As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's* ear, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand Whom he hath used rather for sport than need), SCENE III.-The same. A Field of Battle. Alarums.-Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT. [Exeunt. 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 Swinshead, to the abbey there. That was expected by the Dauphin here, [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the same. Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and others. Sal. I did not think the king so stored 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. * Sky. 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 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, Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my soul But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-——— For I do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye.-Away my friends! New flight; [Exeunt, leading off MELUN. SCENE V.-The same. The French Camp. Enter LEWIS and his Train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set; 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: And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, 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 fly, 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 Swinshead 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: * In your posts. 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, Have done me shame:-Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? To find you out. 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: To acquaint you with this evil: that you might Than if you had at leisure known of this. Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 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 they are all about his majesty. Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The Orchard of Swinshead Abbey. Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, 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. 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 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, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; [Exit BIGOT. Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 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. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room; 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 And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you much, And so ingrateful, you deny me that. P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, That might relieve you! K. John. The salt in them is hot. Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confined 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. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: * Narrow, avaricious. |