King John

King John
Now say, Chatillion, what would France with us?
Chatillion
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
In my behavior to the majesty,

The borrowed majesty, of England here.
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Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay.

King John
What is thy name?
Bastard
Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
Philip, good old Sir Robert’s wife’s eldest son.
King John
From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest.
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great.

Philip kneels. King John dubs him a knight,
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Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
“Good den, Sir Richard!” “God-a-mercy, fellow!”
An if his name be George, I’ll call him “Peter,”
For new-made honor doth forget men’s names;
‘Tis too respective and too sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveler,
He and his toothpick at my Worship’s mess,
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
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Lady Faulconbridge
Hast thou conspirèd with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honor?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
Bastard
Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.
What, I am dubbed! I have it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert’s son.
I have disclaimed Sir Robert and my land.
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Austria, to Arthur
Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss
As seal to this indenture of my love:
That to my home I will no more return
Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean’s roaring tides
And coops from other lands her islanders,
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Chatillion
Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stayed, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I.
His marches are expedient to this town,
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King John
Peace be to France, if France in peace permit
Our just and lineal entrance to our own.
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,
Whiles we, God’s wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heaven.
King Philip
Peace be to England, if that war return
From France to England,
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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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Citizen
Who is it that hath warned us to the walls?
King Philip
‘Tis France, for England.
King John
England, for itself.
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects—
King Philip
You loving men of Angiers, Arthur’s subjects,
Our trumpet called you to this gentle parle—
King John
For our advantage.
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French Herald
You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
And let young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in,
Who by the hand of France this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.
Many a widow’s husband groveling lies
Coldly embracing the discolored earth,
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