Of this most fair occafion, by the which Stoop low within those bounds, we have o'er-look'd; And calmly run on in obedience Ev'n to our ocean, to our great King John. My arm fhall give thee help to bear thee hence, For I do fee the cruel pangs of death Pight in thine eye. Away, my friends; new flight; And happy newness, that intends old right? [Exeunt, leading off Melun. Changes to a different part of the French Camp. Lewis. Enter Lewis, and his Train. THE HE fun of heav'n, methought, was loth But ftaid, and made the weftern welkin blush, Enter a Mejenger. Mef. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Lewis. Here. What news? Mef. The count Melun is flain; the Englife lords By his perfuafion are again fall'n off; And your fupply, which you have wifh'd fo long, Arakaway, and funk on Godwin fands. Leman Aa foul, threwd, news! Behrew thy very heart, 158 not this to be fo fad to night. As this hath made me. Who was he, that faid, The Homburg night did part our weary powers? The day fhall not be up fo foon as I, To by the fair adventure of to morrow. SC ENE VIII. [Exeunt. An agen Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinftead Abbey. Ear Faulconbridge, and Hubert feverally. HO's there? fpeak, ho! fpeak quickly, or I shoot. Fan A friend. What art thou? Way may not I demand of thine affairs, Fault. Hubert, I think. Hib. Thou hait a perfect thought. I will upon all hazards well believe Thou art my friend, that know'ft my tongue fo well. Who art thou? Faule. Who thou wilt; and, if thou please, Thou may't be friend me fo much, as to think, I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night 3 —low and endless night] We should read, eveless. So Pindar calls the Moon, the eye of night. WARBURTON. Have done me fhame. Brave foldier, pardon me, Faulc. Come, come; Sans 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 fitted to the night; Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Faulc. Shew me the very wound of this ill news, I am no woman, I'll not fwoon at it. Hub. The King, I fear, is poifon'd by a Monk. I left him almoft speechlefs, 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 tafte to him? And brought Prince Henry in their company; Faulc. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n! Kk 2 [Exeunt. SCENE IT Changes to the Orchard in Swinstead Abbey., Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury and Bigot. Henry. 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-house, Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Fortel the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke. Pemb. His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air, Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here. Doth he ftill rage? Pemb. He is more patient, Than when you left him; even now he fung. Which in their throng and prefs to that laft hold, Confound themfelves. 'Tis ftrange that death fhould fing. I am the cygnet to this pale, faint fwain, His foul and body to their lafting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are born To fet a form upon that indigeft, Which he hath left fo fhapelefs and fo rude. 4 in their thrang and prefs-] In their tumult and hurry of reforting to the laft tenable part. King King John brought in. K. John. Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow. room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors, Henry. How fares your Majesty? K. John. Poifon'd. Ill fare! dead, forsook, cast off; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their courfe I do not ask you 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 poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable, condemned blood. Faule. Oh! I am fcalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to fee your Majesty. K. John, Oh! coufin, thou art come to fet mine. eye. The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt; And all the fhrowds, wherewith my life fhould fail, Are |