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I left him almost speechless, and broke out
T'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.

Faulc. How did he take it? who did tafte to him?

Hub. A Monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whole bowels suddenly barft out'; the King
Yet speaks; and, peradventure, may recover.

Faulc. Who didit 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.

Faulc. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heav'n! And tempt us not to bear above our power. I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my pow'rs this night, Palling 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 doobt, he will be dead, or e'er I cone. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Orchard in Swinstead

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.
Henry. TT is too late; the life of all his blood


Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain, (Which, some fuppose, the soul's frail dwelling house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretel 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 felt poison, which affaileth him.

Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here ; Doth he still rage?


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Pemb. He is more patient, i en

STI Than when you left him ; even now he sung,

Henry. Oh vanity of sickness ! fierce extreams
In their continuance will not feel themselves,
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them, invisible his hege is now,
Against the mind; the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantafies ;
Which, in their throng, and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. "Tis strange, that death Tould

I am the cygnet to this pale, faint swan,
Who chaunts a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, fings
His foul and body to their lasting reft.

Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince, for you are born
To set a form upon that indigeft,
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

King John brought in. 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


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

Henry. How fares your Majesty ?
K. John.Poison’d, ill fare! dead, forsook, castoff; (31)

(31) Poisonid, ill fate!). This is Mr. Pope's reading, on no authority that I can find. I have replac'd fare, with the old copies ; and considering how much our Author lov'd and has practis'd the jingle and play on words, fimilar in sound; there is no question but he intended it here. So, in his Second part of Henry VI.

Sheriff, farewel; and better than I fare : And, in the Third Part of Henry VI.

How now, fair Lords ? What fare? What news abroad? ļIl fate both takes away the antithesis, and makes a very flat insipid exclamation.


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And none of


will bid the winter come
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their courfe
Through my burn'd bofomn: nor intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I aik not much,
I beg cold com fore; and you are fo ftrait,
And so ungrateful, you deny me that.

Henry. Oh, that there were some virtue in my tears, That might relieve you!

K. John. The falt of 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 Faulconbridge.
Faule. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motions
And spleen of speed to see your Majesty.

K. John. Oh, coufin, thou art come to set mine eye : The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt ; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should fail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair : My heart hath one poor string to lay it by, Which holds bac till thy news be uttered ;, And then all this thou feeft, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. Faulc

. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where, heav'n he knows, how we shall answer him.. For, in a night, the best part


my power, As I upon advantage

did remove, Were in the walhes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected food. [The King dies,

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear : My Liege! my Lord! - but now a King-now thus.

Henry. Ev’n so muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, . When this was now a King, and now is clay?

Faulc. Art thou gone ro? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge:

And S.

And then my soul Mall wait on thee to heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now, you stars, that move in your bright spheres,
Where be your pow'rs? Thew.now your mended faiths,
And instantly return with me again,
To puth destruction and perpetual shame Casa
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Strait let us seek, or strait we hall 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 rest,
Who half an hour fince came from the Daupbin;
And brings from him such offers of our peace,
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

Faulc. 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 dispatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his caufe and quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal :
With whom yourself, myself, and other Lords,

you think meet, this afternoon will post To confummate this business happily.

Faulc. 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.

Henry, At Worcester muft his body be interr'd,
For fo he will'd it.

Faulc. 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 fervices,
And true subjection everlastingly.

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

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


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Faulc. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never hall,
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,
And we shall shock them !-Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do reft but true. [Exeunt omnes,

The End of the THIRD Volunie.

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