first kindled the dead coal of wars
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
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this
enterprise into my heart;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is
that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
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?
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, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.
You look but on the outside of this work.
Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest and to
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?
Enter the BASTARD, attended
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
warrant limited unto my tongue.
The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he'll not lay
down his arms.
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:
This apish and unmannerly approach,
harness'd masque and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
The king doth smile
at; and is well prepared
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
hand which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,
To dive like
buckets in concealed wells,
To crouch in litter of your stable planks,
To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests
To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;
Shall that victorious hand be
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
like an eagle o'er his aery 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;
your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
Their thimbles into
armed gauntlets change,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
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