BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city. I'd play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths And part your mingled colours once again, Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy?.

By Heaven These Scroyles of Angiers Flout You Kings

Item catalogue number:
1381
Size:
2 pages
Preview:
Page 1
Zoom:
Open preview image
Next item:
That Daughter There of Spain the Lady Blanch
Collection:
King John
Next collection:
Legacy