PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless, Save what is opposite to England’s love. Therefore to arms! Be champion of our church, Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, A mother’s curse, on her revolting son. France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, A chafed lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. PANDULPH. So mak’st thou faith an enemy to faith, And like a civil war sett’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 swor’st 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 mak’st 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 latter 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 the black weight. AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion! BASTARD. Will’t not be? Will not a calf’s-skin stop that mouth of thine? LOUIS. Father, to arms! BLANCHE. Upon thy wedding-day? Against the blood that thou hast married? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter’d men? Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? O husband, hear me! Ay, alack, how new Is “husband” in my mouth! Even for that name, Which till this time my tongue did ne’er pronounce, Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle. CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom Forethought by heaven! BLANCHE. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, His honour. O, thine honour, Louis, thine honour! LOUIS. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.