And calmly run on in obedience

Ev'n to our ocean, to our great King John.

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence,
For I do fee the cruel pangs of death

Right in thine eye. Away, my friends; new flight;
And happy newness, that intends old right!

[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

SCENE changes to a different part of the French

Camp.

Enter Lewis, and his Train.

HE fun of heav'n, methought, was loth to

Lewis. TH

fet,

But ftaid, and made the western welkin blush;
When th' English measur'd backward their own ground
In faint retire: oh, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needlefs fhot,
After fuch bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Laft in the field, and almost lords of it!-

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lewis. Here; what news?

Mef. The count Melun is flain; the English lords
By his perfwafion are again fall'n off;

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

Lewis. Ah foul, fhrewd, news! Beshrew thy very heart,

I did not think to be 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 fo foon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to morrow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE,

SCENE, an open Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinftead Abbey.

Enter Faulconbridge, and Hubert, feverally. 7HO's there? fpeak, ho! speak quickly, or

Hub. WHO'

I shoot.

Faulc. A friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Faulc. 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?

Faulc. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou haft a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue fo well: Who art thou?

Faulc. Who thou wilt; and, if thou please, Thou may'it be-friend me so much, as to think, I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub.Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night (22) Have done me fhame; brave foldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should fcape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Faulc.Come, come; fans compliment, what news abroad? Hub. Why here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out.

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

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

Faul. Shew me the very wound of this ill news, I am no woman, I'll not fwoon at it.

(22) Unkind Remembrance ; thou and endless Night

Have done me fhame : — -] Why, endless Night? Hubert means no more, than that the Dulness of his Recollection, and the Darkness of the Night, had disgraced him in his not knowing Faulconbridge by the Tone of his Voice. Our Author cerStainly wrote, eye-lefs. Mr. Warburton likewife concurr'd in Barting this Emendation.

Hub.

Hub. The King, I fear, is poifon'd by a Monk:
I left him almoft 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 leisure known of this.

Faulc. How did he take it? who did taste to him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you; a refolved villain,
Whose bowels fuddenly burft out; the King
Yet fpeaks; and, peradventure, may recover.
Faulc. Who didit thou leave to tend his Majefty?
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come
back,

And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whofe requeft the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majesty.

Faulc. 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-washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away, before: conduct me to the King;
I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Orchard in Swinstead Abbey.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot.

Henry. I

T 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 houfe,) 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 poifon, which affaileth him.

Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here; Doth he ftill rage?

Pemb.

Pemb. He is more patient,

Than 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; invifible his fiege is now,
Against the mind; the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantafies;

Which, in their throng, and prefs to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould fing:

I am the cygnet to this pale, faint fwan,
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 indigeft,

Which he hath left fo fhapeless and fo rude.

King John brought in.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow-room a 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! dead, forsook, 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 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 so strait,
And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. John. The falt of them is hot.

Within me is a hell; and there the poifon
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable, condemned blood.

Enter Faulconbridge.

Faule. Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion, And fpleen of speed to fee your Majefty.

K. John. Oh! coufin, thou art come to fet mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life fhould 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 module of confounded royalty.

Faulc. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where, heav'n he knows, how we fhall anfwer 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.

Sal. You breathe these 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.
What furety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a King, and now is clay?
Faule. 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 servant still.

Now, now, you stars, that move in your bright spheres,
Where be your pow'rs? fhew now your mended faiths,
And inftantly return with me again,

To pufh deftruction and perpetual fhame

Out of the weak door of our fainting land:

Strait let us feek, or ftrait we fhall be fought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It feems, you know not then so much as we

The Cardinal Pandulph is within at reft,

Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin ;

And