Speeches (Lines) for Lymoges in "History of King John"

Lewis. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

Lymoges. 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,
Even till that England, hedged in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Constance. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength
To make a more requital to your love!

Lymoges. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.

King Phillip. How much unlook'd for is this expedition!

Lymoges. By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occasion:
Let them be welcome then: we are prepared.
[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,]
Lords, and forces]

Constance. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.

Lymoges. Peace!

Philip the Bastard. Hear the crier.

Lymoges. What the devil art thou?

Philip the Bastard. It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides' shows upon an ass:
But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back,
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.

Lymoges. What craker is this same that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?

Philip the Bastard. Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
Teach us some fence!
[To AUSTRIA]
Sirrah, were I at home,
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness
I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide,
And make a monster of you.

Lymoges. Peace! no more.

King John. We from the west will send destruction
Into this city's bosom.

Lymoges. I from the north.

King Phillip. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.

Lymoges. And your lips too; for I am well assured
That I did so when I was first assured.

Constance. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried,
Proves valueless: you are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war
Is cold in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league.
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings!
A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
Hear me, O, hear me!

Lymoges. Lady Constance, peace!

Constance. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war
O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!
Thou little valiant, great in villany!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjured too,
And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength,
And dost thou now fall over to my fores?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Lymoges. O, that a man should speak those words to me!

Philip the Bastard. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

Lymoges. Thou darest not say so, villain, for thy life.

Constance. Look to that, devil; lest that France repent,
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul.

Lymoges. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

Philip the Bastard. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs.

Lymoges. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, Because--

Constance. O, be removed from him, and answer well!

Lymoges. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.

Cardinal Pandulph. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith;
And like a civil war set'st oath to oath,
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd,
That is, to be the champion of our church!
What since thou sworest is sworn against thyself
And may not be performed by thyself,
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-burn'd.
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 makest an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an 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 thyself rebellion to thyself;
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
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.

Lymoges. Rebellion, flat rebellion!