Dauphin

Dauphin
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?
King John
My life as soon! I do defy thee, France.—
Arthur of Brittany, 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.
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Dauphin
My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe,
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
Though war nor no known quarrel were in question
But that defenses, musters, preparations
Should be maintained, assembled, and collected
As were a war in expectation.

For, my good liege,
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Messenger
Ambassadors from Harry King of England
Do crave admittance to your Majesty.
King of France
We’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.
 Messenger exits.
You see this chase is hotly followed, friends.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting

Dauphin
Turn head and stop pursuit,
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Blanche, rising
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,
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Dauphin
There’s nothing in this world can make me joy.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
And bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet world’s taste,
That it yields naught but shame and bitterness.
Pandulph
Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
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King of France
’Tis certain he hath passed the river Somme.
Constable
An if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France. Let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
Dauphin
Ô Dieu vivant, shall a few sprays of us,
The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,
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Grandpré
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favoredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.

Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless,
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Dauphin, handing a paper to Melun
My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance.
Return the precedent to these lords again,
That having our fair order written down,
Both they and we, perusing o’er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the Sacrament,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
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Pandulph
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 threat’ning colors now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war
That, like a lion fostered up at hand,
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Pandulph
The Dauphin is too willful-opposite
And will not temporize with my entreaties.
He flatly says he’ll not lay down his arms.
Bastard
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.
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