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I left him almost speechless, 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 leisure known of this.

Faulc. 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.

Faulc. Who didit 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.

Faule. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'nl
And tempt us not to bear above our power.
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my pow'ss this night,
Paffing these fats, are taken by the tide ;
These 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

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

T is too late; the life of all his blood

Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain,
(Which, fome fuppose, the soul'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; Doth he still rage ?


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; invisible his fiege is now,
Against the mind; the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of ftrange fantasies;
Which, in their throng, and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. "Tis (trange, that death should

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, fings
His soul and body to their lasting reft.

Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince ; for you are born.
To set a form upon that indigeft,
Which he hath left so shapeless 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 so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust : I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and againf this fire Do I shrink up.

Henry. How fares your Majesty ? K. John.Poison'd, ill fare! dead, forfook, cartoff; (31) (31). Poison'd, il! fate! ] This is Mr. Pope's reading, on authority that I can find. I have replac'd fare, with the old copies ; and considering how much our Author lov'd and has practis'd the jingle and play on words, Smilar in sound; there is no queition but be intended it here. So, in his Second Part of Henry VI.

Sheriff, fareivel; and better than I fare ; And, in the Third Part of Henry VI.

How now, fair Lords : What fare? What news abroad? Il fate both takes away the antithesis, and makes a very flat insipid exclamation.

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 ask not much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are fo ftrait,
And so ungrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. John. The salt of them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin’d to tyrannize
On onreprievable, condemned blood.

Enter Faulconbridge.
Faulo. Oh, I am fcalded with my violent motion,
And spleen af speed to see your Majesty.

K. John. Oh, cousin, thou art come to set mine eye :: The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt ; And all the frouds, life Thould sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor string to. kay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered ; And then all this thou seeft, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalt;'.

Faule. The Dauphin is preparing bitherward, 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 food. (7 be King diess

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

Henry. Ev’n so must I run on, and ev'n so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what stay, 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 soul Mall 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 ? 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 ftrait we İhall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at oor very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we':
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rett,
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.

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 sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal :
With whom yourself, myfelf, and other Lords,
you think

meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily,

Faulc. 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.

Henry. At Worcester must his body be interr’d,
For so he will'd is

Faulc. 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,
I do bequeath my faithful fervices,
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.


Faulo. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woeg.
Since it haih been before-hand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never thall,
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 reft but true. (Exeunt omneso

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