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SCENE, an open Place in the Neighbourhood of

Swinstead Abbey.

WHO's those

Enter Faulconbridge, and Hubert, severally.
Hub. WHO's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or

I shoot.
Faulc. A friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Faulc. And whither dost 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 shame; brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 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 sweet Sir, news fitting to the night ; Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Faul. Shew me the very wound of this ill news, I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. (22) Unkind Remembrance ; thou and endless Night

Have done me shame :- -] 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 certainly wrote, eye-less. Mr. Warburton likewise concurr'd in starring this Emendation.


Hub. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a Monk:
I left him almost Ipeechless, 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,
Whofe 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

And brought Prince Henry in their company ;
At whose request 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,
Passing these flats, 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 Abbey.

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, some fuppofe, the foul'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 ftill rage?



Pemb. He is more patient,
Than when you left him ; even now he sung.

Henry. Oh vanity of sickness ! 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 strange fantasies ;
Which, in their throng, and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis Itrange chat death should

sing :-
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 indigest,
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 against this fire Do I shrink up.

Henry. How fares your Majesty ?

K. John. Poison'd, ill fare! dead, forsook, caft off;
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thrust 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. Yohn. The salt of them is hot.

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

Enter Faulconbridge.
Faul. Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion,
And Spleen of speed to see your Majefty.

K.John. Oh! cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt ;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life lould fail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which bolds but till thy news be uttered ;
And then all this thou seeft, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Faule. 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 : My Liege! my Lord !—but now a King—now thus.

Henry. Ev'n so muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. What surety 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 shall wait on thee to heav'n, As it on earth hath been thy servant ftilt. 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 seek, or strait we shall be fought ; The Dauphin rages at our very

heels. Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : The Cardinal Pandulph is within at reft, Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphins


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 sinewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ;
For many Carriages he hath dispatch'd
To the sea-fide, and put his Cause and Quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal :
With whom your self, my self, and other lords,
If 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 it.

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, 1 I do bequeath my faithful services,

And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To reft without a Spot for evermore.

Henry. I have a kind soul, 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 it self.
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 it felf do rest but true.

Exeunt omnes.

The End of the Third Volume.

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