Salisbury

Salisbury
Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned!
How wert thou handled, being prisoner?
Or by what means gott’st thou to be released?
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret’s top.
Talbot
The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner
Called the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him was I exchanged and ransomèd.
But with a baser man-of-arms by far
Once in contempt they would have bartered me,
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Salisbury
Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.
The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.
Welsh Captain
’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.

Ah, Richard! With the eyes of heavy mind
I see thy glory like a shooting star
Fall to the base earth from the firmament

The bay trees in our country are all withered,
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Constance, to Salisbury
Gone to be married? Gone to swear a peace?
False blood to false blood joined? Gone to be friends?
Shall Louis have Blanche and Blanche 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.
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Constance
If thou that bidd’st me be content wert grim,
Ugly, and sland’rous to thy mother’s womb,
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patched with foul moles and eye-offending marks,
I would not care; I then would be content,
For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth,
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King Richard
Discomfortable cousin, know’st thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage boldly here?

O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men.
Today,
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King John
Here once again we sit, once again crowned
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
Pembroke
This “once again,” but that your Highness pleased,
Was once superfluous. You were crowned before,
And that high royalty was ne’er plucked off,
The faiths of men ne’er stainèd with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land
With any longed-for change or better state.
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Therefore, to be possessed with double pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refinèd 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.
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Salisbury
The color of the King doth come and go
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds ‘twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
Pembroke
And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child’s death.
King John,
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King 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?
Salisbury
It is apparent foul play, and ’tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it.
So thrive it in your game, and so farewell.
Pembroke
Stay yet,
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Pembroke
O Death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
The Earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Salisbury
Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.
Bigot
Or when he doomed this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
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