ARKCODEX
Act IV, Scene 5
1The same. The French camp.
2Enter King John and Charles.
3King JohnA sudden darkness hath defac’d the sky,
The winds are crept into their caves for fear,
The leaves move not, the world is hush’d and still,
The birds cease singing, and the wand’ring brooks
Murmur no wonted greeting to their shores;
Silence attends some wonder and expecteth
That heaven should pronounce some prophecy:
Where or from whom proceeds this silence, Charles?
4CharlesOur men with open mouths and staring eyes
Look on each other, as they did attend
Each other’s words, and yet no creature speaks;
A tongue-tied fear hath made a midnight hour
And speeches sleep through all the waking regions.
5King JohnBut now the pompous sun, in all his pride,
Look’d through his golden coach upon the world,
And on a sudden, hath he hid himself;
That now the under earth is as a grave,
Dark, deadly, silent, and uncomfortable. A clamour of ravens heard.
Hark! what a deadly outery do I hear!
6CharlesHere comes my brother Philip.
7King JohnAll dismayed:—
8Enter Philip.
9What fearful words are those thy looks presage?
10PhilipA flight, a flight!
11King JohnCoward, what flight? thou liest, there needs no flight.
12PhilipA flight!
13King JohnAwake thy craven powers, and tell on
The substance of that very fear indeed,
Which is so ghastly printed in thy face:
What is the matter?
14PhilipA flight of ugly ravens
Do croak and hover o’er our soldiers’ heads,
And keep in triangles and corner’d squares
Right as our forces are embattled;
With their approach there came this sudden fog
Which now hath hid the airy floor of heaven
And made at noon a night unnatural
Upon the quaking and dismayed world:
In brief, our soldiers have let fall their arms
And stand like metamorphos’d images,
Bloodless and pale, one gazing on another.
15King JohnAy, now I call to mind the prophesy;
But I must give no entrance to a fear.—
Return, and hearten up these yielding souls;
Tell them, the ravens, seeing them in arms—
So many fair against a famished few—
Come but to dine upon their handiwork
And prey upon the carrion that they kill:
For when we see a horse laid down to die,
Although he be9 not dead, the ravenous birds
Sit watching the departure of his life;
Even so these ravens, for the carcases
Of those poor English that are mark’d to die,
Hover about, and, if they cry to us,
’Tis but for meat that we must kill for them.
Away, and comfort up my soldiers,
And sound the trumpets; and at once dispatch
This little business of a silly fraud. Exit Philip.
16Noise within. Enter a French Captain, with Salisbury, prisoner.
17CaptainBehold, my liege, this knight and forty mo—
Of whom the better part are slain and fled—
With all endeavour sought to break our ranks,
And make their way to the encompass’d prince;
Dispose of him as please your majesty.
18King JohnGo, and the next bough, soldier, that thou seest,
Disgrace it with his body presently:
For I do hold a tree in France too good
To be the gallows of an English thief.
19SalisburyMy Lord of Normandy, I have your pass
And warrant for my safety through this land.
20CharlesVilliers procur’d it for thee, did he not?
21SalisburyHe did.
22CharlesAnd it is current, thou shalt freely pass.
23King JohnAy, freely to the gallows to be hang’d,
Without denial or impediment:—
Away with him.
24CharlesI hope, your highness will not so disgrace me
And dash the virtue of my seal-at-arms:
He hath my never-broken name to show,
Character’d with this princely hand of mine;
And rather let me leave to be a prince
Than break the stable verdict of a prince:
I do beseech you, let him pass in quiet.
25King JohnThou and thy word lie both in my command;
What canst thou promise, that I cannot break?
Which of these twain is greater infamy,
To disobey thy father, or thyself?
Thy word, nor no man’s, may exceed his power;
Nor that same man doth never break his word
That keeps it to the utmost of his power:
The breach of faith dwells in the soul’s consent:
Which if thyself without consent do break,
Thou art not charged with the breach of faith.—
Go, hang him; for thy license lies in me:
And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.
26CharlesWhat, am I not a soldier in my word?
Then, arms adieu, and let them fight that list:
Shall I not give my girdle from my waste
But with a guardian I shall be controll’d,
To say, I may not give my things away?
Upon my soul, had Edward Prince of Wales
Engag’d his word, writ down his noble hand,
For all your knights to pass his father’s land,
The royal king, to grace his warlike son,
Would not alone safe-conduct give to them,
But with all bounty feasted them and theirs.
27King JohnDwell’st thou on precedents? Then be it so.—
Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.
28SalisburyAn Earl in England though a prisoner here;
And those that know me call me Salisbury.
29King JohnThen, Salisbury, say whether thou art bound.
30SalisburyTo Calice, where my liege, king Edward, is.
31King JohnTo Calice, Salisbury? Then to Calice pack;
And bid the king prepare a noble grave
To put his princely son, black Edward, in.
And as thou travell’st westward from this place,
Some two leagues hence there is a lofty hill,
Whose top seems topless, for the embracing sky
Doth hide his high head in her azure bosom;
Upon whose tall top when thy foot attains,
Look back upon the humble vale beneath,
(Humble of late, but now made proud with arms)
And thence behold the wretched Prince of Wales,
Hoop’d with a bond of iron round about.
After which sight to Calice spur amain,
And say, the prince was smother’d and not slain:
And tell the king, this is not all his ill,
For I will greet him ere he thinks I will.
Away, begone; the smoke but of our shot
Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not. Exeunt.