Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Life and Death of King John/Act 1 Scene 2
Scæna Secunda.
Enter before Angiers, Philip King of France, Lewis, Daulphin, Austria, Constance, Arthur.
Lewis. Before Angiers well met braue Austria,Arthur that great fore-runner of thy bloud,Richard that rob'd the Lion of his heart,And fought the holy Warres in Palestine,By this braue Duke came early to his graue:And for amends to his posteritie,At our importance hether is he come,To spread his colours boy, in thy behalfe,And to rebuke the vsurpationOf thy vnnaturall Vncle, English Iohn,Embrace him, loue him, giue him welcome hether.
Arth. God shall forgiue you Cordelions deathThe rather, that you giue his off-spring life,Shadowing their right vnder your wings of warre:I giue you welcome with a powerlesse hand,But with a heart full of vnstained loue,Welcome before the gates Angiers Duke.
Lewis. A noble boy, who would not doe thee right?
Aust. Vpon thy cheeke lay I this zelous kisse,As seale to this indenture of my loue:That to my home I will no more returneTill Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,Whose foot spurnes backe the Oceans roaring tides,And coopes from other lands her Ilanders,Euen till that England hedg'd in with the maine,That Water-walled Bulwarke, still secureAnd confident from forreine purposes,Euen till that vtmost corner of the WestSalute thee for her King, till then faire boyWill I not thinke of home, but follow Armes.
Const. O take his mothers thanks, a widdows thanks,Till your strong hand shall helpe to giue him strength,To make a more requitall to your loue.
Aust. The peace of heauen is theirs yt lift their swordsIn such a iust and charitable warre.
King. Well, then to worke our Cannon shall be bentAgainst the browes of this resisting towne,Call for our cheefest men of discipline,To cull the plots of best aduantages:Wee'll lay before this towne our Royal bones,Wade to the market-place in French-mens bloud,But we will make it subiect to this boy.
Con. Stay for an answer to your Embassie,Lest vnaduis'd you staine your swords with bloud,My Lord Chattilion may from England bringThat right in peace which heere we vrge in warre,And then we shall repent each drop of bloud,That hot rash haste so indirectly shedde.
Enter Chattilion.
King. A wonder Lady: lo vpon thy wishOur Messenger Chattilion is arriu'd,What England saies, say breefely gentle Lord,We coldly pause for thee, Chatilion speake,
Chat. Then turne your forces from this paltry siege,And stirre them vp against a mightier taske:England impatient of your iust demands,Hath put himselfe in Armes, the aduerse windes Whose leisure I haue staid, haue giuen him timeTo land his Legions all as soone as I:His marches are expedient to this towne,His forces strong, his Souldiers confident:With him along is come the Mother Queene,An Ace stirring him to bloud and strife,With her her Neece, the Lady Blanch of Spaine,With them a Bastard of the Kings deceast,And all th' vnsetled humors of the Land,Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,With Ladies faces, and fierce Dragons spleenes,Haue sold their fortunes at their natiue homes,Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs,To make a hazard of new fortunes heere:In briefe, a brauer choyse of dauntlesse spiritsThen now the English bottomes haue waft o're,Did neuer flote vpon the swelling tide,To doe offence and scathe in Christendome:The interruption of their churlish drumsCuts off more circumstance, they are at hand,Drum beats. To parlie or to fight, therefore prepare.
Kin. How much vnlook'd for, is this expedition.
Aust. By how much vnexpected, by so muchWe must awake indeuor for defence,For courage mounteth with occasion,Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd.
Enter K. of England, Bastard, Queene, Blanch, Pembroke, and others.
K.Iohn. Peace be to France: If France in peace permitOur iust and lineall entrance to our owne;If not, bleede France, and peace ascend to heauen.Whiles we Gods wrathfull agent doe correctTheir proud contempt that beats his peace to heauen.
Fran. Peace be to England, if that warre returneFrom France to England, there to liue in peace:England we loue, and for that Englands sake,With burden of our armor heere we sweat:This toyle of ours should be a worke of thine;But thou from louing England art so farre,That thou hast vnder-wrought his lawfull King,Cut off the sequence of posterity,Out-faced Infant State, and done a rapeVpon the maiden vertue of the Crowne:Looke heere vpon thy brother Geffreyes face,These eyes, these browes, were moulded out of his;This little abstract doth containe that large,Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time,Shall draw this breefe into as huge a volume:That Geffrey was thy elder brother borne,And this his sonne, England was Geffreys right,And this is Geffreyes in the name of God:How comes it then that thou art call'd a King,When liuing blood doth in these temples beatWhich owe the crowne, that thou ore-masterest?
K.Iohn. From whom hast thou this great commission France,To draw my answer from thy Articles?
Fra. Fro that supernal Iudge that stirs good thoughtsIn any breast of strong authoritie,To looke into the blots and staines of right,That Iudge hath made me guardian to this boy,Vnder whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,And by whose helpe I meane to chastise it.
K.Iohn. Alack thou dost vsurpe authoritie.
Fran. Excuse it is to beat vsurping downe.
Queen. Who is it thou dost call vsurper France?
Const. Let me make answer: thy vsurping sonne.
Queen. Out insolent, thy bastard shall be King,That thou maist be a Queen, and checke the world.
Con. My bed was euer to thy sonne as trueAs thine was to thy husband, and this boyLiker in feature to his father GeffreyThen thou and Iohn, in manners being as like,As raine to water, or deuill to his damme;My boy a bastard? by my soule I thinkeHis father neuer was so true begot,It cannot be, and if thou wert his mother.
Queen. Theres a good mother boy, that blots thy father
Const. There's a good grandame boyThat would blot thee.
Aust. Peace.
Bast. Heare the Cryer.
Aust. What the deuill art thou?
Bast. One that wil play the deuill sir with you,And a may catch your hide and you alone:You are the Hare of whom the Prouerb goesWhose valour plucks dead Lyons by the beard;Ile smoake your skin-coat and I catch you right,Sirra looke too't, yfaith I will, yfaith.
Blan. O well did he become that Lyons robe,That did disrobe the Lion of that robe.
Bast. It lies as sightly on the backe of himAs great Alcides shooes vpon an Asse:But Asse, Ile take that burthen from your backe,Or lay on that shall make your shoulders cracke.
Aust. What cracker is this same that deafes our earesWith this abundance of superfluous breath?King Lewis, determine what we shall doe strait.
Lew. Women & fooles, breake off your conference.King Iohn, this is the very summe of all:England and Ireland, Angiers, Toraine, Maine,In right of Arthur doe I claime of thee:Wilt thou resigne them, and lay downe thy Armes?
Iohn. My life as soone: I doe defie thee France,Arthur of Britaine, yeeld thee to my hand,And out of my deere loue Ile giue thee more,Then ere the coward hand of France can win;Submit thee boy.
Queen. Come to thy grandame child.
Cons. Doe childe, goe to yt grandame childe,Giue grandame kingdome, and it grandame willGiue yt a plum, a cherry, and a figge,There's a good grandame.
Arthur. Good my mother peace,I would that I were low laid in my graue,I am not worth this coyle that's made for me.
Qu.Mo. His mother shames him so, poore boy hee weepes.
Con. Now shame vpon you where she does or no,His grandames wrongs, and not his mothers shamesDrawes those heauen-mouing pearles frõ his poor eies,Which heauen shall take in nature of a fee:I, with these Christall beads heauen shall be brib'dTo doe him Iustice, and reuenge on you.
Qu. Thou monstrous slanderer of heauen and earth.
Con. Thou monstrous Iniurer of heauen and earth,Call not me slanderer, thou and thine vsurpeThe Dominations, Royalties, and rightsOf this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest sonnes sonne,Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sinnes are visited in this poore childe,The Canon of the Law is laide on him,Being but the second generationRemoued from thy sinne-conceiuing wombe.
Iohn. Bedlam haue done.
Con. I haue but this to say,That he is not onely plagued for her sin,But God hath made her sinne and her, the plagueOn this remoued issue, plagued for her,And with her plague her sinne: his iniuryHer iniurie the Beadle to her sinne,All punish'd in the person of this childe,And all for her, a plague vpon her.
Que. Thou vnaduised scold, I can produceA Will, that barres the title of thy sonne.
Con. I who doubts that, a Will: a wicked will,A womans will, a cankred Grandams will.
Fra. Peace Lady, pause, or be more temperate,It ill beseemes this presence to cry aymeTo these ill-tuned repetitions:Some Trumpet summon hither to the wallesThese men of Angiers, let vs heare them speake,Whose title they admit, Arthurs or Iohns.
Trumpet sounds.Enter a Citizen vpon the walles.
Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd vs to the walles?
Fra. 'Tis France, for England.
Iohn. England for it selfe:You men of Angiers, and my louing subiects.
Fra. You louing men of Angiers, Arthurs subiects,Our Trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.
Iohn. For our aduantage, therefore heare vs first:These flagges of France that are aduanced heereBefore the eye and prospect of your Towne,Haue hither march'd to your endamagement.The Canons haue their bowels full of wrath,And ready mounted are they to spit forthTheir Iron indignation 'gainst your walles:All preparation for a bloody siedgeAnd merciles proceeding, by these French.Comfort your Citties eies, your winking gates:And but for our approch, those sleeping stones,That as a waste doth girdle you aboutBy the compulsion of their Ordinance,By this time from their fixed beds of limeHad bin dishabited, and wide hauocke madeFor bloody power to rush vppon your peace.But on the sight of vs your lawfull King,Who painefully with much expedient marchHaue brought a counter-checke before your gates,To saue vnscratch'd your Citties threatned cheekes:Behold the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle,And now insteed of bulletts wrapt in fireTo make a shaking feuer in your walles,They shoote but calme words, folded vp in smoake,To make a faithlesse errour in your eares,Which trust accordingly kinde Cittizens,And let vs in. Your King, whose labour'd spiritsFore-wearied in this action of swift speede,Craues harbourage within your Citie walles.
France. When I haue saide, make answer to vs both.Loe in this right hand, whose protectionIs most diuinely vow'd vpon the rightOf him it holds, stands yong Plantagenet,Sonne to the elder brother of this man,And King ore him, and all that he enioyes:For this downe-troden equity, we treadIn warlike march, these greenes before your Towne,Being no further enemy to youThen the constraint of hospitable zeale,In the releefe of this oppressed childe,Religiously prouokEs. Be pleased thenTo pay that dutie which you truly owe,To him that owes it, namely, this yong Prince,And then our Armes, like to a muzled Beare,Saue in aspect, hath all offence seal'd vp:Our Cannons malice vainly shall be spentAgainst th' involnerable clouds of heauen,And with a blessed and vn-vext retyre,With vnhack'd swords, and Helmets all vnbruis'd,We will beare home that lustie blood againe,Which heere we came to spout against your Towne,And leaue your children, wiues, and you in peace.But if you fondly passe our proffer'd offer,'Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walles,Can hide you from our messengers of Warre,Though all these English, and their disciplineWere harbour'd in their rude circumference:Then tell vs, Shall your Citie call vs Lord,In that behalfe which we haue challeng'd it?Or shall we giue the signall to our rage,And stalke in blood to our possession?
Cit. In breefe, we are the King of Englands subiectsFor him, and in his right, we hold this Towne.
Iohn. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.
Cit. That can we not: but he that proues the KingTo him will we proue loyall, till that timeHaue we ramm'd vp our gates against the world.
Iohn. Doth not the Crowne of England, prooue the King?And if not that, I bring you WitnessesTwice fifteene thousand hearts of Englands breed.
Bast. Bastards and else.
Iohn. To verifie our title with their liues.
Fran. As many and as well-borne bloods as those.
Bast. Some Bastards too.
Fran. Stand in his face to contradict his claime.
Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,We for the worthiest hold the right from both.
Iohn. Then God forgiue the sinne of all those soules,That to their euerlasting residence,Before the dew of euening fall, shall fleeteIn dreadfull triall of our kingdomes King.
Fran. Amen, Amen, mount Cheualiers to Armes.
Bast. Saint George that swindg'd the Dragon,And ere since sit's on's horsebacke at mine Hostesse doreTeach vs some sence. Sirrah, were I at homeAt your den sirrah, with your Lionnesse,I would set an Oxe-head to your Lyons hide:And make a monster of you.
Aust. Peace, no more.
Bast. O tremble: for you heare the Lyon rore.
Iohn. Vp higher to the plaine, where we'l set forthIn best appointment all our Regiments.
Bast. Speed then to take aduantage of the field.
Fra. It shall be so, and at the other hillExeunt.Command the rest to stand, God and our right.
Heere after excursions, Enter the Herald of Francewith Trumpets to the gates.
F.Her. You men of Angiers open wide your gates,And let yong Arthur Duke of Britaine in, Who by the hand of France, this day hath madeMuch worke for teares in many an English mother,Whose sonnes lye scattered on the bleeding ground:Many a widdowes husband groueling lies,Coldly embracing the discoloured earth,And victorie with little losse doth playVpon the dancing banners of the French,Who are at hand triumphantly displayedTo enter Conquerors, and to proclaimeArthur of Britaine, Englands King, and yours.
Enter English Herald with Trumpet.
E.Har. Reioyce you men of Angiers, ring your bels,King Iohn, your king and Englands, doth approach,Commander of this hot malicious day,Their Armours that march'd hence so siluer bright,Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood:There stucke no plume in any English Crest,That is remoued by a staffe of France.Our colours do returne in those same handsThat did display them when we first marcht forth:And like a iolly troope of Huntsmen comeOur lustie English, all with purpled hands,Dide in the dying slaughter of their foes,Open your gates, and giue the Victors way.
Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might beholdFrom first to last, the on-set and retyre:Of both your Armies, whose equalityBy our best eyes cannot be censured:Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue answerd blowes:Strength matcht with strength, and power confronted power,Both are alike, and both alike we like:One must proue greatest. While they weigh so euen,We hold our Towne for neither: yet for both.
Enter the two Kings with their powers,at seuerall doores.
Iohn. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?Say, shall the currant of our right rome on,Whose passage vext with thy impediment,Shall leaue his natiue channell, and ore-swellWith course disturb'd euen thy confining shores,Vnlesse thou let his siluer Water, keepeA peacefull progresse to the Ocean.
Fra. England thou hast not sau'd one drop of bloodIn this hot triall more then we of France,Rather lost more. And by this hand I sweareThat swayes the earth this Climate ouer-lookes,Before we will lay downe our iust-borne Armes,Wee'l put thee downe, 'gainst whom these Armes wee beare,Or adde a royall number to the dead:Gracing the scroule that tels of this warres losse,With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
Bast. Ha Maiesty: how high thy glory towres,When the rich blood of kings is set on fire:Oh now doth death line his dead chaps with steele,The swords of souldiers are his teeth, his phangs,And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of menIn vndetermin'd differences of kings.Why stand these royall fronts amazed thus:Cry hauocke kings, backe to the stained fieldYou equall Potents, fierie kindled spirits,Then let confusion of one part confirmThe others peace: till then, blowes, blood, and death.
Iohn. Whose party do the Townesmen yet admit?
Fra. Speake Citizens for England, whose your king.
Hub. The king of England, when we know the king.
Fra. Know him in vs, that heere hold vp his right.
Iohn. In Vs, that are our owne great Deputie,And beare possession of our Person heere,Lord of our presence Angiers, and of you.
Fra. A greater powre then We denies all this,And till it be vndoubted, we do lockeOur former scruple in our strong barr'd gates:Kings of our feare, vntill our feares resolu'dBe by some certaine king, purg'd and depos'd.
Bast. By heauen, these scroyles of Angiers flout you kings,And stand securely on their battelments,As in a Theater, whence they gape and pointAt your industrious Scenes and acts of death.Your Royall presences be rul'd by mee,Do like the Mutines of Ierusalem,Be friends a-while, and both conioyntly bendYour sharpest Deeds of malice on this Towne.By East and West let France and England mount.Their battering Canon charged to the mouthes,Till their soule-fearing clamours haue braul'd downeThe flintie ribbes of this contemptuous Citie,I'de play incessantly vpon these Iades,Euen till vnfenced desolationLeaue them as naked as the vulgar ayre:That done, disseuer your vnited strengths,And part your mingled colours once againe,Turne face to face, and bloody point to point:Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forthOut of one side her happy Minion,To whom in fauour she shall giue the day,And kisse him with a glorious victory:How like you this wilde counsell mighty States,Smackes it not something of the policie.
Iohn. Now by the sky that hangs aboue our heads,I like it well. France, shall we knit our powres,And lay this Angiers euen with the ground,Then after fight who shall be king of it?
Bast. And if thou hast the mettle of a king,Being wrong'd as we are by this peeuish Towne:Turne thou the mouth of thy Artillerie,As we will ours, against these sawcie walles,And when that we haue dash'd them to the ground,Why then defie each other, and pell-mell,Make worke vpon our selues, for heauen or hell.
Fra. Let it be so: say, where will you assault?
Iohn. We from the West will send destructionInto this Cities bosome.
Aust. I from the North.
Fran. Our Thunder from the South,Shall raine their drift of bullets on this Towne.
Bast. O prudent discipline! From North to South:Austria and France shoot in each others mouth.Ile stirre them to it: Come, away, away.
Hub. Heare vs great kings, vouchsafe awhile to stayAnd I shall shew you peace, and faire-fac'd league:Win you this Citie without stroke, or wound,Rescue those breathing liues to dye in beds,That heere come sacrifices for the field.Perseuer not, but heare me mighty kings.
Iohn. Speake on with fauour, we are bent to heare.
Hub. That daughter there of Spaine, the Lady BlanchIs neere to England, looke vpon the yeeresOf Lewes the Dolphin, and that louely maid.If lustie loue should go in quest of beautie, Where should he finde it fairer, then in Blanch:If zealous loue should go in search of vertue,Where should he finde it purer then in Blanch?If loue ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veines bound richer blood then Lady Blanch?Such as she is, in beautie, vertue, birth,Is the yong Dolphin euery way compleat,If not compleat of, say he is not shee,And she againe wants nothing, to name want,If want it be not, that she is not hee.He is the halfe part of a blessed man,Left to be finished by such as shee,And she a faire diuided excellence,Whose fulnesse of perfection lyes in him.O two such siluer currents when they ioyneDo glorifie the bankes that bound them in:And two such shores, to two such streames made one,Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,To these two Princes, if you marrie them:This Vnion shall do more then batterie canTo our fast closed gates: for at this match,With swifter spleene then powder can enforceThe mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,And giue you entrance: but without this match,The sea enraged is not halfe so deafe,Lyons more confident, Mountaines and rockesMore free from motion, no not death himselfeIn mortall furie halfe so peremptorie,As we to keepe this Citie.
Bast. Heeres a stay,That shakes the rotten carkasse of old deathOut of his ragges. Here's a large mouth indeede,That spits forth death, and mountaines, rockes, and seas,Talkes as familiarly of roaring Lyons,As maids of thirteene do of puppi-dogges.What Cannoneere begot this lustie blood,He speakes plaine Cannon fire, and smoake, and bounce,He giues the bastinado with his tongue:Our eares are cudgel'd, not a word of hisBut buffets better then a fist of France:Zounds, I was neuer so bethumpt with words,Since I first cal'd my brothers father Dad.
Old Qu. Son, list to this coniunction, make this matchGiue with our Neece a dowrie large enough,For by this knot, thou shalt so surely tyeThy now vnsur'd assurance to the Crowne,That yon greene boy shall haue no Sunne to ripeThe bloome that promiseth a mightie fruite.I see a yeelding in the lookes of France:Marke how they whisper, vrge them while their soulesAre capeable of this ambition,Least zeale now melted by the windie breathOf soft petitions, pittie and remorse,Coole and congeale againe to what it was.
Hub. Why answer not the double Maiesties,This friendly treatie of our threatned Towne.
Fra. Speake England first, that hath bin forward firstTo speake vnto this Cittie: what say you?
Iohn. If that the Dolphin there thy Princely sonne,Can in this booke of beautie read, I loue:Her Dowrie shall weigh equall with a Queene:For Angiers, and faire Toraine Maine, Poyctiers,And all that we vpon this side the Sea,(Except this Cittie now by vs besiedg'd)Finde liable to our Crowne and Dignitie,Shall gild her bridall bed and make her richIn titles, honors, and promotions,As she in beautie, education, blood,Holdes hand with any Princesse of the world.
Fra. What sai'st thou boy? looke in the Ladies face.
Dol. I do my Lord, and in her eie I findA wonder, or a wondrous miracle,The shadow of my selfe form'd in her eye,Which being but the shadow of your sonne,Becomes a sonne and makes your sonne a shadow:I do protest I neuer lou'd my selfeTill now, infixed I beheld my selfe,Drawne in the flattering table of her eie.Whispers with Blanch. Bast. Drawne in the flattering table of her eie,Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,And quarter'd in her heart, hee doth espieHimselfe loues traytor, this is pittie now;That hang'd, and drawne, and quarter'd there should beIn such a loue, so vile a Lout as he.
Blan. My vnckles will in this respect is mine,If he see ought in you that makes him like,That any thing he see's which moues his liking,I can with ease translate it to my will:Or if you will, to speake more properly,I will enforce it easlie to my loue.Further I will not flatter you, my Lord,That all I see in you is worthie loue,Then this, that nothing do I see in you,Though churlish thoughts themselues should bee your Iudge,That I can finde, should merit any hate.
Iohn. What saie these yong-ones? What say you my Neece?
Blan. That she is bound in honor still to doWhat you in wisedome still vouchsafe to say.
Iohn. Speake then Prince Dolphin, can you loue this Ladie?
Dol. Nay aske me if I can refraine from loue,For I doe loue her most vnfainedly.
Iohn. Then I doe giue Volquessen, Toraine, Maine,Poyctiers and Aniow, these fiue ProuincesWith her to thee, and this addition more,Full thirty thousand Markes of English coyne:Phillip of France, if thou be pleas'd withall,Command thy sonne and daughter to ioyne hands.
Fra. It likes vs well young Princes: close your hands.
Aust. And your lippes too, for I am well assur'd,That I did so when I was first assur'd.
Fra. Now Cittizens of Angires ope your gates,Let in that amitie which you haue made,For at Saint Maries Chappell presently,The rights of marriage shallbe solemniz'd.Is not the Ladie Constance in this troope?I know she is not for this match made vp,Her presence would haue interrupted much.Where is she and her sonne, tell me, who knowes?
Dol. She is sad and passionate at your highnes Tent.
Fra. And by my faith, this league that we haue madeWill giue her sadnesse very little cure:Brother of England, how may we contentThis widdow Lady? In her right we came,Which we God knowes, haue turn'd another way,To our owne vantage.
Iohn. We will heale vp all,For wee'l create yong Arthur Duke of BritaineAnd Earle of Richmond, and this rich faire Towne We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Constance,Some speedy Messenger bid her repaireTo our solemnity: I trust we shall,(If not fill vp the measure of her will)Yet in some measure satisfie her so,That we shall stop her exclamation,Go we as well as hast will suffer vs,Exeunt.To this vnlook'd for vnprepared pompe.
Bast. Mad world, mad kings, mad composition:Iohn to stop Arthurs Title in the whole,Hath willingly departed with a part,And France, whose armour Conscience buckled on,Whom zeale and charitie brought to the field,As Gods owne souldier, rounded in the eare,With that same purpose-changer, that slye diuel,That Broker, that still breakes the pate of faith,That dayly breake-vow, he that winnes of all,Of kings, of beggers, old men, yong men, maids,Who hauing no externall thing to loose,But the word Maid, cheats the poore Maide of that.That smooth-fac'd Gentleman, tickling commoditie,Commoditie, the byas of the world,The world, who of it selfe is peysed well,Made to run euen, vpon euen ground;Till this aduantage, this vile drawing byas,This sway of motion, this commoditie,Makes it take head from all indifferency,From all direction, purpose, course, intent.And this same byas, this Commoditie,This Bawd, this Broker, this all-changing-word,Clap'd on the outward eye of fickle France,Hath drawne him from his owne determin'd ayd,From a resolu'd and honourable warre,To a most base and vile-concluded peace.And why rayle I on this Commoditie?But for because he hath not wooed me yet:Not that I haue the power to clutch my hand,When his faire Angels would salute my palme,But for my hand, as vnattempted yet,Like a poore begger, raileth on the rich.Well, whiles I am a begger, I will raile,And say there is no sin but to be rich:And being rich, my vertue then shall be,To say there is no vice, but beggerie:Since Kings breake faith vpon commoditie,Exit.Gaine be my Lord, for I will worship thee.