 Staunton thinks the Poet may here have had in mind the old religious 
 plays of Coventry, wherein the damned souls have their faces blackened. 
 
122 KING JOHN. ACT IV. 
 
 Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer : 
 
 There is not yet so ugly a fiend of Hell 
 
 As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 
 
 Hub. Upon my soul, — 
 
 Bast. If thou didst but consent 
 
 To this most cruel act, do but despair ; 
 And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb 
 Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be a beam 
 To hang thee on j or, wouldst thou drown thyself, 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, 
 And it shall be as all the ocean, 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
 I do suspect thee very grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, 
 Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
 Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
 Let Hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 I left him well. 
 
 Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. 
 
 I am amazed, methinks ; and lose my way 
 Among the thorns and dangers of this world. 
 How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
 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, 10 and to part by th' teeth 
 
 Sharp, in his account of these performances, speaking of White and Black 
 Souls, says that these characters are sometimes " denominated savyd and 
 damp?iyd Sowles, instead of white and black." 
 
 10 To scramble is much the same as to ruffle, to swagger ; to carry one's 
 point by turbulence and bravado. See Much Ado, page 109, note 7. 
 
scene I. KING JOHN. 123 
 
 Th' unowed 11 interest of proud-swelling state. 
 
 Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty 
 
 Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
 
 And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 
 
 Now powers from home and discontents at home 
 
 Meet in one line ; and vast 12 confusion waits, 
 
 As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast, 
 
 The imminent decay of wasted pomp. 
 
 Now happy he whose cloak and cincture 13 can 
 
 Hold out this tempest. — Bear away 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 land. \_Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Northampton. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown, an ^/Attendants. 
 
 K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. [Giving him the crown.~\ Take't again 
 From this my hand, as holding of the Pope 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority,, 
 
 11 Unowed for unowned. The unowned interest is the interest not now 
 legally possessed by any one. 
 
 12 Vast in the sense of the Latin vastus ; that is, empty or waste. Some- 
 times it appears to mean wasting or devastating ; as in King Henry V., ii. 3: 
 " The poor souls for whom this hungry war opens his vasty jaws." 
 
 13 Cincture is belt or girdle. 
 
124 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the 
 French ; 
 And from his Holiness use all your power 
 To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflamed. 1 
 Our discontented counties 2 do revolt ; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearing allegiance and the love of soul 
 To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
 This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
 Rests by you onry to be qualified : 
 Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
 That present medicine must be minister'd, 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope : 
 But, since you are a gentle convertite, 3 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
 Upon your oath of service to the Pope, 
 Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. 
 
 K.John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet 
 Say, that before Ascension-day at noon 
 My crown I should give off? Even so I have : 
 I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
 But, Heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 
 
 1 Inflamed here means on fire or in conflagration ; as in Chapman's Iliad, 
 book viii. : " We should have made retreate by light of the inflamed fleet." 
 
 2 Counties probably refers not to geographical divisions, but to the peers 
 or nobles ; county being a common title of nobility. 
 
 3 Convertite in its old ecclesiastical sense, for one who, having relapsed, 
 has been recovered. See As You Like It, page 140, note 31. 
 
SCENE I. KING JOHN. 125 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out 
 But Dover Castle : London hath received, 
 Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers •; 
 Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
 To offer service to your enemy ; 
 And wild amazement hurries up and down 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 
 K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
 After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 
 
 Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; 
 An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
 By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 
 
 K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 
 
 Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
 But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
 Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
 Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 Away, and glister like the god of war, 
 When he intendeth to become the field : 
 Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 And fright him there, and make him tremble there? 
 O, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 
 
126 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 To meet displeasure 4 further from the doors, 
 And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. 
 
 K. 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. 
 
 Bast. O inglorious league ! 
 
 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fair-play offers, and make compromise, 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce, 
 To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, 
 A cocker'd silken wanton, 5 brave our fields, 
 And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, 
 Mocking the air with colours idly spread, 
 And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms : 
 Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
 Or, if he do, let it at least be said 
 They saw we had a purpose of defence. 
 
 K.John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. 
 
 Bast. Away, then, with good courage ! yet, I know, 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe. \_Exeunt. 
 
 4 Displeasure, to make it harmonize with the context, must here be taken 
 as equivalent to enmity or hostility ; the sense of the passage being, " Rush 
 forth to hunt and dare the foe, as a hungry lion does to seek his prey." See 
 Critical Notes. 
 
 5 " A cocker'd silken wanton " is a pampered, finely-tailored milksop. — 
 To flesh, as the word is here used, is to elate, embolden, or make eager for 
 fighting ; just as we use flushed. The Poet has fieshment in the same sense. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 127 
 
 Scene II. — Near St. Edmund" 1 s-Bury. The French Camp. 
 
 Enter, in arms, Louis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, Bigot, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 Lou. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
 And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
 Return the precedent x to these lords again ; 
 That, having our fair order written down, 
 Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes, 
 May know wheref6re we took the sacrament, 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal and unurged faith 
 To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, Prince, 
 I am not glad that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by condemn'd revolt, 
 And heal th' inveterate canker of one wound 
 By making many. O, it grieves my soul, 
 That I must draw 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 deal but with the very hand 
 Of stern injustice and confused wrong. — 
 
 1 The precedent is the original draft of the treaty. So, in King Richard 
 III., iii. 6, the Scrivener employed to copy out the indictment of Hastings, 
 says, " Eleven hours I have spent to write it over ; the precedent was full as 
 long a-doing." 
 
128 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 And is't not pity, O my grieved friends, 
 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this ; 
 
 Wherein we step 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 2 cause,) 
 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
 
 And follow unacquainted colours here? 
 
 What, here ? — O nation, that thou couldst remove ! 
 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippeth 3 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 4 it so unneighbourly ! 
 
 Lou. A noble temper dost thou show in this ; 
 And great affections wrestling in thy bosom 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 O, what a noble combat hast thou fought 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect ! 5 
 
 2 Spot is stain, blot, or disgrace. Salisbury thinks it, as he well may, a 
 foul dishonour thus to side with the invader of his country ; and the con- 
 science of duty, or the sense of right outraged in the person of Arthur, which 
 compels him to do so, naturally wrings him with grief. A hard alternative 
 indeed ! — Enforced is enforcing ; another instance of the confusion of active 
 and passive forms. See page 75, note 2. 
 
 3 To clip is to encircle or embrace. See Winter's Tale, page 159, note 7. 
 
 4 To is here used merely as an intensive prefix. The usage was common, 
 and Shakespeare has it several times. 
 
 5 Here, as usual, respect is consideration, motive, or inducement. See 
 page 86, note 22, — Brave is manly, honourable, and so a fitting epithet of 
 the national feeling which has struggled so hard for the mastery in Salis- 
 bury's breast. — Compulsion refers to the "enforcing cause" mentioned in 
 note 2. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 129 
 
 Let me wipe off this honorable dew 
 
 That silverly doth progress 6 on thy cheeks : 
 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 
 
 Being an ordinary inundation ; 
 
 But this effusion of such manly drops, 
 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed 
 
 Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven 
 
 Figured quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 
 Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 
 And with a great heart heave away this storm : 
 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes 
 
 That never saw the giant world enraged ; 
 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, 
 
 Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossipping. 
 
 Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 
 
 Into the purse of rich prosperity 
 
 As Louis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all, 
 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. — 
 
 And even there, methinks, an Angel spake : 7 
 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
 
 6 " Shakespeare was guilty, according to cousin Bull, of an unmitigated 
 Americanism in writing this line." So says Mr. White. But I suspect he 
 is a little off the track here. Progress, I take it, is a substantive, and doth is 
 used as a principal verb, equivalent to maketh. So it still remains to be 
 shown that using progress as a verb was English in Shakespeare's time. 
 
 7 This is a strange passage. The Cambridge Editors note upon it as 
 follows : " Surely the close proximity of purse, nobles, and angel, shows that 
 Shakespeare has here yielded to the fascination of a jeu de mots, which he 
 was unable to resist, however unsuitable the occasion might be. The 
 Dauphin, we may suppose, speaks aside, with an accent and gesture which 
 mark his contempt for the mercenary allies whom he intends to get rid 
 of as soon as may be." It may be needful to add that noble and angel were 
 names of Ensrlish coins. 
 
I3O KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 To give us warrant from the hand of Heaven, 
 And on our actions set the name of right 
 With holy breath. 
 
 Enter Pandulph, attended. 
 
 Pand. Hail, noble Prince of France ! 
 
 The next is this : King John hath reconciled 
 Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy Church, 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
 Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up ; 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war, 
 That, like a lion foster'd-up at hand, 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace, 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Lou. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back : 
 I am too high-born to be propertied, 8 
 To be a secondary at control, 
 Or useful serving-man, and instrument, 
 To any sovereign State throughout the world. 
 Your breath first kindled the dead coals of war 
 Between this chastised kingdom and myself, 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
 And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
 You taught me how to know the face of right, 
 Acquainted me with interest to 9 this land, 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
 
 8 To be used as a chattel or a piece 0/ property. 
 
 9 Such language was not uncommon. So in 1 Henry IV., hi. 2: "He 
 hath more worthy interest to the state than thou." And in Dugdale's War- 
 wickshire : " He hath a release from Rose, and all her interest to the manor 
 of Pedimore." 
 
scene II. KING JOHN. 131 
 
 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 young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
 
 And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back 
 
 Because 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 and maintain this war? 
 
 Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 
 
 Vive le roi .' as I have bank'd their towns? 10 
 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game, 
 
 To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
 
 No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 
 
 Lou. Outside or inside, I will not return 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war, 
 And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, 
 To outlook 11 conquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. {Trumpet sounds. 
 
 10 This is commonly explained " sailed along beside their towns upon the 
 rivers' banks " ; as we speak of coasting or flanking. But the cases seem 
 by no means parallel ; yet I am not sufficiently booked in card-table lan- 
 guage to judge whether Staunton's explanation will hold: "From the con- 
 text it seems more probably an allusion to card-playing ; and by bank'd 
 their towns is meant, won their towns, pat them in bank or rest'' 
 
 11 To outlook is the same, here, as to outface, or to face down. 
 
132 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
 Enter the Bastard, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the fair-play of the world, 
 Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak : — 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the King 
 I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
 And will not temporize 12 with my entreaties : 
 He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breathed, 
 The youth says well. — Now hear our English King ; 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He is prepared ; and reason too he should : 13 
 This apish and unmannerly approach, 
 This harness'd masque and unadvised 14 revel, 
 This unhair'd 15 sauciness and boyish troop, 
 The King doth smile at ; and is well prepared 
 To whip this dwarfish 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 you take the hatch ; 16 
 To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells ; 
 
 12 To temporize is to comply with the exigencies or the interests of the 
 time ; hence to yield, to come to terms, to succumb. 
 
 13 " And there is reason too why he should be prepared." 
 
 14 Harness'd is armed, or artnoiired, or both. — Unadvised, again, for rash, 
 inconsiderate, or thoughtless. 
 
 15 Unhair'd is beardless, boy-faced. Spoken in contempt, of course. 
 
 16 To take the hatch is to leap the hatch. So we speak of taking the 
 fence. 
 
SCENE II. KING JOHN. 133 
 
 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 sweet safety out 
 
 In vaults and prisons ; and to thrill and shake 
 
 Even at the crowing of your nation's cock, 17 
 
 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ; — 
 
 Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, 
 
 That in your chambers gave you chastisement? 
 
 No : know the gallant monarch is in arms ; 
 
 And, like an eagle o'er his eyrie, 18 towers, 
 
 To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 
 
 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, 
 
 You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
 
 Of your dear mother England, blush for shame : 
 
 For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids, 
 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; 
 
 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets changed, 
 
 Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. 
 
 Lou. There end thy brave, 19 and turn thy face in peace ; 
 We grant thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such a brabbler. 
 
 Pand. Give me leave to speak. 
 
 17 Probably an equivoque was intended here, gallns being the name both 
 of a cock and of a Frenchman. 
 
 18 Eyrie here is nest. Properly it means a young brood in the nest. — 
 To tower was a term in falconry for to soar. In the case supposed, an 
 eagle mounts in a spiral course ; and souse was used of the swift and deadly 
 plunge which he makes upon the object of his aim, after he has thus soared 
 high above it. Stoop was also used of the same act. 
 
 19 Brave is boast, vaunt, or defiance. So in Troilus and Cressida, iv. 4 : 
 " This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head." 
 
134 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 Bast. No, I will speak. 
 
 Lou. We will attend to neither. — 
 
 Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war 
 Plead for our interest and our being here. 
 
 Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out ; 
 And so shall you, being beaten : do but start 
 An echo with the clamour of thy drum, 
 And even at hand a drum is ready braced 
 That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; 
 Sound but another, and another shall, 
 As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, 
 And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder : for at hand — 
 Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
 Whom he hath used rather for sport than need — 
 Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 
 Lou. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. 
 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Same. A Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 
 
 K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me, Hubert ! 
 Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty? 
 K.John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, 
 Lies heavy on me : O, my heart is sick ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falconbridge, 
 
SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 135 
 
 Desires your Majesty to leave the field, 
 
 And send him word by me which way you go. 
 
 K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. 
 
 Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply, 1 
 That was expected by the Dauphin here, 
 Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands. 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now : 
 The French fight coldly, and retire 2 themselves. 
 
 K. John. Ah me, this tyrant fever burns me up, 
 And will not let me welcome this good news ! — 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Same. Another Part of the Field. 
 Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the King so stored with friends. 
 
 Pent. Up once again ; put spirit in the French : 
 If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 
 
 Sal. That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 
 
 Pent. They say King John sore-sick hath left the field. 
 
 Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers. 
 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 
 Sal. When we were happy we had other names. 
 Pern. It is the Count Melun. 
 Sal. Wounded to death. 
 
 1 Supply here means reinforcement, supply of troops. Hence, as a col- 
 lective noun, it admits both a singular and a plural verb, was expected and 
 Are wreck'd. 
 
 2 Retire was often thus used transitively, in the sense of withdraw. 
 
I36 KING JOHN. 
 
 Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold ; 
 Unthread the eye of rude rebellion, 3 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Seek out King John, and fall before his feet ; 
 For, if that France be lord of this loud 4 day, 
 He means to recompense the pains you take 
 By cutting off your heads : thus hath he sworn, 
 And I with him, and many more with me, 
 Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ; 
 Even on that altar where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal. May this be possible ? may this be true ? 
 
 Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, 
 Retaining but a quantity of life, 
 Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
 Resolveth 5 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 Louis do win the day, 
 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
 Behold another day break in the East : 
 
 3 Here, if the text be right, the unthreading of a needle is used as a 
 metaphor for simply undoing what has been done. See Critical Notes. — 
 " Bought and sold " is an old proverbial phrase, meaning played false with, 
 or betrayed. 
 
 4 Loud appears to have been sometimes used in the sense of stormy or 
 boisterous. So in Hamlet, iv. 4 : " My arrows, too slightly timber'd for so 
 loud a wind," &c. 
 
 5 Resolveth for melteth ; as in Hamlet, i. 2 : " O, that this too-too solid 
 flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! " See, also, page 65, 
 note 43. 
 
SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 137 
 
 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 6 treachery, 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
 If Louis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commend me to one Hubert, with your King : 
 The love of him — and this respect 7 besides, 
 For that my grandsire was an Englishman — 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, 8 I pray you, bear me hence 
 From forth the noise and rumour 9 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. 
 
 Sal. 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 10 and irregular course, 
 
 6 Rated perhaps in the sense of the Latin ratus ; treason ratified by overt 
 act. Johnson, however, explains it, " The Dauphin has rated your treach- 
 ery, and set upon it a fine which your lives must pay." — In the next line, 
 fine seems to mean end, like the Latin finis. 
 
 7 A clear instance of respect for consideration. See page 128, note 5. 
 
 8 With Shakespeare, in lieu of is always equivalent to in return for, or 
 in consideration of. See The Tempest, page 55, note 6. 
 
 9 Rumour here is loud murmur, or roar. So in Fairfax's Tasso, vii. 106: 
 " Of breaking spears, of ringing helm and shield, a dreadful rumour roar'd 
 on every side." 
 
 10 Rankness, or rank, applied to a river, means overflowing or exuberant. 
 
I38 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, 11 
 
 And calmly 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, leaditig off Melun. 
 
 Scene V. — The Same. The French Camp. 
 
 Enter Louis and his Train. 
 
 Lou. The Sun of heaven meth ought was loth to set, 
 But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, 
 When th' English measured 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 1 colours clearly up, 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where is my Prince, the Dauphin? 
 
 Lou. Here : what news ? 
 
 Mess. 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. 
 
 11 O'erlook'd for overflown or overpassed. 
 
 1 Tattering for tattered; the active form with the passive sense, as we 
 have before had this order reversed. See page 91, note 5. 
 
scene vi. KING JOHN. 1 39 
 
 Lou. Ah, foul-shrewd 2 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 ? 
 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
 
 Lou. 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 near Swinstead Abbey. 
 Enter, severally, the Bastard and Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I shoot. 
 
 Bast. A friend. What art thou ? 
 
 Hub. Of the part 3 of England. 
 
 Bast. Whither dost thou go ? 
 
 Hub. What's that to thee ? 
 
 Bast. Why may not I demand 
 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 
 Hubert, I think? 
 
 Hub. 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 ? 
 
 Bast. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, 
 
 Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 
 I come one way of the Plantagenets. 
 
 2 Shrewd in its old sense of s/iarp, biting, or bitter. Commonly so in 
 Shakespeare. See As You Like It, page 140, note 28. 
 
 3 Part for party ; as we have before had party for part. See page jg, 
 note 8. 
 
I4O KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou and eyeless 4 night 
 Have done me shame : — brave soldier, pardon me, 
 That any accent breaking from thy tongue 
 Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news abroad ? 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news ? 
 
 Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news : 
 I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 
 
 Hub. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
 I left him almost speechless ; and broke out 
 T' 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. 5 
 
 Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 
 
 Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved 6 villain, 
 Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the King 
 Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty? 
 
 Hub. 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. 
 
 * Eyeless for blind, that is, dark. So in Markham's English Arcadia, 
 1607 : " O eyeless night, the portraiture of death." And Shakespeare, in 
 Lucrece, has " sightless night." — Re?nembrance here is memory, or the faculty 
 of remembering. 
 
 5 " Than if this knowledge had been withheld from you till the present 
 hurry were over, or till you were more at leisure." 
 
 6 Resolved for determined or resolute. 
 
scene vii. KING JOHN. I4I 
 
 Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty Heaven, 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power ! — 
 I'll tell thee, 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 7 he will be dead or e'er I come. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 P. Hen. It is too late : the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his poor brain — 
 Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house — 
 Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretell the ending of mortality. 
 
 Enter Pembroke. 
 
 Pern. His Highness yet doth speak ; and holds belief 
 That, being brought into the open air, 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 
 Doth he still rage ? \_Exit Bigot, 
 
 ' Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes 
 In their continuance will not feel themselves. 1 
 
 7 Doubt, again, for fear. See page 101, note 5. 
 
 1 That is, will lose all sense of themselves, or become unconscious. 
 
142 KING JOHN. ACT V. 
 
 Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
 
 With many legions of strange fantasies, 
 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
 
 Confound themselves. Tis strange that death should sing. 
 
 I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, 
 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 
 
 And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
 
 Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince ; for you are born 
 To set a form upon that indigest 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 2 
 
 Re-enter Bigot, with Attendants carrying King John in a 
 
 chair. 
 
 K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room ; 
 It would not out at windows nor at doors. 
 There is so hot a summer in my bosom, 
 That all my bowels- crumble up to dust : 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares your Majesty ? 
 
 K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare ; — dead, forsook, cast off: 
 And none of you will bid the Winter come, 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the North 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
 
 2 So in Ovid's description of Chaos: "Quem dixere Chaos, rudis indi- 
 gestaque moles." 
 
SCENE VII. KING JOHN. I43 
 
 And comfort me with cold : I do not ask you much, 
 I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait, 3 
 And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 
 
 P. He?i. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, 
 That might relieve you ! 
 
 K.John. The salt in them is hot. 
 
 Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize 
 On unreprievable condemned blood. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen 4 of speed to see your Majesty ! 
 
 K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
 And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
 Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be utterdd ; 
 And then all this thou see'st is but a clod, 
 And model 5 of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, 
 Where Heaven He knows how we shall answer him j 
 For in a night the best part of my power, 
 As I upon advantage did remove, 6 
 Were in the washes all unwarily 
 Devoured by the unexpected flood. \_King John dies. 
 
 8 Strait for stingy, niggardly, or small-souled. 
 
 4 Spleen was used thus of any sudden or violent motion. So in ii. I of this 
 play : " With swifter spleen than powder can enforce." 
 
 5 Model here is image or representation. Repeatedly so. 
 
 6 To "remove upon advantage" is to move for the purpose or in the 
 hope of gaining an advantage. 
 
144 KING JOHN. A( 
 
 Sal. You breathe these dead news, in as dead an ear. ■ 
 My liege ! my lord ! — but now a king, now thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
 What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
 When this was now a king, and now is clay ? 
 
 Bast Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind 
 To do the office for thee of revenge, 
 And then my soul shall wait on thee to Heaven, 
 As it on Earth hath been thy servant still. — 
 Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres, 
 Where be your powers ? show now your mended faiths ; 
 And instantly return with me again, 
 To push destruction and perpetual shame 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land. 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; 
 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much as we : 
 The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
 Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
 And brings from him such offers of our peace 
 As we with honour and respect may take, 
 With purpose presently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
 For many carriages he hath dispatch'd 
 To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To the disposing of the Cardinal : 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 
 If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
 To c6nsummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast Let it be so : — and you, my noble Prince, 
 
SCENE VII. KING JOHN. 145 
 
 With other princes that may best be spared, 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ; 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it, then : 
 
 And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
 To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services 
 And true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, 
 And knows not how to do it but with tears. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. 7 — 
 This England never did, nor never shall, 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home again, 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
 And we shall shock them : nought shall make us rue, 
 If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 
 
 7 That is, since the time has prefaced this event with afflictions enough. 
 The speaker thinks they have already suffered so much, that now they ought 
 to give way to sorrow as little as may be. 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 
 
 Act i., Scene i. 
 
 Page 41. Why, what a madcap hath Heaven sent us here! — So 
 Heath and Walker. The original has lent instead of sent. 
 
 P. 41. With that half- face would he have all my land. — The origi- 
 nal has half that face. Corrected by Theobald. 
 
 P. 43. Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great, — 
 
 Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet. — Instead of " arise more 
 great," the old text has " rise more great." Corrected by Steevens. 
 
 P. 45- For new-made honour doth forget men's names ; 
 
 ' Tis loo respective and too sociable 
 
 For your conversion. — I suspect we ought to read, with Pope, 
 " too respective and unsociable For your conversing." This makes 
 ' Tis refer to honour, as we should naturally understand it. See, how- 
 ever, foot-note 20. 
 
 P. 46. For he is but a bastard to the time, 
 
 That doth not smack of observation. — The original has smoake 
 for smack. Hardly worth noting. 
 
 Act 11., Scene i. 
 
 P. 49. K. Phi. Before Anglers well met, brave Austria ! — In the 
 old copies, this and also King Philip's next speech are assigned to 
 Louis. The correction is Theobald's. Mr. W. W. Williams, also, in 
 The Parthenon, August 16, 1862, pointed out the error. As he re- 
 
I48 KING JOHN. 
 
 marks, the mere fact of the speaker's saying that Austria " is come 
 hither at our importance " is enough to show that the speech should 
 not be assigned to Louis, who is addressed afterwards as a " boy." 
 
 P. 52. With them, a bastard of the king deceased, — So the second 
 folio. The first has Kings instead of king. 
 
 P. 54. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
 
 And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right ; 
 And his is Geffrey's. — So Mason. The original reads " And 
 this is Geffreyes," this having got repeated from the line above. I sus- 
 pect the correction ought to be carried still further, and Arthur's sub- 
 stituted for Geffrey's : " England was Geffrey's right, and his [right] is 
 Arthur's." See, however, foot-note 18. 
 
 P. 54. From whom hast thou this great commission, France, 
 
 To draw my answer to thy articles ? — So Hanmer. Instead 
 of to, the original has from, which probably crept in from the preced- 
 ing line. 
 
 P. 55. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
 
 As great Alcides' does upon an ass. — Instead of does, the old 
 text has shooes, out of which it is hardly possible to make any sense. 
 Theobald substituted shows, and has been followed by some editors. 
 The reading in the text was lately proposed by Mr. H. H. Vaughan. 
 It removes all difficulty, and infers an easy misprint. Mr. Fleay re- 
 tains shoes, and substitutes ape for ass ; which may be right. 
 
 P. 56. King Philip, determine what we shall do straight. 
 
 K. Phi. Women and fools, break off your conference. — In the 
 first of these lines, the original has " King Lewis," and the speech be- 
 ginning with the second line is there assigned to Louis. The correc- 
 tion is Theobald's. 
 
 P. 56. England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine. — Both 
 here and in one or two other places, the old copy misprints Anglers 
 for Anjou. 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 149 
 
 P. 57. Thou and thine usurp 
 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights 
 
 Of this oppressed boy, thy eld'st son's son, 
 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee. — So Ritson and Collier's 
 second folio. The original gives the third line thus : " Of this op- 
 pressed boy ; this is thy eldest sonnes sonne " ; where both sense and 
 metre plead against this is as an interpolation. 
 
 P. 57. And with her plagued ; her sin his injury ; 
 
 Her injury the beadle to her sin. — In the original this stands 
 
 as follows : 
 
 And with her plague her sinne : his injury 
 Her injury the Beadle to her sinne. 
 
 The passage has proved a very troublesome one to dress into order and 
 sense, and is printed variously in modern editions. It is somewhat 
 perplexed and obscure at the best. The change of plague to plagued 
 in the first line is by Roderick, and removes, I think, a good part of 
 the difficulty. See foot-notes 27 and 28. 
 
 P. 59. All preparation for a bloody siege 
 
 And merciless proceeding by these French 
 
 Confront your city's eyes. — The original reads " Comfort yours 
 citties eies." Corrected by Rowe. 
 
 P. 60. We will bear home that lusty blood again 
 
 Which here we came to spout against your town, 
 
 And leave your children, wives, and you in peace. 
 
 But, if you fondly pass our proffer' d peace, 
 
 ' Tis not the rondure of your old-faced walls, &c. — Instead of 
 " ■proffer' <i. peace," the original has " proffer'd offer" ; which seems to 
 me a plain instance of sophistication, in order to avoid a repetition of 
 peace. But I should rather say that the word ought to be repeated 
 here, for peace is precisely what the speaker has just proffered. Walker 
 notes upon the passage thus : " The bad English, the cacophony, and 
 the two-syllable ending, so uncommon in this play, prove that offer is 
 a corruption originating in proffer'd. Read, I think, love." — Instead 
 of rondure, in the last line, the old text has rounder, which however is 
 but another spelling of the same word. 
 
I50 KING JOHN. 
 
 P. 63. I Cit Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, &c. — 
 In the original, this and the following speeches by the same person 
 have the prefix " Hubert." The error — for such it clearly is — prob- 
 ably grew from the two parts of the first Citizen and of Hubert being 
 assigned to the same actor. 
 
 P. 63. Say, shall the current of our right run on ? — So the second 
 folio. Instead of run, the first has rome ; doubtless a misprint for 
 runne, the word being commonly so spelt. 
 
 P. 63. Unless thou let his silver waters keep 
 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. — So Collier's second folio. 
 The original has water, instead of waters. 
 
 P. 64. You eaual-potent, fiery-kindled spirits. — So Walker. The 
 old text reads " You equall Botents." 
 
 P. 64. A greater Power than ye denies all this. — Instead of ye, the 
 original has We. The change was made by Theobald at Warburton's 
 suggestion, and was adopted by Hanmer and Capell. The original 
 also prefixes " Bra." to the speech. 
 
 P. 65. King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, 
 
 Be by some certain king purged and deposed. — Such is Tyr- 
 whitt's reading. The old text reads " Kings of ovs feare " ,• which, if 
 it gives any sense at all, gives a wrong one. The speaker clearly 
 means, that they are ruled by their fears, or their fears are their king, 
 and must continue to be so, until that king is deposed. 
 
 P. 66. Our thunders from the south 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. — So Capell. The 
 old text has Thunder for thunders. The pronoun their points out the 
 correction. 
 
 P. 67. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, 
 
 Is niece to England. — Instead of niece, the original has neere, 
 no doubt a misprint for neece, as the word was commonly spelt. The 
 correction is from Collier's second folio, and is fully justified in that the 
 Lady Blanch is repeatedly spoken of as John's niece. 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 151 
 
 P. 67. Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete : 
 
 If not complete, then say he is not she ; 
 
 And she, again, wants nothing, to name want, 
 
 If want it be, but that she is not he. — The original has, in the 
 third of these lines, " If not compleat of," and, in the last, " If want it 
 be not." The former can hardly be made to yield any sense at all ; 
 and Hanmer changed of to oh. The context naturally suggests the 
 reading here given : but possibly we ought to read " If not complete 
 he, say he is not she." The other correction was proposed, independ- 
 ently, by Lettsom and Mr. Swynfen Jervis. The confounding of but 
 and not is among the commonest of errors in the originals of Shake- 
 speare. See foot-note 49. 
 
 P. 67. He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 
 left to be finished by such a she. — The old text reads "such as 
 shee." Not worth noting, perhaps. 
 
 P. 68. Here's a flaw, 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death 
 
 Out of his rags. — Here, instead oiflaw, the original has stay, 
 which Collier's second folio changes to say. The former seems palpa- 
 bly wrong, and I cannot pronounce say much better. Johnson pro- 
 posed flaw, and Walker says it " is indisputably right." See foot- 
 note 51. 
 
 P. 7 1 • For I am well assured 
 
 That I did so when I was first affied. — Instead of affied, the 
 old text repeats assured; whereupon Walker notes as follows: "It is 
 impossible that this repetition of the same word in a different sense — 
 there being no quibble intended, or any thing else to justify it — can 
 have proceeded from Shakespeare. Read 'when I was first affied,'' 
 that is, betrothed." See, also, foot-note 56. 
 
 P. 7 2 - Brother of England, how may we content 
 
 The widow'd lady ? — So Collier's second folio. The original 
 has " The widdow Lady." 
 
152 KING JOHN. 
 
 P. 73. Hath drawn him from his own determined dim. — So Mason 
 and Collier's second folio. The old text has ayd. 
 
 Act hi., Scene i. 
 
 P. 77. I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. — Instead of 
 slout,ihe original has stoope, which just contradicts the preceding clause. 
 Corrected by Hanmer. 
 
 P. 77- Here I and sorrow sit ; 
 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. — Here, as in a 
 former line of the same speech, the old text has sorrotves. There, 
 however, the plural is in keeping ; which is far from being the case 
 here. Corrected by Pope. 
 
 P. 79. What a fool wert thou, 
 
 A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear, 
 Upon my party ! — The old text reads " What a fool art thou." 
 The context fairly requires the change, which was proposed by 
 Lettsom. 
 
 P. 80. What earthly name to interrogatories 
 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? — Instead of earthly 
 and task, the old text has earthie and last, — palpable misprints. 
 
 P. 82. Louis, standfast ! the Devil tempts thee here 
 
 In likeness of a new-nplrimmed bride. — The original reads 
 " a new w«trimmed Bride." The correction is Dyce's, who aptly 
 quotes, in support of it, from Romeo and Juliet, iv. 4 : "Go waken 
 Juliet ; go and trim her up." Staunton adopts " the happy and un- 
 forced emendation of Mr. Dyce." In his Addenda and Corrigenda, 
 however, he makes the following note in support of the old reading : 
 " In old times it was a custom for the bride at her wedding to wear 
 her hair unbraided, and hanging loose over her shoulders. May 
 not Constance, by ' a new untritnmed bride,' refer to this custom ? 
 Peacham, in describing the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth with the 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 1 53 
 
 Palsgrave, says that ' the bride came into the chapell with a coronet of 
 pearle on her head, and her haire dischevelled and hanging down over 
 her shoulders.' Compare, too, Tancred and Gismunda, v. I : 
 
 ' So let thy tresses flaring in the wind 
 Untrimmed hang about thy bared neck.'" 
 
 P. 84. Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 Some gentle order ; then shall we be blest 
 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. — In the original, 
 the second line reads " Some gentle order, and then we shall be blest." 
 Here and hurts the metre without helping the sense ; and so, as Lett- 
 som remarks, " seems to have intruded from the line next below." 
 
 P. 84. France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 
 A chafed lion by the mortal paw, &c. — So Theobald. The 
 original reads " A cased Lion," which is absurd. Collier's second folio 
 has " A caged lion," which is rather worse than absurd, as the paw of a 
 caged lion may be quite harmless. In support of chafed, Dyce quotes 
 from King Henry VIII., iii. 2 : "So looks the chafed lion upon the 
 daring huntsman that hath gall'd him." Also from Fletcher's Loyal 
 Subject, v. 3 : " He frets like a chafed lion." 
 
 P. 84. For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 
 Is most a?niss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The truth is then most done, not doing it. — In the second of 
 these lines, the original reads " Is not amiss "; which, it seems to me, 
 cannot be reconciled to the context, or strained to sense, without a 
 course of argument as over-subtile and intricate as Cardinal Pandulph 
 is here using. Warburton reads " Is yet amiss," and Collier's second 
 folio, "Is but amiss"; the latter of which also occurred to Lettsom. 
 The reading in the text is Hanmer's, and is preferable, I think, to either 
 of the others, inasmuch as it just makes a balance between the two 
 branches of the sentence. See foot-note 16. 
 
 P. 85. It is religion that doth make vows kept : 
 But thou hast sworn against religion ; 
 By which thou swear 'st against the thing thou swear 'st, 
 
154 KING JOHN. 
 
 And makest an oath — the surety for thy truth -— 
 
 Against an oath, — the test thou art unsure. 
 
 Who swears, swears only not to be forsworn ; 
 
 Else what a mockery should it be to swear ! 
 
 But thou dost swear only to be' forsworn. — A transcriber or 
 compositor or proof-reader might well get lost in such a maze of casu- 
 istry as Pandulph weaves in this speech : accordingly, the original here 
 presents an inextricable imbroglio. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth 
 of the above lines there stand as follows : 
 
 By -what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear' st, 
 And mak'st an oath the suretie for thy truth, 
 Against an oath the truth, thou art unsure 
 To sweare, sweares onely not to be forsworne." 
 
 In the first of these lines, Capell reads " By which," as Johnson sug- 
 gested ; and Hanmer reads " By that," as Staunton also proposes to 
 read. In either of these readings the pronoun must be understood as 
 referring, not to religion, but to the act expressed in the preceding line. 
 Again, in the last of the lines, Who swears is Capell's reading, which 
 Staunton also proposes. In the third line, again, Staunton proposes to 
 substitute proof for truth. This would be a rather bold change ; and 
 I prefer test, as a word more likely to be misprinted truth. I see no 
 possibility of making any sense out of the passage without some such 
 change ; and test is repeatedly used by Shakespeare as an equivalent 
 for proof. Perhaps we ought also to read untrue instead of unsure; 
 but unsure may well be taken in much the same sense as untrue, — 
 not to be relied on, or untrustworthy. Some of the strainings and 
 writhings of exegetical ingenuity that have been resorted to in support 
 of the old text are ludicrous enough. See foot-note 1 8. 
 
 P. 87. A rage whose heat hath this condition, 
 
 That nothing can allay't, nothing but blood, — 
 The best and dearest-valued blood of France. — Here the old 
 text has allay instead of allay't, and blood instead of best. The former 
 change is Capell's, the latter Walker's. Perhaps it were as well to 
 read " The blood, the dearest-valued blood of France." 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. I 55 
 
 Act in., Scene 2. 
 
 P. 88. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot ; 
 
 Some fiery devil hovers in the sky, 
 
 And pours down mischief. — So Theobald and Collier's second 
 folio. The original, " Some ayery Devill." Burton, in his Anatomie 
 of Melancholy, says that, of the sublunary devils, " Prellus makes six 
 kinds : fiery, aeriall, terrestriall, watery, and subterranean devils, be- 
 sides those faieries, satyres, nymphs," &c. — " Fiery spirits or devills 
 are such as commonly work by blazing starres, fire-drakes, or igncs 
 fatui ; likewise they counterfeit sunnes and moones, stars oftentimes, 
 and sit on ship masts," &c. 
 
 P. 88. Hubert, keep thou this boy. — So Tyrwhitt. The original 
 lacks thou. 
 
 Act hi., Scene 3. 
 
 P. 88. So shall it be ; your Grace shall stay behind, 
 
 More strongly guarded. — - Instead of More, the old text has So ; 
 probably repeated by mistake from the line before. The correction is 
 Lettsom's. 
 
 P. 89. And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 
 Of hoarding abbots ; set at liberty 
 
 Imprison'd angels : the fat ribs of peace 
 
 Must by the hungry war be fed upon. — In the original " set at 
 liberty " and " imprison'd angels " change places with each other, thus 
 untuning the verse badly. The correction is Walker's. The original 
 also reads " Must by the hungry now be fed upon." Warburton pro- 
 posed and Theobald printed war. 
 
 P. 90. I had a thing to say, — 
 
 But I will fit it with some better time. — The original has tune, 
 — a frequent misprint for time. Corrected by Pope. 
 
 P. 90. If the midnight bell 
 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one into the drowsy ear of night. — The original reads 
 " Sound on into the drowzie race of night." Shakespeare has many 
 
I56 KING JOHN. 
 
 clear instances of one printed on, which was in fact a common way of 
 spelling one. Theobald was the first to see that here on was merely 
 the old spelling of one. The correction of race to ear is Walker's. 
 Such a misprint was very easy when ear was spelt eare. See foot- 
 note 4. 
 
 P. 91. Hubert shall be your man, t' attend on you. — So the third 
 folio. The original reads " your man, attend on you." 
 
 Act in., Scene 4. 
 
 P. 92. A whole armado 0/convented sail 
 
 Is scattered and disjoined from fellowship. — So Mason and Col- 
 lier's second folio. The original has " con victed sail." 
 
 P. 92. Such temperate order in so fierce a course 
 
 Doth want exarnple. — The old text has cause instead of course, 
 which was conjectured by Theobald and printed by Hanmer. So, in 
 Macbeth, v. 2, the old copies have cause misprinted for course : " He 
 cannot buckle his distemper'd cause within the belt of rule." 
 
 P. 93. And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 
 
 Which cannot hear a lady 's feeble voice, 
 
 Which scorns a mother's invocation. — So Heath and Collier's 
 second folio. The old text has "a modem invocation." Heath ob- 
 serves, "The epithet modern hath no meaning in this place. We 
 should undoubtedly read ' And scorns a mother's invocation.' " Prob- 
 ably it was written moders. 
 
 P. 93. Thou art unholy to belie me so. — So Staunton. The original 
 reads "Thou art holy" against both sense and verse. The fourth folio 
 has " not holy," which is the common reading. 
 
 P. 95. As dim and meagre as an ague-fit. — The original reads " an 
 Agues fitte." In support of ague-fit, Lettsom appositely quotes from 
 King Richard II, iii. 2 : " This ague-fit of fear is overblown." 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 1 57 
 
 P. 96. And bitter shame hath spoiVd the sweet world's taste, 
 
 That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. — So Pope. 
 The old text, " sweet words taste." — The repetition of shame seems 
 hardly right. Walker proposes " nought but gall and bitterness," and 
 remarks that " something is wanting that shall class with bitterness." 
 
 P. 97. And it cannot be, 
 
 That, whiles wartn life plays in that in/ant's veins, 
 
 The misplaced John should entertain one hour, 
 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. — Instead of one in 
 
 the third line, the original has an. Obvious as is the correction, it was 
 
 not made till found in Collier's second folio. 
 
 P. 98. No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 
 No scape of nature, no distempered day, &c. — The old text has 
 scope for scape. Corrected by Pope. Dr. Schmidt denounces the cor- 
 rection as " preposterous "; and glozes the old text into meaning " no 
 effect produced within the regular limits of nature." His denunciation 
 would have stood a better chance, if he had spared his explanation : as 
 it is, the gloss amply nonsuits the censure, and reacts in support of the 
 correction. Such freaks of exegetical license can make you any thing 
 out of any thing, and read you whatever sense you please into abra- 
 cadabra. See foot-note 17. 
 
 P. 99. Strong reasons make strong actions. — So the second folio. 
 The first reads " strange actions." I am not sure that the change is a 
 correction ; though the repetition of strong is much in Shakespeare's 
 manner 
 
 Act iv., Scene i. 
 
 P. 100. Scene I. Northampton. — The old copies have nothing indi- 
 cating the whereabout of this scene. Modern editors generally have 
 settled upon Northampton, though for no reason, apparently, but that 
 the course of the dialogue identifies that as the whereabout of the 
 opening scene. Here the course of the dialogue merely shows the 
 scene to be somewhere in England ; and perhaps Northampton may 
 answer as well for the whereabout here, as in the first Act. In fact, 
 however, Arthur, after falling into John's hands, was confined in the 
 
I58 KING JOHN. 
 
 castle of Falaise, and afterwards in that of Rouen, where he was put to 
 death. Perhaps I ought to add that Staunton and the Cambridge Edi- 
 tors assign " A Room in a Castle " as the place of Arthur's confinement, 
 without further specifying the whereabout ; to which I can see no 
 objection, except that Northampton was the ordinary place of the Court 
 in John's time ; but that is not much. 
 
 P. IOO. Heat ?ne these irons hot ; and look you stand 
 
 Within the arras. — The original reads "look thou stand." 
 But Hubert is addressing the two Attendants, and the occurrence of 
 you in the third line below shows that it should be you here. Cor- 
 rected by Rowe. 
 
 P. 101. I should be merry as the day is long. — In the original, "be 
 as merry as the day." The first as overfills the verse without helping 
 the sense. Pope's correction. 
 
 P. 103. And quench his fiery indignation 
 
 Even in the water of mine innocence. — The original has this 
 instead of his, and matter instead of water. The former correction is 
 very obvious, as we have many instances of his and this misprinted for 
 each other ; the latter is due to Mr. W. W. Williams, and is exceed- 
 ingly happy. 
 
 P. 103. But for containing fire to harm mine eyes. — Both here and 
 afterwards, in the line of Hubert's speech, " Well, see to live ; I will 
 not touch thine eyes," the original has eye, — errors easily corrected 
 from the context. 
 
 P. 104. There is no malice burning in this coal. — The old text reads 
 " no malice in this burning coal." As Arthur has just said " the fire 
 is dead," the transposition seems but just to the sense of the passage. 
 
 Act iv., Scene 2. 
 
 P. 107. And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear, 
 
 I shall endue you with. — Instead of when, the old text has 
 then. Corrected by Tyrvvhitt. 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. I 59 
 
 P. 107. Both for myself and them, but, chief of all, 
 Your safety, for the which myself and they 
 
 Bend their best studies. — The original reads "for the which 
 myself and them." Corrected by Pope. Walker notes, upon the pas- 
 sage, " Is it possible that Shakespeare should have written so ungram- 
 matically ? they, surely." 
 
 P. 108. If what in rest you have, in right yoti hold, 
 
 Why should your fears — "which, as they say, attend 
 The steps of wrong — then move you to mew up 
 Your lender kinsman. — So Pope and Collier's second folio. 
 In the old text, should and then change places with each other. 
 
 P. 109. Like heralds 'twixl two dreadful battles sent. — So Theobald. 
 The original has set for sent. As battles here means armies drawn up 
 in order of battle, I do not see how heralds can be said to be set 
 between them. That heralds should be sent to and fro between them, 
 for the purpose of arranging a composition, is intelligible enough. 
 
 P. III. Where is my mother's ear, 
 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of it? — This is commonly printed "my 
 mother's care" In the original eare has the first letter so blemished 
 as to be hardly distinguishable from a c. 
 
 P. III. Under whose conduct come those powers of France 
 
 That thou for truth givest out are landed here ? — The original 
 has came for come. Corrected by Hanmer. 
 
 P. 113. O, let me have no subjects enemies, &c. — So the second folio. 
 The first has subject instead of subjects. 
 
 P. 1 14. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 
 Make ill deeds done! Hadst thou not then been by, 
 This fnurder had not cotne into my mind. — The original reads 
 " Make deeds ill done ? Had'st not thou beene by." The first correc- 
 tion was proposed by Capell, and is made in Collier's second folio ; the 
 other is Lettsom's. Pope reads "for hadst not thou." 
 
l6o KING JOHN. 
 
 P. 115. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
 Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 
 Or bid ?ne tell my tale in express words. — So Pope and Collier's 
 second folio. The old text, "As bid me tell." 
 
 Act iv., Scene 3. 
 
 P. 117. Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love 
 
 Is much more general than these lines import. — Collier's sec- 
 ond folio reads " Whose private missive,'" and rightly, perhaps. 
 
 P. 118. We will not line his sin-bestainid cloak 
 
 With our pure honours. — So Collier's second folio. The old 
 copies have " his //h'«-bestained cloake." 
 
 P. 119. To the yet unbegotten sins of time. — The original reads 
 " sinne of times." Corrected by Pope. 
 
 P. 119. Till I have set a glory to this head, 
 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. — So Farmer and Collier's 
 second folio. The old text, " a glory to this hand." 
 
 P. 123. Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can 
 
 Hold out this tempest. — The original has center instead of cine- 
 ture. An obvious error, and hardly worth noting. 
 
 Act v., Scene i. 
 
 P. 1 23. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. [Giving him the crown.] Take't again 
 From this my hand. — The old text reads " Take again." The 
 correction is Lettsom's. Strange it should have been so long in 
 coming. 
 
 P. 125. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 
 And fright him there, and make him tremble there ? 
 0, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. l6l 
 
 To meet displeasure further from the doors. — Collier's second 
 folio substitutes Courage ! for Forage, and, I suspect, rightly ; as, at 
 the close of the scene, the same speaker says, " Away, then, with good 
 tourage ! " The old text seems indeed to be sustained by several quo- 
 tations showing that lion and forage were apt to be used together. So 
 in King Henry V., i. 2: " Smiling to behold his lion's whelp forage in 
 blood of French nobility." Also in Chapman's Revenge of Bussy 
 d'Ambois, ii. I : " And look how lions close kept, fed by hand, lose quite 
 th' innative fire of spirit and greatness that lions, free, breathe, foraging 
 for prey ; and grow so gross, that mastiffs, curs, and mongrels, have 
 spirit to cow them." Still I am not sure that the argument from these 
 passages will fairly cover the case in hand ; as it is the spirit of resist- 
 ance and defence, not of conquest, that Falconbridge is trying to kindle 
 in John. 
 
 P. 126. Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 
 Send fair-play offers, and make compromise ? — So Collier's 
 second folio. The original has " fayre-play-orders." 
 
 Act v., Scene 2. 
 
 P. 127. And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal and unurged faith 
 
 To your proceedings ; &c. — The old text reads " and an un- 
 urg'd faith." 
 
 P. 127. Should seek a plaster by condemn'd revolt. — The original has 
 contemn 'd ; upon which Heath notes as follows: "The epithet con- 
 temii'd hath no propriety here. We should certainly read condemned ; 
 that is, which the general voice of mankind condemns, and which 
 therefore Salisbury himself cannot help deploring." 
 
 P. 128. And grapple thee unto a pagan shore. — The old copies have 
 cripple. Corrected by Pope. 
 
 P. 128. O, what a noble combat hast thou, fought 
 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect. — In the first of these 
 lines, the original omits thou, which was supplied in the fourth folio. 
 
l62 KING JOHN. 
 
 P. 129. Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossipping. — The old copies 
 read "Full warm o/"blood." Corrected by Heath. 
 
 P. 1 30. Your breath first kindled the dead coals of -wax. — The oiiginal 
 has " coale of warres." The correction is CapelFs. 
 
 P. 132. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties. — Hereupon Walker 
 notes as follows : " The double ending in this play grates on my ear. 
 Read, surely, entreats ; the mistake was easy. The word is frequent." 
 And he cites examples of entreats, substantive, from various sources ; 
 also several examples of entreaties, where it is clearly an erratum for 
 entreats. Still the change seems inadmissible. 
 
 P. 132. This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troop 
 
 The King doth smile at; and is well prepared 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms. — Here the 
 original has, in the first line, "This un-heard sawcinesse and boyish 
 Troopes," and, in the third, " this Pigmy Armes." The first of these 
 corrections, unhair'd, was made by Theobald; the second, troop, was 
 conjectured independently by Capell, Lettsom, and Jervis. The third 
 error corrects itself. 
 
 P. 133. Even at the crowing of your nation's cock. — So Collier's 
 second folio. The old text, " Even at the crying of your Nations 
 crow.'" See foot-note 17. 
 
 P. 133. Their thimbles into armed gauntlets changed, 
 
 Their neelds to lances, &c. — Instead of changed and neelds, 
 the original has change and A r eedfs. The confounding of final e and 
 d is very frequent, as Walker abundantly shows. For neelds, see note 
 on " Is all the counsel that we two have shared," &c, vol. hi. page IOO. 
 
 Act v., Scene 4. 
 
 P. 136. Unthread the eye of rude rebellion, 
 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Seek out King John, and fall before his feet ; 
 For, *ythat France be lord of this loud day, 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 163 
 
 He means to recompense the pains you take 
 
 By cutting off your heads : thus hath he sworn, &c. — In the 
 first of these lines, the old tey*; reads " the rude eye 0/" Rebellion." But 
 rude should evidently be taken as an epithet of rebellion, not of eye. 
 Theobald's reading of the line is, " Untread the rude way of rebellion " • 
 which I am strongly moved to adopt. Collier's second folio reads 
 " Untread the road-way." Either of these might be supported by the 
 line in the last speech of the scene : " We will ««tread the steps of 
 damned flight." See, however, foot-note 3. — In the fourth line, again, 
 the original has " For if the French be Lords." The reading here given 
 was suggested by Walker, who notes upon the old text as follows : 
 " Palpably wrong. Did Shakespeare write ' if that France be lord,' 
 &c? or is a line lost? e. g., 
 
 Seek out King John, and fall before his feet ; 
 [Confide not in the plighted faith of Lewis " 
 For, if,' &c." 
 
 P. 138. For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
 
 Right in thine eye. — Right sounds rather odd here, though 
 common speech often uses it in much the same way, as in the phrases, 
 " He caught me right here," " I hit him right in the eye," &c. Collier's 
 second folio substitutes Bright : plausible, indeed ; but Dyce puts it 
 right out of court, on the authority of an " eminent physician," Dr. 
 Elliotson : " Mr. Collier tells us that Bright is to be understood ' in 
 reference to the remarkable brilliancy of the eyes of many persons just 
 before death ' : but if that lighting up of the eye ever occurs, it is only 
 when comparative tranquility precedes dissolution, — not during ' the 
 pangs of death ' ; and most assuredly it is never to be witnessed in 
 those persons who, like Melun, are dying of wounds — of exhaustion 
 from loss of blood, — in which case, the eye, immediately before death, 
 becomes glazed and lustreless." — Capell reads " Fight in thine eye "j 
 and the same occurred to me before I knew that any one had hit upon 
 it. I have hardly any doubt that so we ought to read ; for the image 
 or idea of death-pangs combating in the eye, and striving to quench 
 its native fire, is good sense and good poetry too. Perhaps I should 
 add, that Mr. A. E. Brae proposes, and Dr. Ingleby strongly approves, 
 the reading, " Riot in thine eye." This, besides that it makes the 
 verse begin with a Dactyl, — a rare thing in Shakespeare, — does not 
 
164 KING JOHN. 
 
 seem to me so good in itself as Capell's Fight. Dr. Schmidt explains 
 Right to mean "in a manner deserving the name"; which, to my 
 thinking, has much the effect of putting the old text out of court. 
 
 Act v., Scene 5. 
 
 P. 138. But stayed, and made the western welkin blush, 
 
 When th' English measured backward their own ground 
 In faint retire. — The original reads " When English measure 
 backward." Corrected by Rowe and Pope. 
 
 P. 138. And wound our tattering colours clearly up. — The original 
 has " And woon'd our lott'ring colours." But loitering, it appears, is 
 but an old spelling of tattering. See foot-note 1. — Much question 
 has been made about clearly here ; whether it be the right word, and, 
 if so, in what sense it is to be taken, neatly or entirely. Capell pro- 
 posed cheerly, and Collier's second folio substitutes closely. The Cam- 
 bridge Editors propose cleanly in the sense of neatly, and as rightly 
 antithetical to tattering. 
 
 Act v., Scene 6. 
 
 P. 139. Hub. What's that to thee? 
 
 Bast. Why may not I demand 
 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 
 
 Hubert, I think. — The original prints all this as Hubert's 
 speech, except " Hubert, I think," to which it prefixes " Bast." The 
 arrangement in the text is Dyce's, who notes upon it as follows : 
 " Here I adopt, as absolutely necessary, a portion of the new distri- 
 bution of the speeches at the commencement of this scene which was 
 recommended to me by Mr. W. W. Lloyd." 
 
 P. 140. Unkind remembrafice ! thou and eyeless night 
 
 Have done me shame. — So Theobald and Collier's second folio 
 The original, "thou and endles night." See foot-note 4. 
 
CRITICAL NOTES. 165 
 
 Act v., Scene 7. 
 
 P. 142. Death, having prey 'd upon the outward parts, 
 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 
 Against the mind. — The original has invisible for insensible. 
 Corrected by Hanmer. The original also has winde for mind; an 
 error that corrects itself. 
 
 P. 142. / am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. — For cygnet the 
 old text has Symet. Corrected by Rowe. 
 
 P. 145. / have a kind soul that would give you thanks. — The old 
 copies omit you, which is necessary alike to sense and metre. 
 
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