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Sc. V

In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night,
And wound our tattering colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!


Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin ?

Here: what news?
Mess. The Count Melun is slain ; the English Lords

By his persuasion are again fall’n off;
your supplies, which


have wish'd so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
LEW. Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart !

I did not think to be so sad to-night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before

The stumbling Night did part our weary powers ?
MESS. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my

LEW. Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:

The Day shall not be up so soon as I
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [exeunt.


SCENE VI. Swinstead Abbey.
Enter, severally, the Bastard and HUBERT.
Hub. Who's there ? speak, hol speak quickly, or I

Bast. A friend. What art thou?

Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go?
HUB. What 's that to thee? why may not I demand

Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Bast. Hubert, I think?

Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will upon all hazards well believe
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?

Sc. VI




Who thou wilt: an if thou please,
Thou may'st befriend me so much as to think

I come one way of the Plantagenets.
HUB. Unkind Remembrancel thou and eyeless Night

Have done me shame: brave Soldier, pardon me
That any accent breaking from thy tongue

Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news

HUB. Why, here walk I in the black brow of Night
To find you out.

. Bast.

Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub. O, my sweet Sir, news fitting to the night,

Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill news :

I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
HUB. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:

I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if


had at leisure known of this. BAST. How did he take it? who did taste to him? HUB. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain,

Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the King

Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty ?
HUB. Why, know you not? the Lords are all come

And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,

And they are all about his Majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty Heaven,

And tempt us not to bear above our power !
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln Washes have devoured them ;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before ! conduct me to the King;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.





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SCENE VII. The Same; an Orchard.

P. HEN. It is too late : the life of all his blood

Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the Soul's frail dwelling-house)
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.


PEM. 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 assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard here.
Doth he still rage?

[Exit Bigot. PEM.

He is more patient
Than when you left him ; even now he sung.
P. HEN. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes

In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them invisible;' and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange Fantasies,
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that Death should

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings

His soul and body to their lasting rest.
SAL. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest,

Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.



John brought in.
K. John. Ay, marry; now my soul hath elbow-room;

It would not out at windows nor at doors.



2 invisibly; i.e. himself unscen.

3 anarchy.

There is so hot a summer in my bosom

30 ACT V That all my bowels crumble up to dust:

Sc. VII I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire

Do I shrink up.

How fares your Majesty ?
K. John. Poison'd—ill fare-deny'd, 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 parched lips,
And comfort me with cold: I do not ask you much, ,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait

And so ingrateful you deny me that.
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 as a Fiend confin’d to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.


Enter the Bastard.


BAST. O, I am scalded with


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 turned 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.
Bast. The Dolphin 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. [KING JOHN dies.


1 fix.

3 effigy.

IV : K




ACT V Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
Sc. VII My Liege! my Lord ! but now a King, now thus !

P. HEN. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.

What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,

When this was now a King, and now is clay?
Bast. 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.
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 !
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;

The Dolphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:

The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the Dolphin,
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honour and respect may take,

With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees

Ourselves well sinewed 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 cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal;
With whom yourself, myself, and other Lords,

you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so: and you, my noble Prince,

With other Princes that may best be spar'd, ,

Shall wait upon your father's funeral
P. HEN. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;

For so he will'd it.

Thither shall it, then:
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land !
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,



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