PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN.
JUSTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge in
Albion's breast; for Albion's sins are crimson-dyed,
and the red scourge follows her desolate
sons. Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise,
when Tyranny hath stained fair Albion's breast
with her own children's gore. Round his majestic
feet deep thunders roll; each heart does tremble,
and each knee grows slack. The stars of heaven
tremble; the roaring voice of war, the trumpet,
calls to battle! Brother in brother's blood must
bathe, rivers of death! O land most hapless! O
beauteous island, how forsaken! Weep from thy
silver fountains, weep from thy gentle rivers! The
angel of the island weeps! Thy widowed virgins
weep beneath thy shades! Thy aged fathers gird
themselves for war! The sucking infant lives to
die in battle; the weeping mother feeds him for
the slaughter! The husbandman doth leave his
bending harvest! Blood cries afar! The land
doth sow itself! The glittering youth of courts
must gleam in arms! The aged senators their
ancient swords assume! The trembling sinews of
