Of this most fair occafion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,

Leaving our rankness and irregular course,

Stoop low within those bounds, we have o'er-look'd; And calmly run on in obedience

Ev'n to our ocean, to our great King John.

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence,

For I do fee the cruel pangs of death

Pight in thine eye. Away, my friends; new flight; And happy newness, that intends old right?

[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

Changes to a different part of the French Camp.

Enter Lewis, and his Train.

Lewis. THE fun of heav'n, methought, was loth

to

But ftaid, and made the western welkin blush,
When th' English measur'd backward their own ground
In faint retire: oh, bravely came we off,

When with a volley of our needless shot,
After fuch bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Laft in the field, and almost lords of it!-

2

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

Lewis. Here. What news?

Mef. The count Melun is flain; the English lords

By his perfuafion are again fall'n off;

And your fupply, which you have wifh'd fo long,

-happy newness, &c.] Hap. py innovation, that purposed the restoration of the ancient right

VOL. III.

ful government.

2 For tatter'd, the folio reads tottering.

Are caft away, and funk on Godwin sands.

Lewis. Ah foul, fhrewd, news! Befhrew thy very

heart,

I did not think to be fo fad to night.

As this hath made me.

Who was he, that said,

King John did fly, an hour or two before

The ftumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mef. Who ever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lewis. Well; keep good quarter, and good care
to night;

The day fhall not be up fo foon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to morrow.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

VIII.

An open Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey. Enter Faulconbridge, and Hubert feverally.

Hub.

W

HO's there? speak, ho! speak quickly,
or I fhoot.

Faulc. A friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Faulc. And whither doft thou go?
Hub. What's that to thee?

Why may not I demand of thine affairs,
As well as thou of mine?

Faulc. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou haft a perfect thought.

I will upon all hazards well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'ft my tongue so well. Who art thou?

Faulc. Who thou wilt; and, if thou please, Thou may'ft be-friend me fo much, as to think, I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night

3 t'ou and endless night] We should read, eyeless. So Pindar calls the Moon, the y of night.

WARBURTON.
Have

Have done me shame. Brave foldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
Should 'fcape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Faulc. Come, come; Sans compliment, what news
abroad?

Hub. Why here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out.

Faulc. Brief then: and what's the news?

Hub. O my fweet Sir, news fitted to the night; Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible..

Faulc. Shew me the very wound of this ill news,
I am no woman, I'll not fwoon at it.

Hub. The King, I fear, is poifon'd by a Monk.
I left him almost speechlefs, and broke out
T'acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the fudden time,
Than if you had at leifure known of this.

Faulc. How did he take it? Who did tafte to him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels fuddenly burst out; the King
Yet fpeaks; and, peradventure, may recover.
Faule. Who didit thou leave to tend his Majefty?
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come
back,

And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whofe request the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majefty.

Faule. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n!
And tempt us not to bear above our power.
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my pow'rs this night,
Paffing thefe flats, are taken by the tide ;
Thefe Lincoln-wafhes have devoured them;
Myfelf, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away, before. Conduct me to the King;
I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

Kk 2

[Exeunt.

SCENE

1

SCENE IX.

Changes to the Orchard in Swinstead Abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot. Henry. T is too late; the life of all his blood

IT

Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain, Which fome fuppofe the foul's frail dwelling-house, Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,

Fortel the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke.

Pemb. His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief,

That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poifon, which affaileth him.

Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here. Doth he ftill rage?

Pemb. He is more patient,

Than when you left him; even now he fung.

Henry. O vanity of fick nefs! fierce extreams In their continuance will not feel themselves. Death having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them infenfible; his fiege is now,

Against the mind; the which he pricks and wounde With many legions of ftrange fantasies;

Which in their throng and prefs to that laft hold, Confound themfelves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould fing.

I am the cygnet to this pale, faint fwain,
Who chaunts a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ pipe of frailty, fings

His foul and body to their lafting reft.

Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are born

To fet a form upon that indigeft,

Which he hath left fo fhapeless and so rude.

4-in their throng and prefs-] In their tumult and hurry of reforting to the laft tenable part.

King

King John brought in.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow.

room;

It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is fo hot a fummer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to duft.
I am a fcribled form drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I fhrink up.

Henry. How fares your Majesty?

K. John. Poifon'd. Ill fare! dead, forfook, caft off;
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thruft his icy fingers in my maw;

Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bofom: nor intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.

Henry. Oh, that there were fome virtue in my tears, That might relieve you!

K. John. The falt of them is hot.

Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize

On unreprievable, condemned blood.

SCENE X.

Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc. Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to fee your Majefty.

K. John. Oh! coufin, thou art come to fet mine

eye.

The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt;

And all the fhrowds, wherewith my life fhould fail,

Are