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Pemb. He is more patient,
Than when you left him; even now he fung.
Which, in their throng, and prefs to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould
I am the cygnet to this pale, faint fwan,
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.
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 bofom, That all my bowels crumble up to duft: I am a fcribbled form drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire Do I fhrink up.
Henry. How fares your Majefty?
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 courfe
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
Faule. Oh! I am fcalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to fee your Majesty.
K. John. Oh! coufin, thou art come to fet mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should fail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor ftring to stay it by, Which holds but 'till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou feeft, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.
Faulc. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where, heav'n he knows, how we fhall anfwer him.
upon advantage did remove,
Were in the wafhes, all unwarily,
[The King dies.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear
And then my foul fhall wait on thee to heav'n,
Now, now, you stars, that move in your bright spheres,
To push deftruction and perpetual fhame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Sal. It feems, you know not then so much as we:
Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin:
And brings from him fuch offers of our peace,
Faulc. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
Faulc. Let it be fo; and you, my noble Prince,
Henry. At Worcester must his body be interr'd,
Faulc. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your fweet felf put on
And true fubjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To reft without a Spot for evermore.
Henry. I have a kind foul that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Faulc. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
And we shall shock them!-Nought shall make us rue,
The End of the Third Volume.