When th' English measur'd backward their own ground Enter a Meffenger. Mf. Where is my Prince, the Dauphin?· 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 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? 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? Why may not I demand of thine affairs, 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, 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, Baft. Shew me the very wound of this ill news, Hub. The King, I fear, is poifon'd by a Monk: Baft. How did he take it? who did tafte to him? Baft. Whom didft thou leave to tend his Majesty? Baft. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n! [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 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. K. John. Ay marry, now my foul hath elbow-room; 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 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 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; Baft. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, [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: · .... - and ev❜a fo ftop. What furety of the world, what hope, what ftay, The The Dauphin rages at our very heels. Sal. It feems you know not then fo much as we? Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin; Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; To the fea-fide, and put his caufe and quarrel With whom your self, my felf, and other Lords, Baft. Let it be fo; and you, my noble Prince, Henry. At Worcester muft his body be interr'd, Baft. Thither fhall it then. And happily may your sweet self put on To whom, with all fubmiffion, on my knee, 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. And we shall shock them. Nought fhall make us rue, |