PANDULPH

Hail you anointed deputies of heaven; To thee King John my holy errand is: I Pandulph, of fair Milan Cardinal, And from Pope Innocent the Legate here, Do in his name religiously demand Why thou against the Church, our holy Mother, So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce Keep Stephen Langton chosen Arshbishop Of Canterbury from that holy Sea: This in our foresaid holy Father's name Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. There's Law and Warrant (Lady) for my curse. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more? If thou stand excommunicate, and cursed? If you had wone it, certainly you had. No, no: when Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye: It's strange to think how much King John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won: Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner? Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit: For even the breath of what I mean to speak, Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub Out of the path which shall directly led Thy foot to England's Throne. And therefore mark: John hath seized Arthur, and it cannot be, That while warm life plays in that infants veins, The misplaced- John should entertain and hour, One minute, nay one quiet breath of rest. A Sceptre snatched with and unruly hand, Must be as boisterously maintained as gained. And he that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vild hold to stay him up: That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fallen; So be it, for it cannot be but so. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did. How green you are and fresh in this old world? John lays you plots: the times conspire with you, For he that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This Act so evilly born shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, That none so small advantage shall step forth To check his reign, but they will cherish it. No natural exhalation in the sky, No scope of Nature, no distempered day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them Meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abbortiues, presages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Oh Sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he die: and then the hearts Of all his people shall revolt from him, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change, And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath Out of the bloody fingers ends of John. Me thinks I see this hurley all on foot; And Oh, what better matter breeds for you, Then I have named. The Bastard Falconbridge Is now in England ransacking the Church, Offending Charity: If but a dozen French Were there in Arms, they would be as a Call To train ten thousand English to their side; Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a Mountain. Oh noble Dolphin, Go with me to the King, it's wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent, Now that their souls are topful of offence, For England go; I will whet on the King. Take again From this my hand, as holding of the Pope Your Sovereign greatness and authority. Give me leave to speak. Then by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate, And blessed shall he be that does revolt From his Allegiance to and heretic, And meritorious shall that hand be called, Canonized and worshipped as a Saint, That takes away by any secret course Thy hateful life. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Let go the hand of that Arch-heretique, And raise the power of France upon his head, Unless he do submit himself to Room. All form is formless, Order orderless, Save what is opposite to England's love. Therefore to Arms, be Champion of our Church, Or let the Church our mother breathe her curse, A mother's curse, on her revolting son: France, thou mayest hold a serpent by the tongue, A cased Lion by the mortal paw, A fasting Tiger safer by the tooth, Then keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. So makest thou faith and enemy to faith, And Like a civil war settest oath to oath, Thy tongue against thy tongue. Oh let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven performed, That is, to be the Champion of our Church, What since thou sworst, is sworn against thy self, And may not be performed by thy self, For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Is not amiss when it is truly done: And being not done, where doing tends to ill, The truth is then most done not doing it: The better Act of purposes mistook, Is to mistake again, though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood, falsehood cures, as fire cools fire Within the scorched veins of one new burned: It is religion that does make vows kept, But thou hast sworn against religion: By what thou swearest against the thing thou swearest, And makest and oath the surety for thy truth, Against and oath the truth, thou art unsure To swear, swears only not to be forsworn, Else what a mockery should it be to swear? But thou dost swear, only to be forsworn, And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear, Therefore thy later vows, against thy first, Is in thy self rebellion to thy self: And better conquest never canst thou make, Then arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against these giddy lose suggestions: Upon which better partly, our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know The peril of our curses light on thee So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off But in despair, die under their black weight. I will denounce a curse upon his head. Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest: Evils that take leave. On their departure, most of all show evil What have you lost by losing of this day? It was my breath that blue this Tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope: But since you are a gentle convertite, My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blustering land: On this Ascension day, remember well, Upon your oath of service to the Pope, Go I to make the French lay down their Arms. Hail noble Prince of France : The next is this: King John hath reconciled Himself to Room, his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy Church, The great Metropolis and Sea of Room: Therefore thy threatening Colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war, That Like a Lion fostered up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace. And be no further harmful then in show. You look but on the outside of this work. The Dolphin is too wilful opposite And will not temporize with my entreaties: He flatly says, he ll not lay down his Arms.