CONSTANCE

O Louis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee here

In likeness of a new untrimmèd bride. 135

BLANCHE

The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,

But from her need.

CONSTANCE ⌈to King Philip⌉ O if thou grant my need,

Which only lives but by the death of faith,

That need must needs infer this principle:

That faith would live again by death of need. 140

O, then tread down my need, and faith mounts up;

Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down.

KING JOHN

The King is moved, and answers not to this.

CONSTANCE (to King Philip)

O, be removed from him, and answer well.

AUSTRIA

Do so, King Philip, hang no more in doubt. 145

BASTARD

Hang nothing but a calf’s-skin, most sweet lout.

KING PHILIP

I am perplexed, and know not what to say.

PANDOLF

What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,

If thou stand excommunicate and cursed?

KING PHILIP

Good Reverend Father, make my person yours, 150

And tell me how you would bestow yourself.

This royal hand and mine are newly knit,

And the conjunction of our inward souls

Married in league, coupled and linked together

With all religious strength of sacred vows; 155

The latest breath that gave the sound of words

Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,

Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;

And even before this truce, but new before,

No longer than we well could wash our hands 160

To clap this royal bargain up of peace,

God knows, they were besmeared and over-stained

With slaughter’s pencil, where Revenge did paint

The fearful difference of incensed kings;

And shall these hands, so lately purged of blood, 165

So newly joined in love, so strong in both,

Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet,

Play fast and loose with faith, so jest with heaven,

Make such unconstant children of ourselves,

As now again to snatch our palm from palm, 170

Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed

Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,

And make a riot on the gentle brow

Of true sincerity? O holy sir,

My Reverend Father, let it not be so. 175

Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose

Some gentle order, and then we shall be blessed

To do your pleasure and continue friends.

PANDOLF

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 mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,

A crazed lion by the mortal paw, 185

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.

KING PHILIP

I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.

PANDOLF

So mak‘st thou faith an enemy to faith,

And like a civil war, sett’st oath to oath, 190

Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow,

First made to heaven, first be to heaven performed;

That is, to be the champion of our Church.

What since thou swor‘st is sworn against thyself,

And may not be performèd by thyself; 195

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 200

Is to mistake again; though indirect,

Yet indirection thereby grows direct,

And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools fire

Within the scorchèd veins of one new burned.

It is religion that doth make vows kept;

But thou hast sworn against religion;

By what thou swear’st, against the thing thou

swear‘st;

And mak’st an oath the surety for thy troth:

Against an oath, the truth. Thou art unsure

To swear: swear’st only not to be forsworn—210

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 thyself rebellion to thyself, 215

And better conquest never canst thou make

Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts

Against these giddy loose suggestions;

Upon which better part our prayers come in

If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know 220

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.

AUSTRIA

Rebellion, flat rebellion!

BASTARD Wilt not be?

Will not a calf’s-skin stop that mouth of thine? 225

LOUIS THE DAUPHIN

Father, to arms!

BLANCHE Upon thy wedding day?

Against the blood that thou hast married ?

What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?

Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,

Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? 230

She kneels

O husband, hear me ! Ay, alack, how new