That John may stand, then Arthur needs must | Methinks nobody should be sad but I: fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Lew. 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.
Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this
old world!
John lays you plots; the times conspire with
you;
For he, that steeps his safety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That none so small advantage shall step forth,
To check his reign, but they will cherish it:
No natural exhalation in the sky,
No scape of nature, no distemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's
life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your ap-
proach,
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 change;
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot;
And, O, what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulcon-
bridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity: If the a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. 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.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions; Let
us go;
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no.
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Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that 1 was Geffrey's son
No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven,
were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore, I will be sudden, and despatch.
[Aside. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, 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. His words do take possession of my bo-
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.]
How now, foolish rheum! [Aside.
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair 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.
Hub.
And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it mej
And I did never ask it yon again:
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time:
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your
grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning; Do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd 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 u?
I have sworn to do it;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
A Room in the Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would
Enter Hubert and two Attendants.
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my
Hub. Heat me these irons hot: and look thou And quench his fiery indignation
Within the arras: 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.
1 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 prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth.
Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd
An if an angel should have come to me,
I would not have believ'd him; no tongue, but
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth.
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous] And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. rough? Pem. This once again, but that your highness
I will not struggle, I will stand stone still.
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, bear 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 pleas'd to be from such a
deed.
[Exeunt Attendants.
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 wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous
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,
Was once superfluous: you were crown'd be
fore,
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 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.
Pem. 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:
Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
Pem. When workmen strive to do better thar,
well,
Hu-They do confound their skill in covetousness:
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
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.
Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd
In undeserved extremes: See else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it
blush,
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hu-I shall indue you with: Mean time, but ask
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 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, extends,
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, 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 in with me;
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The same. A Room of State in the Palace. Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lords. The King takes his
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
What you would have reform'd, that is not well;
And well shall you perceive, how willingly
1 will both hear and grant you your requests.
Pem. Then I, (as one that ain the tongue of
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,)
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all,
Your safety, for the which my self and them
Bend their best studies,) heartily request
The 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,
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong,) should 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, let it be our suit,
That you have bid us ask his liberty;
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
Enter Hubert.
To your direction.-Hubert, what news with
you?
Pem 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 of his
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,
Like heralds twixt two dreadful battles set:
Afis passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
Pem. And when it breaks, I fear, will issue
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 deceas'd to-night.
Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past
Pem. Indeed, we heard how near his death he
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 foul-play; and 'tis shame,
That greatness should so grossly offer it:
So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.
Pem. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; I'll go with
thee,
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this
Three foot of it doth hold; Bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne: this will break
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 pleas'd My discontented peers!-What! mother dead? How wildly then walks my estate in France !Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here? Mess. Under the Dauphin.
Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
K. John.
Thou hast made me giddy
With these ill tidings.-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
amaz'd
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.
But, as I travelled hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied;
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams;
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
And here's a prophet, that I brought with me
With many hundreds treading on his heels;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding
That ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
rhymes,
Your highness should deliver up your crown.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst
thou so ?
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall
K. John. Hubert, away with him; imprison
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says,
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd:
For I must use thee.-O, my gentle cousin,
Deliver him to safety, and return,
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? [Erit Hubert with Peter. Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths are
Besides, I met Lord Bigot, and Lord Salisbury,
And others more, going to seek the grave
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
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.
Bast.
K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
O, let me have no subject enemies,
With dreadful pomp of stout 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
[Exit.
K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentle
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need
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 scen 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
I saw a smith stand with his hammer thus,
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 mighty
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Hub. Had none, 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 advis'd respect.
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,
Makes deeds ill done! Hadest thou not been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, 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 villany,
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,
And 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
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
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,
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 reigns
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 murd'rous 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.
Throw this report on their incens'd 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 thee more hideous than thou art.
0, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient haste;
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.
[Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. Before the Castle. Enter Arthur, on the Walls.
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 disguis'd me
quite.
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
If I get down, and do not break my limbe,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die, and go, as die, and stay.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.
Enter 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.
Pem. Who brought that letter from the car
dinal ?
Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France; Whose private 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 we meet. Enter the Bastard.
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
The king, by me, requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin 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
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief: Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, inpatience hath its privilege. Bast. 'Tis true: to hurt his master, no man else.
Sal. This is the prison: What he lies here? [Seeing Arthur. Pem. 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 donc,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.
Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a
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,
K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.
Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in this:
And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet unbegotten sin of times,
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 7-
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 hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
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Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black;
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,
If thou didst but consen
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
Pem. Big Our souls religiously confirm thy A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown words.
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.
Must I rob the law 7 [Drawing his sword. Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath 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;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a no-
bleman?
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;
Yet I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks
false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pem Cut him to pieces.
Bast.
Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
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 Faulcon-
bridge?
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 lov'd 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 villany 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
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house,
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
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 amaz'd, 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, and to part by the teeth
The unowed 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 confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold ont 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.
SCENE I. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown, and Attendants.
K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Pand.
Take again [Giving John the Crown. From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority. 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 inflam'd.
Our discontented counties 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 only to be qualified.
Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
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