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When th’ English measur'd backward their own ground In faint retire : oh, bravely came we off,

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When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil we bid good night,
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly ups
Lait in the field, and almoft Lords of it.

Enter a Messenger.
Maf. Where is my Prince, the Daupbin ?
Lewis. Here, what news ?

Mes. The Count Melun is Nain; the English Lords
By his perswalion are at length fall’n off,
And your supply which you have wish'd so long
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin-sands.

Lewis. Ah foul shrewd news! Belhrew thy very heart,
I did not think to be so sad to-night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King Jobn did fly an hour or two before
The fumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mes. Who-ever spoke it, it is true, my Lord.

Lewis. Well; keep good quarter, and good care to-night; The day shall not be up soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow, [Exeunt, SCENE VIII. A place near Swinstead Abby.

Enter Bastard and Hubert severally.
Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho, speak quickly, or I Moet.
Baft. A friend. What art thou ?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Baft. And whither dost 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 hast a perfect thought :
I will upon all hazards well believe
Thou art my friend, that know't my tongue so well:
Who art thou?

Baft. Who thou wilt ; and if thou please
Thou may'st be-friend me so much, as to think
1 come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub. Vakind remembrance ! thou and eyeless night

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Have done me shamé ; brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accént breaking from thy tongue
Should 'scape 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.

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

Hub. O my sweet Sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Baft. Shew me the very wound of this ill news,
I am no woman, I'll not swoon át it.

Hub. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a Monk:
I left him almost speechlefs, and broke out
T'acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leifure known of this.

Baft. How did he take it? who did taste to him?

Hub. A Monk, I tell you, a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burft out; the King
Yet speaks, and perad venture may recover.

Ball. Whom 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 requeft the King hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his Majesty,

Baft. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n!
And tempt us nor to bear above our power.
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my pow'rs this night
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln-washes have devoured them;
My self, 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 some fuppose the foul's frail dwelling-house,
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretel the ending of mortality.

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 poison which affaileth him.

Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here ; Doch he fill rage ?

Pemb. He is more patient
Then when you left him ; even now he sung.

Henry. Oh vanity of sickness! fierce extreams
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death having prey'd upon the outward parts
Leaves them insensible; his fiege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of Arange fantasies,
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that deach should finga,

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 sings
His foul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are bord
To set a form upon that Indiged
Which he hath left so thapeless and so rude.

King John brought in. K. John. Ay marry, now my soul hath elbow-room ; It would not out at windows, nor at doors, There is fo hot a summer in my bosom, 'That all my bowels crumble up to duit : I am.a fcribbled form drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire

Henry. How fares your Majesty?

K. Zobr. Poison'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 course Through my burn'd bosom: nor intreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold. I alk not much, I beg cold comfort, and you are so ftrait

And

Do I fhrink up.

And so ungrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. Jobn. The salt 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 Bastard.
Baji. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of Speed to see your Majesty.

K. Jobn. Oh cousin thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt,
And all the throwds wherewith my life should fail
Are turped 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 seeft is but a clod,
And model of confounded royalty.

Baj. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where heav'n 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 walhes all, upwarily, Devoured by the unexpected food. [Tbe King dies,

Sal. You breathe these dead news ip as dead an ear : My Liege! my Lord ! - but now a King - now thus.

Henry. Ev'n so muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. **

Baft. 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 heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy servant ftill.
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers ? Shew now your mended faiths,
And instantly return with me again,
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Strait let us seek, or Atrait we shall be fought;

.. and ev'a lo stop
What furety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a King, and now is clay,
Buff. Art thou gone to?...

The

!

The Daupbin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems you know not then fo much as we:
The Cardinal Pandulpb is within at reft,
Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin ;
And brings from him such offers of our peace,
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

Baj. He will the rather do it, when he feet
Our selves well finewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his caufe and quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal :
With whom your self, my felf, and other Lords
If you think meet, this afternoon will poft
To consummate this bufiness happily.

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

Henry: 'At Worcester must his body be intere'd,
For so he willid it.

Baft. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land !
To whom, with all submisfion, 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.

Henry. I have a kind foul that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Baf. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs. Thus England never did, and never shall, Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror, But when it first did help to wound it self, Now these her Princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to it felf do reft but true. [Exeunt omniso

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