Hub. I am no villain.

Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at saint Edmund's Bury.
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pem. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France,
Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love,
Is much more general, than these lines import.
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then!
Sal. Or rather then set forward: for 'twill be
Two long day's journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Enter the Bastard.

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
The king, by me, request your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot,
That leaves the print of blood, where-e'er it walks.
Return, and tell him so: we know the worst.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were
best.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief.
Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now.
Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else.
Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here?
[Seeing Arthur.
Pem. O death, made proud with pure and princely
beauty!

The earth hath not a hole to hide this deed.

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in this:

And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet unbegotten sin of time,
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work,
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?—
We had a kind of light, what would ensue:
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand,
The practice, and the purpose, of the king-
From whose odedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow:
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
Enter HUBERT.

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death. -
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Sal. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword.
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again!
Sal. Not, till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say!
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence,
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman?
Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Hub. Do not prove me so!

Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pem. Cut him to pieces!

Bast. Keep the peace, I say!

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime!
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think, the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd this prince?

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well.

I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes!
For villainy is not without such rheum,
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem,
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house!
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out.
[Exeunt Lords.

Bast. Here's a good world! -Knew you of this fair
work?

Beyond the infinite and boundless reach

Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,

Art thon damn'd, Hubert.

Hub. Do but hear me, sir!

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what:

Thou art damn'd as black - nay, nothing is so black;

Thou art more deep damn'd, than prince Lucifer.
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell,

As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Hub. Upon my soul,-

Bast. If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair!

And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread,

That ever spider twisted from her womb,

Will serve to strangle thee; arush will be

A beam to hang thee on; or, would'st thou drown thyself,

Put but a little water in a spoon,

And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.—

I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath,
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms!

I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way

308

Among the thorns and dangers of this world.-
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at home,
Meet in one line, and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest! Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed! I'll to the king.
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exeunt.

SCENE I.

АСТ

V.

- The same. A room in the palace. Enter King JOHN, PANDULPH with the crown, and

Attendants.

K. John. Thus have! yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory.

Pand. Take again

[Giving John the crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority!

Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust!
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:

Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviours from the great,
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister, like the god of war,
When he intendeth to become the field!
Show boldness, and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said! Forage, and run

And

WE

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Don

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Betw

Let

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Bein

Thi

Star Tha Fi

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To meet displeasure further from the doors,
And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh!
K.John. The legate of the pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promis'd, to dismiss the powers,
Led by the Dauphin.

Bast. O inglorious league!
Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,

To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms!
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace,

K. John. Now keep your holy word, go meet the Or if he do, let it at least be said,

Then not! for the present time's so sick,
That present medicine must be minister'd,

Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath, that blew this tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope:
But, since you are a gentle convertite,
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war,
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms.
K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon,
My crown I should give off? Even so I have;
I did suppose, it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

Enter the Bastard.

[Exit. prophet

They saw, we had a purpose of defence.
K.John. Have thou the ordering of this present time!
Bast.Away then, with good courage! yet, I know,
Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

[Exeunt.
SCENE II. A plain, near St Edmund's-Bury.
Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE,
BIGOT, and Soldiers.

Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance!
Return the precedent to these lords again,
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes,
May know, wherefore we took the sacrament,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith,
To your proceedings, yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad, that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaister by contemn'd revolt,
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound,
By making many. O, it grieves my soul,
That I must draw this metal from my side,
To be a widow-maker. O, and there,
Where honourable rescue, and defence,
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury.

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out, But such is the infection of the time,

But Dover castle. London hath receiv'd,

Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone,

To offer service to your enemy;

And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.
K. John. Would not my lords return to me again,
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
Bast. They found him dead,and cast into the streets,
An empty casket, where the jewel of life

By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.
K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live.
Bast, So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought!

That, for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!
That we, the sons and children of this isle,
Were born to see so sad an hour as this?
Wherein we step after a stranger march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,)
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here?-O nation, that thou could'st remove!
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,

T

That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch, To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells, To crouch in litter of your stable planks, To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks, To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons, and to thrill, and shake, Even at the crying of your nation's crow, Thinking his voice an armed Englishman Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No, know, the gallant monarch is in arms, And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, To souse annoyance, that comes near his nest. And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame! For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace! We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well! We hold our time too precious to be spent

With such a brabbler.

Pand. Give me leave to speak!
Bast. No, I will speak.

Lew. We will attend to neither:

Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here!

Bast.Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd,
That shall reverberate all as loud, as thine.
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,

And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport, than need,)

310

Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. A field of battle.
Alarums. Enter King JoHN and HUBERT.
K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hu-

bert!

Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field,
And send him word by me, which way you go.

K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey
there.

Mess. Be of good comfort! for the great supply,
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now:
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John. Al me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good news. —--
Set on toward Swinstead! to my litter straight!
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.- The same. Another part of the same.
Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others.
Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.
Pem. Up once again! put spirit in the French!
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field.

Enter MELUN wounded, and led by soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here! Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. Pem. It is the count Melun.

Sal. Wounded to death.

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet!
For, if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at St Edmund's-Bury,
Even on that altar, where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.'

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false? since it is true,
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?

I say again, if Lewis do win the day,

He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:

--

Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him, and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, -
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
think the remnant of my thoughts
Where I
may
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.
Sal. We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul,
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.—
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye. -Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness, that intends old right.

[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

SCENE V. The same. The French camp.
Enter LEWIS and his Train.
Lew.The sun of heaven,methought, was loath to set;
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measur'd backward their own
ground,

In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night,
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger,

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

-

Lew. Here, -What news?
Mess. The count Melan is slain; the English lords,
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off:
And your supply, which you
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.
- Beshrew thy very
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!
heart!

have wish'd so long,

I did not think to be so sad to-night,

As this hath made me. Who was he, that said,
King John did fly, an hour or two before

The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

Lew. Well! keep good quarter, and good care to-
night!

The day shall not be up so soon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow,

[Exeunt.

An open place in the neighbourhood
of Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and HUBERT, meeting.
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I

shoot.

Bast. A friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go?

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Bast. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought;

But even this night, whose black contagious breath I will, upon all hazards, well believe,

Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come! sans compliment! What news
abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bust. Show me the very wound of this ill news!
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk.
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To 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.

Bast. 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.
Bast. Who did'st 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 request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indiguation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! conduct me to the king!
I doubt he will be dead,or ere I come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. — The orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. P. Hen. It is too latc; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwellinghouse,)

Doth, by the idle comments, that it makes,

Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter PEMBROKE.

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.

P. Hen. How fares your majesty?

K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare;-dead,forsook, cast 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 entreat the north,
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!

K. John. The salt in them is hot. -
Within me is a hell: and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.
Enter the Bastard.

Bast. 0, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty.

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
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 see'st, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him;
For, in a night, the best part of my power,
Were in the washes, all unwarily,
As I upon advantage did remove,

Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.-
My liege! my lord!
P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
But now a king, - now thus.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay!

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge;

Pem. His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief, And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,

That, being brought into the open air,

It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poison, which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.
Doth he still rage?

Pem. He is more patient,

[Exit Bigot.

Than when you left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible; and his siege 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 strange, that death should
sing.-

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

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.
Re-enter Bicor and Attendants, who bring in King

JOHN in a chair.

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,

As it on earth hath been thy servant still.

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers?Show 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!
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much, as we.
The cardinal Pandalph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since 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.
Bast. 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 despatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal,
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
Bast. Let it be so!-And you, my noble prince,
To consummate this business happily.
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
With other princes, that may best be spar'd,

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
For so he will'd it.