BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermin'd differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!.

Ha Majesty How High Thy Glory Tow'rs

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1381
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King John
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