To fet a form upon that indigestebe noge LLA Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.,

King John brought in

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K. John. Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow-room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is fo hot a fummer in my bofam, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a fcribbled form drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire Do I shrink up.

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A

Henry. How fares your Majesty?
K. John. Poifon'd, ill fare! dead, forsook, cast off;

"And none of you will bid the winter come
"To thrust his icy fingers in my mawd

"Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course

Through my burn'd bofom: nor intreat the north

"To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold." I ask not much,

I beg cold comfort; and you are fo strait,

And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.....

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Henry. Oh, that there were some 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
1s, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable, condemned blood.

:

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SCENE X. Enter Faulconbridge. Faule. Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion,

And fpleen of speed to fee your Majesty.

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K. John. Oh! coufin, thou art come to fet mine eye The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt; And all the shrowds wherewith my life should fail, 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 seest, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty.

Faulc. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where heav'n he knows how we shall 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 must I run on, and ev'n so stop
Faule. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge:
And then my foul shall wait on thee to heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy fervant still.
Now, now, you stars, that move in your bright spheres,
Where be your pow'rs? 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 feek, or strait we shall be fought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

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Sal. It feems you know not then so 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 purpose presently to leave this war.
Faulc. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well finewed to our defence.

:

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
To the fea-fide, and put his cause and quarrel
To the difpofing of the Cardinat:

With whom yourself, myself, and other Lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will poft
To confummate this business happily.

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Faulc. Let it be fo; and you, my Noble Prince,
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

Henry. At Worcester must his body be interr'd,

For fo he will'd it.

Faulc. Thither shall it then.

* and ev'n so stop.

What furety of the world, what hope, what stay,
Wen this was now a King, and now is clay?

Faulc. Art thou gene fo? &c.

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And happily may your fweet self put on
The lineal ftate, and glory of the land!
To whom, with all fubmiffion on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful fervices,

And true fubjection 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.

Faule. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been before hand with our griefs. Thus England never did, nor never shall, Lie 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 shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt omnes..

END OF VOLUME THIRD.