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In faint retire : 0, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil we bid good night ;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ?
Lew.

Here : What news? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English

lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off: And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! - Beshrew thy very

heart!
I did not think to be so sad to-night,
As this hath made me.- Who was he, that said,
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers ?

Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care

to night ;) The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

An open Place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead

Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and HUBERT, meeting. Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly,

or I shoot. Bast. A friend :- What art thou? Hub.

Of the part of England.

Bast. Whither dost thou go?
Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I de-

mand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou' of mine?

Bast. Hubert, I think.
Hub.

Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend, that know’st my tongue so

well : Who art thou ? Bast.

Who thou wilt : an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless

night, Have done me shame:- Brave soldier pardon me, That any

accent breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans' compliment, what news

abroad? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of

night, To find

you

out. Bast.

Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison’d by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might The better arm you to the sudden time, Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hub. A monk, I tell you: a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.

1 Without.

Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?
Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all

come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven!
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! .conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and Bigor.

P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBROKE.

Pem. His Highness yet doth speak; and holds

belief, That, being brought into the open air, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard

here. Doth he still rage?

[Exit BIGOT. Pem.

He is more patient Than when

you

left him; even now he sung.

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death

should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

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Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King

John in a Chair.
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-

room;
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all

my
bowels crumble up

to dust :
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ?
K. John. Poison'd, -- ill-fare; -dead, forsook,

cast off: And none of

you

will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold:- I do not ask you

much,

I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait ’,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my

tears,
That might relieve you !
K. John.

The salt in them is hot. Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. John. O) cousin, thou art come to set mine

eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be utter'd; And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And module 3 of confounded royalty.

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ; Where, heaven .he knows, how we shall answer

him : For, in a night, the best part of my power, As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an

ear.

now

My liege! my lord ! — But now a king,

thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so

stop.

2 Narrow, avaricious.

3 Model,

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