The life and death of King John.
21
For I do see the cruell pangs of death
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight,
ExeuntAnd happie newnesse, that intends old right.
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight,
ExeuntAnd happie newnesse, that intends old right.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Dolphin, and his Traine.
Dol.
The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set;
But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush,
When English measure backward their owne ground
In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off,
When with a volley of our needlesse shot,
After such bloody toile, we bid good night,
And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp,
Last in the field, and almost Lords of it.
The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set;
But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush,
When English measure backward their owne ground
In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off,
When with a volley of our needlesse shot,
After such bloody toile, we bid good night,
And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp,
Last in the field, and almost Lords of it.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Where is my Prince, the Dolphin?
Where is my Prince, the Dolphin?
Dol.
Heere: what newes?
Heere: what newes?
Mes.
The Count Meloone is slaine: The English Lords
By his perswasion, are againe falne off,
And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long,
Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands.
The Count Meloone is slaine: The English Lords
By his perswasion, are againe falne off,
And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long,
Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands.
Dol.
Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart:
I did not thinke to be so sad to night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King Iohn did flie an houre or two before
The stumbling night did part our wearie powres?
Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart:
I did not thinke to be so sad to night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King Iohn did flie an houre or two before
The stumbling night did part our wearie powres?
Mes.
Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord.
Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord.
Dol.
Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night,
The day shall not be vp so soone as I,
ExeuntTo try the faire aduenture of to morrow.
Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night,
The day shall not be vp so soone as I,
ExeuntTo try the faire aduenture of to morrow.
Scena Sexta.
Enter Bastard and Hubert, seuerally.
Hub.
Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, or I shoote.
Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, or I shoote.
Bast.
A Friend. What art thou?
A Friend. What art thou?
Hub.
Of the part of England.
Of the part of England.
Bast.
Whether doest thou go?
Whether doest thou go?
Hub.
What's that to thee?
Why may not I demand of thine affaires,
As well as thou of mine?
What's that to thee?
Why may not I demand of thine affaires,
As well as thou of mine?
Bast.
Hubert, I thinke.
Hubert, I thinke.
Hub.
Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will vpon all hazards well beleeue
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well:
Who art thou?
Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will vpon all hazards well beleeue
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well:
Who art thou?
Bast.
Who thou wilt: and if thou please
Thou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinke
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Who thou wilt: and if thou please
Thou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinke
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub.
Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night,
Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue,
Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare.
Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night,
Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue,
Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare.
Bast.
Come, come: sans complement, What newes abroad?
Come, come: sans complement, What newes abroad?
Hub.
Why heere walke I in the black brow of night
To finde you out.
Why heere walke I in the black brow of night
To finde you out.
Bast.
Breefe then: and what's the newes?
Breefe then: and what's the newes?
Hub.
O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night,
Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible.
O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night,
Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible.
Bast.
Shew me the very wound of this ill newes,
I am no woman, Ile not swound at it.
Shew me the very wound of this ill newes,
I am no woman, Ile not swound at it.
Hub.
The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke,
I left him almost speechlesse, and broke out
To acquaint you with this euill, that you might
The better arme you to the sodaine time,
Then if you had at leisure knowne of this.
The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke,
I left him almost speechlesse, and broke out
To acquaint you with this euill, that you might
The better arme you to the sodaine time,
Then if you had at leisure knowne of this.
Bast.
How did he take it? Who did taste to him?
How did he take it? Who did taste to him?
Hub.
A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaine
Whose Bowels sodainly burst out: The King
Yet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer.
A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaine
Whose Bowels sodainly burst out: The King
Yet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer.
Bast.
Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty?
Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty?
Hub.
Why know you not? The Lords are all come backe,
And brought Prince Henry in their companie,
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Maiestie.
Why know you not? The Lords are all come backe,
And brought Prince Henry in their companie,
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Maiestie.
Bast.
With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen,
And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power.
Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this night
Passing these Flats, are taken by the Tide,
These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them,
My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd.
Away before: Conduct me to the king,
ExeuntI doubt he will be dead, or ere I come.
With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen,
And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power.
Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this night
Passing these Flats, are taken by the Tide,
These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them,
My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd.
Away before: Conduct me to the king,
ExeuntI doubt he will be dead, or ere I come.
Scena Septima.
Enter Prince Henry, Salisburie, and Bigot.
Hen.
It is too late, the life of all his blood
Is touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine
(Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house)
Doth by the idle Comments that it makes,
Fore-tell the ending of mortality.
It is too late, the life of all his blood
Is touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine
(Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house)
Doth by the idle Comments that it makes,
Fore-tell the ending of mortality.
Enter Pembroke.
Pem.
His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe,
That being brought into the open ayre,
It would allay the burning qualitie
Of that fell poison which assayleth him.
His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe,
That being brought into the open ayre,
It would allay the burning qualitie
Of that fell poison which assayleth him.
Hen.
Let him be brought into the Orchard heere:
Doth he still rage?
Let him be brought into the Orchard heere:
Doth he still rage?
Pem.
He is more patient
Then when you left him; euen now he sung.
He is more patient
Then when you left him; euen now he sung.
Hen.
Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreames
In their continuance, will not feele themselues.
Death hauing praide vpon the outward parts
Leaues them inuisible, and his seige is now
Against the winde, the which he prickes and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold,
Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange that death shold sing:
I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan,
Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailety sings
His soule and body to their lasting rest.
Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreames
In their continuance, will not feele themselues.
Death hauing praide vpon the outward parts
Leaues them inuisible, and his seige is now
Against the winde, the which he prickes and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold,
Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange that death shold sing:
I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan,
Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailety sings
His soule and body to their lasting rest.
Sal.
Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borne
To set a forme vpon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude.
Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borne
To set a forme vpon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude.
Iohn brought in.
Iohn.
I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome,
I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome,
It
