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  • Title: The Troublesome Reign of King John ((Quarto, 1581))
  • Editor: Karen Oberer

  • Copyright Queen's Men Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: Anonymous
    Editor: Karen Oberer
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Troublesome Reign of King John ((Quarto, 1581))

    of King Iohn.
    Listen, braue Lords, a fearfull mourning tale
    2665To be deliuered by a man of death.
    Behold these scarres, the dole of bloudie Mars
    Are harbingers from natures common foe,
    Cyting this trunke to Tellus prison house;
    Lifes charter (Lordings) lasteth not an hower:
    2670And fearfull thoughts, forerunners of my end,
    Bids me giue Phisicke to a sickly soule.
    O Peeres of England, know you what you doo,
    Theres but a haire that sunders you from harme,
    The hooke is bayted, and the traine is made,
    2675And simply you runne doating to your deaths.
    But least I dye, and leaue my tale vntolde,
    With silence slaughtering so braue a crew,
    This I auerre, if Lewes win the day,
    Theres not an Englishman that lifts his hand
    2680Against King Iohn to plant the heire of Fraunce,
    But is already damnd to cruell death.
    I heard it vowd; my self amongst the rest
    Swore on the Altar aid to this Edict.
    Two causes Lords, makes me display this drift,
    2685The greatest for the freedome of my soule,
    That longs to leaue this mansion free from guilt:
    The other on a naturall instinct,
    For that my Grandsire was an Englishman.
    Misdoubt not Lords the truth of my discourse,
    2690No frenzie, nor no brainsick idle fit,
    But well aduisde, and wotting what I say,
    Pronounce I here before the face of heauen,
    That nothing is discouered but a truth.
    Tis time to flie, submit your selues to Iohn,
    2695The smiles of Fraunce shade in the frownes of death,
    Lift vp your swords, turne face against the French,
    Expell the yoke thats framed for your necks.
    Back warmen, back, imbowell not the clyme,
    Your seate, your nurse, your birth dayes breathing place,
    D 2That