SCENE VII.

The Orchard of Swinftead-Abbey.

Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.

P. Hen. It 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,
Foretell 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 poifon which affaileth him.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.Doth he still rage?

[Exit BIGOT.

Pemb.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he fung.
P. Hen. O vanity of fickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them infenfible; and his tege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantafies;

Which, in their throng and prefs to that laft hold, Confound themselves, 'Tis ftrange, that death should fing.-

I am the cygnet to this pale faint fwan,

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;

And, from the organpipe of frailty, fings

His foul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To fet a form upon that indigest

Which he hath left fo fhapeless and fo rude.

Ke-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in King JOHN in a Chair.

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 bofom, That all my bowels crumble up to duft : I am a fcribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I fhrink up.

P. Hen.

How fares your majesty?

K. John. Poifon'd,-ill-fare ;-dead, forfook, 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 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 fo ingrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. John.
The falt 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

Enter the Bastard.

Baft. O, I am fcalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to fee your majesty.

K. John. O coufin, thou art come to fet mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, 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 feeft, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

my power,

Baft. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where, heaven he knows, how we fhall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes, all unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[The King dies

Sal. You breathe thefe dead news in as dead an ear.My liege! my lord!—But now a king,—now thus. P. Hen. Even fo must I run on, and even so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay !

Baf. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind,

To do the office for thee of revenge;

And then my foul fhall wait on thee to heaven,

As it on earth hath been thy fervant ftill..

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,

Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths
And inftantly return with me again,

To push destruction, and perpetual shame,
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:

Straight let us feek, or ftraight we fhall 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 Dauphin
And brings from him fuch offers of our peace
As we with honour and refpect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

Beft. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Ourselves well finewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath defpatch'd
To the feafide, and put his cause and quarrel
To the difpofing of the cardinal :

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To cónfummate this bufinefs happily.

Baft. 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.

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

Baft.

Thither fhall it then.

And happily may your sweet felf put on
The lineal state 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 reft without a fpot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind foul, that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Baft. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.-

This 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 armis,

And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do reft but true.

[Exeunt.