Hub. Do not prove me so;

Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

Pem. Cut him to pieces.

Bast. Keep the peace, I say.

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,

Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer ?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.

Big. Who kill'd this prince?

Hub. "Tis not an hour since I left him well:

I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,

For villainy is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out.
[Exeunt Lords.
Bast. Here's a good world !-Knew you of this fair

work?

Beyond the infinite and boundless reach

3

Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,

Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

Hub. Do but hear me, sir.

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;

Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black; Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer:

There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell.

As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hub. Upon my soul,

Bast. If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair,

And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread,

That ever spider twisted from her womb,

Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be

A beam to hang thee on; or, would'st thou drown thyself,

Put but a little water in a spoon,

And it shall be as all the ocean,

Enough to stifle such a villain up.—

I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath,
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.

I am amaz'd, methinks; and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.-
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left

To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at home,
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed; I'll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.- The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King JOHN, PANDULPH with the Crown, and attendants.

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand

The circle of my glory.

Pand. Take again

[Giving JOHN the Crown.

From this my hand, as holding of the pope,

Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. John. Now keep your holy word: go meet the

French;

And from his holiness use all your power

To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd.
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our people quarrel with obedience;
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul,
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistemper'd humour

Rests by you only to be qualified.

Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,

That present medicine must be minister'd,

Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope :

But, since you are a gentle convertite,

My tongue shall hush again this storm of war,
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,

Upon your oath of service to the pope,

Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

[Exit.

K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet

Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon,

My crown I should give off? Even so I have:

I did suppose, it should be on constraint;

But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out,

But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd,

Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone

To offer service to your enemy;

And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive?

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets; An empty casket, where the jewel of life

By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live.

Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust,