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Upon a parchment; and against this fre
Do I shrink up:

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ?
K. John. (Falling on the couch.] 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 parch'd lips,
And comfort me with cold.

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 a fiend, confined to tyrannize
On unreprevable condemned blood.

Enter FAULCONBRIDGE and HUBERT, R.
Faul. [Kneels in front of the couch.] 0, 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 turn’d to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered ; And then all this thou see'st is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.

Faul. 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.-PRINCE HENRY falls on him. Pem. You breathe these dead news in as dead an

ear.

My liege! my lord !-But now a king-now thus!

Faul. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge,
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.

Ess. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ;
For so he will'd it.

Faul. Thither shall it, then;
And happily inay you, sweet prince, put on
The lineal state and glory of the land !

[PRINCE rises.
To whom, with all submission on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make. To rest without a spot for evermore. [All kneel. P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you

thanks, And knows not how to do it but with tears.

[Prince kneels. Faul. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it did first help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : naught shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt omnes.

THE END

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Falstaf. There's honour for you!

lc/Y. S', 3.

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