King John, this is the very sum of all

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.
Submit thee, boy.
Queen Eleanor
Come to thy grandam, child.
Constance
Do, child, go to it grandam, child.
Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.
There's a good grandam.
Arthur, weeping
Good my mother, peace.
I would that I were low laid in my grave.
I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
Queen Eleanor
His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
Constance
Now shame upon you whe'er she does or no!
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee.
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed
To do him justice and revenge on you.
Queen Eleanor
Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and Earth!
Constance
Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and Earth,
Call not me slanderer. Thou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights
Of this oppressèd boy. This is thy eldest son's son,
Infortunate in nothing but in thee.
Thy sins are visited in this poor child.
The canon of the law is laid on him,
Being but the second generation
Removèd from thy sin-conceiving womb.
King John
Bedlam, have done.
Constance
I have but this to say,
That he is not only plaguèd for her sin,
But God hath made her sin and her the plague
On this removèd issue, plagued for her,
And with her plague; her sin his injury,
Her injury the beadle to her sin,
All punished in the person of this child
And all for her. A plague upon her!
Queen Eleanor
Thou unadvisèd scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son.
Constance
Ay, who doubts that? A will—a wicked will,
A woman's will, a cankered grandam's will.
King Philip
Peace, lady. Pause, or be more temperate.
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim
To these ill-tunèd repetitions.—
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers. Let us hear them speak
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
Trumpet sounds.
Enter Citizens upon the walls