Are turn'd 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 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.

[The King dies.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear: but now a King

My Liege! my Lord!

now thus.

Henry. Ev'n fo muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what ftay, When this was now a King, and now is clay?

Faulc. 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 still.

Now, now, you ftars, that move in your bright fpheres,

Where be your pow'rs? fhew now your mended faiths,
And inftantly return with me again,

To push destruction and perpetual fhame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Strait let us feek, or ftrait we shall be fought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

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

Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin;
And brings from him fuch offers of our peace,
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpofe prefently to leave this war.

Faulc. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Ourselves well finewed to our defence.

Sal.

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 yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To confummate this business happily.

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

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

Faulc. Thither fhall it then.

And happily may your fweet felf put on
The lineal State and Glory of the Land!
To whom, with all Submiffion on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful fervices,

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.

Faulc. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
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 itself do reft but true.

THE tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmoft power of Shakespeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and charac

[Exeunt omnes.

ters. The Lady's grief is very affecting, and the character of the Baftard contains that mixture of greatnefs and lenity which this authour delighted to exhibit.

There