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.

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well:-Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 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;1
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 2 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; Wegrant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent

With such a brabbler.5

We will attend to neither:Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest, and our being here.

4

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
(Nor 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.

SCENE IV. 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 Pem. It is the Count Melun. [names. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, [sold; 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, Hel 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
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire2?
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

1 Lewis. 2 Alluding to the images made by witches.

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
Already smokes about the burning crest [breath
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 lieu 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

Sal. 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 unthread the steps of this our flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'er-
look'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 thence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death [flight:
Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New
And happy newness, 1 that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

Mess. The Count Melun is slain; the English By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: [lords, And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin Sands.

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?
H. What's that to thee? Why may not I de
mand

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
Who art thou?
[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. [night,
Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless
Have done me shame:--Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tonuge,
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans1 compliment, what

news abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk I in the black brow of To find you out. [night, Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bast. 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. B. 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.

B. 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 escaped. Away, before, conduct me to the king; I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt

THE ORCHARD OF SWINSTEAD ABBEY. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood

T

T

P. His highness yet doth speak; and holds That, being brought into the open air, [belief, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. (here.P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard Doth he still rage? [Exit Bigot.

Pem.

He is more patient 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, thewhich 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 Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King John in a chair.

K. J. 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. 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 strait1
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

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

[tears,

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

K. J. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of mine heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should Are turned to one thread, one little hair: [sail, 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 1 of confounded royalty.

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where heaven he knows how we shall answer
For, in a night, the best part of my power, [him:
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 an ear.[thus. My liege! my lord!-But now a king,-now P. H. Even somust I run on, and even so stop. 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; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, [faiths; Where be your powers? Show now your mended 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 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. [sought;

S. It seems, you know not then so much as we; The cardinal Pandulph 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 To cónsummate this business happily.

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

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

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give

you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. 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 arms, [rue,
And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.
1 Model.

Act First.

SCENE I.-LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE. Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, and other Nobles, with him.

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd
Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,1
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son;
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded
him,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?

G. As near as I could sift him on that arguOn some apparent danger seen in him, [ment,Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:
[Exeunt some Attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke
and Norfolk.

Boling. May many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness: Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,

1.

As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
B. First, (heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely présence.-
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live:
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly...
Once more, the more to aggravate the note.
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword

may prove.

N. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can Inot of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: [me First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs From giving reins and spurs to my free speech: Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat, Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,