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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    Not Peer Reviewed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))

    The troublesome Raigne
    2700That bred you, beares you, brought you vp in armes.
    Ah be not so ingrate to digge your Mothers graue,
    Preserue your lambes and beate away the Wolfe.
    My soule hath said, contritions penitence
    Layes hold on mans redemption for my sinne.
    2705Farewell my Lords, witnes my faith when wee are met in (heauen,
    And for my kindnes giue me graue roome heere.
    My soule doth fleete, worlds vanities farewell.
    Sals. Now ioy betide thy soule wel-meaning man.
    Now now my Lords, what cooling card is this,
    2710A greater griefe growes now than earst hath been.
    What counsell giue you, shall we stay and dye?
    Or shall we home, and kneele vnto the King.
    Pemb. My hart misgaue this sad accursed newes:
    What haue we done, fie Lords, what frenzie moued
    2715Our hearts to yeeld vnto the pride of Fraunce?
    If we perseuer, we are sure to dye:
    If we desist, small hope againe of life.
    Salsb. Beare hence the bodie of this wretched man,
    That made vs wretched with his dying tale,
    2720And stand not wayling on our present harmes,
    As women wont: but seeke our harmes redresse.
    As for my selfe, I will in hast be gon:
    And kneele for pardon to our Souereigne Iohn.
    Pemb. I, theres the way, lets rather kneele to him,
    2725Than to the French that would confound vs all. Exeunt.

    Enter King Iohn carried betweene 2. Lords.
    Iohn Set downe, set downe the load not worth your pain,
    For done I am with deadly wounding griefe:
    Sickly and succourles, hopeles of any good,
    2730The world hath wearied me, and I haue wearied it:
    It loaths I liue, I liue and loath my selfe.
    Who pities me? to whom haue I been kinde?
    But to a few; a few will pitie me.
    Why dye I not? Death scornes so vilde a pray.
    Why
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