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 wrecked three nights ago on Goodwin Sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now. The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. K. John. Ah 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 stored 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 of Saint 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? Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 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 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours But even this night,-whose black, contagious breath Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,- Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, Sal. We do believe thee,- and beshrew my soul Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight; Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Even to our ocean, to our great king John.- Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight! And hapyy 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 staid, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measured 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; Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin? Lew. Here:-What news? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off; And your supply, which you have wished so long, Lew. Ah, foul, shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart! 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. SCENE VI. An open place in the Neighborhood 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. Bast. Whither dost thou go? Of the part of England. 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! I will, upon all hazards, well believe, Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well. Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou mayst befriend me so much, as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night 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. Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; Hub. The king, I fear, is poisoned by a monk. 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 didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back, Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty Heaven, [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) Enter PEMBROKE. • Pem. 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 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 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; 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 BIGOT 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, 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. Poisoned,-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 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, confined to tyrannize On unreprievable, condemned blood. Enter the Bastard. Bast. 0, I am scalded with my violent emotion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. VOL. II. 21 |