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 plaster 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: But such is the infection of the time, 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 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) [weep 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 thyAnd grapple thee unto a pagan shore; [self, Where these two Christian armies might comThe blood of malice in a vein of league, [bine And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility.

O, what a noble combat hast thou fought,
Between compulsion and a brave respect!+
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks;
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;

But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than I had seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes,
That never saw the giant world enrag'd;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as
Into the purse of rich prosperity, [deep
As Lewis himself:-so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength
of mine.

Enter PANDULPH, attended.

And even there, methinks, an angel spake :
Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven;
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France!
The next is this,-king John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church,
The great metropolis and see of Rome :
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in show.

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not I am too high-born to be propertied,* [back To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars,
Between this chástis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this
fire;

And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, [me?
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back,
Because that John hath made his peace with
Rome?
[borne,
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? is't not I,
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this
work.

Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.-
[Trumpet sounds.

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the BASTARD, attended.

Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:My holy lord of Milan, from the king

I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And, as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms.

The youth says well:-Now hear our English
Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
For thus his royalty doth speak in me. [king;
He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should:
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops,
The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.

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, fock'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 airy towers,t
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.-
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neros, 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 neeldst to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

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

Pand. Give me leave to speak.

Bust. 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,) 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, Hubert.

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. [now: This news was brought to Richard but even 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;

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, nath 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.

[sold ;*

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seck out king John, and fall before his feet; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, Het 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 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?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my
Retaining but a quantity of life; [view,
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ?
What in the world should make me now de-
ceive,

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:
But even this night,-whose black contagious
breath

Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,-
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
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 lieus whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

[soul

Sul. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my 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'erAnd calmly run on in obedience, [look'd, Even to our ocean, to our great king John.My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;

A proverb intimating treachery. + Lewis ↑ In allusion to the images made by witches. Place. In betide.

For I do see the cruel pangs of death [flight;
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New
And happy newness, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.

SCENE V.-The same.-The French Camp.
Enter LEWIS and his Train.

1 Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was
loath to set;
[blush,

But stay'd, and made the western welkin 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 Melun is slain; the English lords,

By his persuasion, are again fallen off: [long,
And your supply, which you have wish'd so
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.
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 Ay, 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 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.

[well:

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so Who art thou?

Bust. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, [me, Have done me shame:-Brave soldier, pardon That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine

Hub. O, my sweet Sir, news fitting to the night,

Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. [news; 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. Bust. 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,

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 indignation, 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.

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.

* Forces.

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 [thus.. My liege! my lord!-But now a king, now P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. [stay, What surety of the world, what hope, what + Model

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay be And then my soul shall wait on thee to To do the office for thee of revenge; [hind, heaven,

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,

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

Who half an hour since came from the DauThe cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, phin ;

And brings from him such offers of our peace As we with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war.

Bust. 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 seaside, 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 To cónsummate this business happily.

Bast. Let it be so;-And you, my noble With other princes that may best be spar'd, prince, Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be inFor so he will'd it. [terr'd;

Bast. 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,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.

Sul. And the like tender of our love we

To rest without a spot for evermore. [make, P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give