Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers. 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. Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Why should I then be false ; since it is true 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; Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, [3] This is said in allusion to the images made by witches. Resolve and dissolve had anciently the same meaning. STEEV. Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my soul Of this most fair occasion, by the which Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 4 Even to our ocean, to our great king John.- Rights in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight; The same. [Exeunt, leading off MELUN. SCENE V. The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set; But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground, When with a volley of our needless shot, And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off: [4] Rank, as applied to water, here signifies exuberant, ready to overflow: as applied to the actions of the speaker and his party, it signifies inordinate. MAL. STEEV. [5] Right signifies immediate. It is now obsolete. [6] Happy innovation, that purposed the restoration of the antient rightful government. JOHNS. [7] It is remarkable through such old copies of our author as I have hitherto seen, that wherever the modern editors read tat:er'd, the old editions give us totter'd in its room. Perhaps the present broad pronunciation, almost peculiar to the Scots, was at that time common to both nations. STEEV. And your supply, which you have wish'd 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, The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 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. SCENE VI. [Exeunt. 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. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : Who art thou? 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, 8 Have done me shame :-Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from my 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. Brief, then; and what's the news? [8] So, Pindar calls the moon, the eye of night. WARB. 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 ; Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk :9 Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 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; Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, SCENE VII. The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. [Exeunt. Enter Prince HENRY, SALIS BURY, and BIGOT. P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality. [9] Not one of the historians who wrote within sixty years after the death of King John, mentions this very improbable story. The tale is, that a monk, to revenge himself on the king for a saying at which he took offence, poisoned a cup ot ale, and having brought it to his majesty, drank some of it hin.seif, to induce the king to taste it, and soon afterwards expired. According to the best accounts, John died at Newark of a fever. MALONE. 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. Ó 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, the which 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, 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. Poison'd,-ill fare,--dead, forsook, cast off; 2 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 [1] in their tumult and hurry of resorting to the last tenable part. JOHN. [2] This scene has been imitated by Beaumont and Fletcher, in The Wife for a Month, Act IV. STEEV. |