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 almoft Lords of it.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mf. Where is my Prince, the Dauphin?·
Lewis. Here, what news?

Mef. The Count Melun is flain; the English Lords By his perfwafion are at length fall'n off,

And your fupply which you have wish'd fo long
Are caft away and funk on Goodwin-fands.

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 faid

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 foon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

[Exeunt. SCENE VIII. A place near Swinftead Abby. Enter Baftard and Hubert feverally.

Hub. Who's there? speak, ho, speak quickly, or I fhoet. Baft. A friend. What art thou?

Hub. Of the part of England.

Baft. 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 ?

Baft. 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 fo well: Who art thou?

Baft. Who thou wilt; and if thou please

Thou may'ft be-friend me fo much, as to think

1 come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night

Have

Have done me fhame; brave foldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should 'fcape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Baft. Come, come; fans complement, what news abroad? Hub. Why here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find

you out.

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

Hub. O my fweet Sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortlefs, and horrible.

Baft. 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 fpeechlefs, 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.

Baft. How did he take it? who did tafte to him?
Hub. A Monk, I tell you, a refolved villain,
Whose bowels fuddenly burst out; the King
Yet fpeaks, and peradventure may recover.

Baft. Whom didft 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 whole request the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majefty.

Baft. 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 these flats, are taken by the tide,
Thefe Lincoln-wafhes have devoured them;
My felf, well mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away before: conduct me to the King,
I doubt he will be dead, or e'er I come.

[Exeunt. SCENE IX. Changes to the Orchard at Swinstead Abby. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

Henry. It is too late, the life of all his blood
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,
Foretel the ending of mortality.

Y 3

Enter

F

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

Then when you left him; even now he fung.

Henry. Oh vanity of fickness! 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 wounds With many legions of frange fantafies, Which, in their throng and prefs to that laft hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould fing I am the Cygnet to this pale, faint Swan, 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 Indigest

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! oh! 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
Through my burn'd bofom: nor intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I ask not much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are fo ftrait

And

And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. Jobn. 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 Baftard.

Baft. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion, And fpleen of Speed to fee your Majefty.

K. Jobn. 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 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 model of confounded royalty.

Baft. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where heav'n he knows how we fhall anfwer him,
For, in a night, the beft 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 thefe dead news in as dead an ear: My Liege! my Lord!

but now a King now thus. Henry. Ev'n fo muft I run on, and ev'n fo ftop. * Baft. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind

To do the office for thee of revenge:

And then my foul fhall wait on thee to heav'n,

As it on earth hath been thy, fervant ftill.

Now, now, you ftars, that move in your right spheres, Where be your powers? fhew now your mended faiths, And inftantly return with me again,

To push deftruction and perpetual fhame

Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Strait let us feek, or ftrait we shall be sought;

· ....

- and ev❜a fo ftop.

What furety of the world, what hope, what ftay,
When this was now a King, and now is clay?,
Bøft. Art thou gone fo? ---

The

The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It feems you know not then fo much as we?
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at reft,

Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin;
And brings from him fuch offers of our peace,
As we with honour and refpect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Baft. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Our felves well finewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd

To the fea-fide, and put his caufe and quarrel
To the difpofing of the Cardinal :

With whom your self, my felf, and other Lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will poft
To confummate this bufinefs happily.

Baft. Let it be fo; and you, my noble Prince,
With other Princes that may beft be fpar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

Henry. At Worcester muft his body be interr'd,
For fo he will'd it.

Baft. Thither fhall it then.

And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal ftate and glory of the land!

To whom, with all fubmiffion, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services,

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.

Baft. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe,

Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
Thus England never did, and never fhall,
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror,
But when it firft did help to wound it felf.
Now these her Princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms

And we shall shock them. Nought fhall make us rue,
If England to it felf do reft but true. [Exeunt omnis,