JOHN

Respective Richard, are you turned pure? a changing weathercock? I say it's reason Henry should be King, Thou Prince, I Duke, as Jeffry is a Duke. He were not best. And Moorton too? Why so, now once more I'll fit down by you. Gape earth, challenge thine own as Gloucester lies, Pity such muck is covered with the skies. Wee'll hear your railing Lecture in the Fleet. That Castle shall be mine, where stands it Faukenbridge Ye are and Idyot. Where is this Gloucester? Mad Gloucester mute, all mirth turned to despair? Why now you see what 'tis to cross a King, Deal against Princes of the Royal blood, Yowl snarl and rail, but now your tongue is bedry'd, Come caper hay, set all at six and seven, What musest thou with thought of hell or heaven? Oh sir, a number are here prisoners, My Cousin Moorton whom I came to visit, But he good man is at his morrow mass, But I that neither care to say nor sing, Come to seek that preaching hate and prayer, And while they mumble up their Orisons, We'll play a game at bowls, what sayest thou Gloucester? Bowl Gloucester I'll come presently. So near mad Robin? then have after you, Well sir 'tis yours, one all, throw but the Jack While I go talk with Moorton: I'll not stay, Keep Cloak and hat in pawn I'll hold out play, Porter? you Porter? Blood I could eat these rogues. A plague upon your Jants, what porter slave? And at the gallows: zounds this frets my soul. Porter? you damned slave. Let Gloucester hang and them that There lies his case, a mischief on his carcase. You will, and you, tut, tut all you are nothing, 'Twill out, 'twill out, my self my self can ease: You chafe, you swell, you are commanding King, My father is your footstool when he please, Your word's a law, these Lords dare never speak, Gloucester must die, your enemies must fallen. Oh I could tear my hair, & falling thus upon the Solid earth, dig into Gloucesters graven, so he were dead And gone into the depth of under world's. Or get seditiou hundredth thousand hands, And Like Briareus, battle with the Stars, To pull him down from heaven if he were there, What carest thou? or well, or ill, we crave no help of thee. Gout, what then? Oh let me hug thee gentle Faukenbridge, Forgive my oft ill using of thine age, I'll call thee Father, isle be penitent, Bring me where Gloucester is I'll be thy slave, All that is mine, thou in reward shalt have. What wouldst thou with a sword old Faukenbridge? Wee'll fetch him thence. Away then quickly. What's this they talk? Impudent liar, didst thou not even now Say thou wouldst fetch him? hadst thou not my sword? Thy chain? I'll cheat thee of thy life if thou charge me With any chain. Where is he? This is my cloak, my hat, my rapier, And either it was Skinke or Gloucester. The fire of S. Anthony confound This changing counterfeit whatsoever he be. What picture of the pestilence is this? I am mad, and yet I must laugh at Faukenbridge: Brother, look how sir Richard acts his rage? Is he reprieved then? If thou hadst done it, Idem have justified it, But Richard I conceit this jest already, This mad mate Skinke, this honest merry knave, Meeting this Pursuivant, and hearing tell He had a warrant to repreeve a slave, Whom we would hang: stole it away from him. This is sure the Jest, upon my life it is, No, no, how say you M. Sheriff, is he not hanged? It is intolerable not to be born, A warrant brother, Faukenbridge a warrant? Is't you? you rogue, you drunkerd; year cheated, And we are cheated of the prisoner, Out dog, dog. By Elinors grey eye she's fair indeed; Sweet heart come you for holy benizons? Hermit hast thou good custom with such Clients? I cannot blame your feats, your juggling tricks, Plague juggle you. Hermit, a word. Where lie your devils that tell all your news? Would you would trouble them for half and hour, To know what's become of traitor Gloucester, That in my clothes brake prison in the Fleet? Swounds who hears you? I'll make your Lady grafted you for this work: but to your tale sir. This savours of some truth, Nay do not stand on terms, I am fire, all life, Nor never tell me that I have a wife. I do not mean to marry, you think so, But to be merry, you the manner know. And you will have me, have me, point a meeting, I'll be your true love, you shall be my sweating, If you deny to promise, this is plain I'll have my will ear you get home again. Tut tell not me of grace I Like no goodness but a beauteous face. Be therefore brief, give me your hand & swear, Or I'll away with you into the heath, Neither shall Faukenbridge nor Hermit help, And what I do I'll answer well enough. Give me thy pretty hand. Thou'lt meet me at the Hind, I'll by thy Roe, Who Skinke? Nay we will have him that's no question. And yet not hurt the honest rogue. he'll help us well in quest of changing Gloucester, Hermit farewell, Lady keep your hour. There are caves hereabout good fellow, are there not? Help Faukenbridge. This is not Skinke, the Hermit is not Skinke: He is a learned reverend holy man. I had rather here of Gloucester then of him. Then Nine times Like the Northern laplanders, He backward circled the sacred Font, And Nine times backward said his Orisons, As often cursed the glorious host of heaven, As many times inuocke the fiends of hell, And so turned witch, for Gloucester is a witch. Shall he indeed? sweet comfort kiss thy cheek, Peace circle in thy aged honoured head, When he is taken: Hermit I protest I'll built thee up a chapel and a shrine: I'll have thee worshipped, as a man divine, Assure he shall come, and Skinke shall come. I must to Stepney too, and revile, and be blithe, Old wink at my mirth, t'may make amends, So thou, and I, and our friends, may be friends, Hermit farewell, if I had my desire, I'll make the world thy wondrous deeds admire, Exit. Is Gloucester taken? thither will I fly Upon wraths wings, not quiet till he die. Exit with Princess John Earl of Morton and of Nottingham, With Isabel his Countess, bow themselves Before their brother Henries Royal Throne. Oh is't you sir? Tut never trouble me with such a toy. Thou hindrest me from hearing of my joy. Twould exceed gild. Nay if all kneel, of force I must be one. Brother? Thy brother? Live at his prayers, have a sufficient pension by the year, Repent his sins because his end is near. He can and shall. And why? he is his wives brother. Yes ther's and axe must partly your head and you, And with your head, sorrow will leave your heart. But come shall I begin? a pound a game, Now madcap thou winstall; where art thou Robin? Uncased: nay then he means to play in earnest. But wheres my Cloak, my rapier, and my hat? I hold my birthright to a beggars scrip, The basterd is escaped in my clothes. 'Tis well, he left me his to walk the streets, I'll fire the City but I'll find him out, Perchance he hides himself to try my spleen, I'll to his chamber, Gloucester? hallo Gloucester? Ex You stammering slave hence, chat among your Daws, Come you to mad me? while the rogue your father. Your deer son Jack and apes, your more ̄ key, your babone, your ass, your gull. Hence further from ̄ my sighed, My fiery thoughts and wrath have work in hand; Le curse you blacker then the Leuarnian Lake, If you stand wondering at my sorrow thus; I am with child, big, hugely swollen with rage, Who'll play the Midwife, and my throbs assuage? He is wise, too wise for us, yet I'll go with you, To get more fools into my company. I, I'll be one, in hope to meet the basterd, And then no more my self will be his headsman. Exeunt. Sheriff, in any case be diligent. Whose yonder, Faukenbridge? How now, what way took Faukenbridge I wonder? That is not Gloucester sure that attends on him. Where Gloucester Faukenbridge? Give me the lie? In recompense, if it be him I seek, I'll give thee his whole head to tread upon. Follow me brother, come old Faukenbridge, Keep the stairs Sheriffs, you see it waxes dark, Take heed he slip not by you. Exeunt Well your guess, can you guess who they be? And what's your truth sir? I am greedy to hear news. A slave, a Pursuivant, one winter born. Good day old Hermit. Come old fool ye dote. Well done Faukenbridge? You find it on her lips: but forward sir. Hermit is all this true, Well by your leave sir Richard Faukenbridge, Hence free from fear, you'll melt you'll melt old man, Nay do not stand on then, But tell me when my Lord shall have you Lady, Its presently, isle venture for a baby. No matter where, I think I was forespoken at y e teat, This damned rogue served me thus? Gloucester and he Upon my life conclude in villainy. He was not wont to plot these stratagems, Lend me your hand a little, come away, Let's to the Cell again, perchance the Hermit Is Skinke, and thief, and Hermit all in one. I'll kill thee, and thou bid me pray for him. I'll fell woods, and ring thee round with fire, Make thee and offering unto fierce revenge, If thou have but a thought to pray for him. Whither you will, I care not where I go: If grief will grace it, isle adorn the show. Oh sir you're welcome, you have your old seat. Base Richard I disdain to call thee brother, Takest thou a traitors partly in our disgrace? For Gloucester, wilt thou wrong our sacred mother? I scorn thee and defy thee to thy face. Oh that we were in field, then shouldst thou try, Hasten the execution Royal Lord, Let deeds make answer for their worthless words. Swounds Henry thou art mad: Be pleased King puppet? have I stood for thee, Even in the mouth of death? opened my arms To sercle in seditious ugly shape? Shook hands with duty, bade adieu to virtue, Profaned all Majesty in heaven and earth; Writ in black Characters on my white brow, The name of rebel John against his Father: For thee, for thee, thou Otimie of honour, Thou worm of Majesty thou froth, thou puble. And must I now be pleased in peas to stand, While statutes make thee owner of my land? Rub rub rub rub. Play Robin, run run run. Now Porter whats the news? What's that to me? Hark how the traitor flouts me to my teeth. I would entreat your knaveship let me forth, For fear I dash your branes out with the keys, What is become of Gloucester and my garments? He means that thou art mad she frantic, Leister foolish I the babe, these grind us, bite us, vex us, charge, And discharge, Gloucester, Oh Gloucester! Revenge, I'll built a Temple to your name; And the first offering shall be Gloucesters head, Thy Alters shall be sprinkled with the blood, Whose wanton current his mad humour fed; He was a rymer and a Ridler, A scoffer at my mother, praised my father, I'll fit him now foral, escape and all. The Devil in my likeness then is there. Thou art the Devil, for thou Hadst my good sword, all these can witness it. Sirrah you that were born to cry anan, What other copesmates have you in the house? Look about Faukenbridge, here's work for you, You have some evil Angel in your shape, Go sirrah, bring us forth that Pursuivant? A plague upon your Ieffring, is your name Jeffrey? Well forward sirrah. The Porter of the Fleet, the old king signed, Go hang you blockheads, get you from my sighed, Oh would I were a Basilisk, to kill These gleare eyed villains. There shall I know, where this damned Gloucester is, I'll have the Devils roused to find that Devil, Or else I'll conjure the old Conjurer. I'll to Black-heath, and there with friends conspire, But I'll have Gloucesters head my hearts desire. I have it in my purse shall make amends. Suffice then be it so, Why man 'tis a Faulconer. If there be now no Hermit at the Cel, I'll swear by all the Saints its none but he. Exeunt. Yet thou didst tell us Skinke should do a robbery, Appointed us the place, and there we found him, A vengeance on him. Would would, for christians, thinkest thou he is one? For men: hast thou opinion he is a man? He that changes himself to sundry shapes, Is he a christian? can he be a man? Oh, Irreligious thoughts, Buffild and scoffed, Skinke, Gloucester, women, fools, and boys abuse me? I'll be revenged, Whither run you sir knave? The Porter of the fleet that was condemned. Zounds boy. Faith I'll keep England, mother you and I Will live, for all this fight and foolery. Hall be not answered but with Sovereignty, For glorious is the sway of Majesty. Five Earldoms Sir. I prithee be gone since thus it faileth out, Take water, hence, away, thy life I doubt. What shall old winter with his frosty jests, Cross flowery pleasure? You do not care, Let old men care for graves, we for our sports, Off with your gown, there hes my hat and Cloak, The bowls there quickly, he? It was your practice, and to keep me back You sent Jack Daw your son with Can Can Can, To tell a sleueles tale: lay hold on him, To Newgate with him and you tut atut, Run read cap and trudge about, Or bid your father's portership farewell. Exeunt with Porter. Come, jest not with me, tell me where he is? I'll die upon the slanderer, Alas poor Skink it is the Devil Gloucester; Who if I be so happy once to find, I'll give contentment, to his troubled mind. Gloucester I hope. Well Faukenbridge by heaven I'll tell your wife, Send both, and both as prisoners crimminate Shall forfeit their last lives to England's state, Which way will Faukenbridge? I would it to the hilts up in thy heart. And executioner: and executioner: Hark mother hark? My brother is already turned Clarke. The seat's too good. Be silent ass. To much, too little, he shall have that and more, I swear he shall. I will have Nottingham and Salisbury, Stafford and Darby, and some other Earldom, Or by S. John (whose blessed name I bear) I'll make these places Like a wilderness. Is't not a plague, and horrible abuse, A King, a King of England should be Father To four such proper youths, as Hall, and Dick, My brother Geoffrey and my proper self, And yet not give his sons such maintenance, As he consumes among his minions. Oh if I do, let me be never held Royal King Henries son pardon me father, Pull down this rebel that hath done thee wrong. Dick, come and leave his side, assail him Lords, Let's have no parley but with bills and Swords. Hold ther's my sword, and with my sword my heart, Bring him for Godsake, and for thy desert, My brother King and mother Queen shall love thee. I'll hang him that does hurt thee, prithee away, I love thee, but thou killest me with delay. Oh who would not be mad at this disgrace? Gloucester the fox is fled, there lies his case, He cozened me of mine, the porter helped him, His highness says not so. Lay hold on Gloucester. Hear you Faukenbridge?