I left him almoft fpeechlefs, and broke out
T'acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the fudden time,
Than if you had at leifure known of this.

Faulc. How did he take it? who did tafte to him?
Hub. A Monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whofe bowels fuddenly burft out; the King
Yet fpeaks; and, peradventure, may recover.
Faulc. Who didft thou leave to tend his Majefty.
Hub. Why, know you not? the Lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whofe requeft the King hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his Majefty.

Faule. 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, Paffing thefe flats, are taken by the tide ; Thefe Lincoln-washes have devoured them; Myfelf, well mounted, hardly have escaped. Away, before: conduct me to the King; I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Orchard in Swinstead Abbey.

Henry.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

T is too late; the life of all his blood

IIs touchd corruptibly, and his pure brain,

(Which, fome fuppofe, the foul'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 fell poison, which affaileth him.

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

Pemb.

Pemb. He is more patient,

Than when you left him; even now he fung.
Henry. Oh vanity of fickness! fierce extreams
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them; invifible his fiege is now,

Against the mind; the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of ftrange fantafies;

Which, in their throng, and prefs to that last hold, Confound themselves. "Tis ftrange, that death should fing:

I am the cygnet to this pale, faint fwan,
Who chaunts a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, fings

His foul and body to their lafting reft.

Sal. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born

To fet a form upon that indigeft,

Which he hath left fo fhapelefs and fo rude.

King John brought in.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my foul hath elbow-room i It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is fo hot a fummer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to duft: I am a fcribbled form drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire Do I fhrink up.

Henry. How fares your Majefty?

K.John.Poifon'd, ill fare! dead,forfook, cast off; (31)

(31) Poifon'd, 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 confidering how much our Author lov'd and has practis'd the jingle and play on words, fimilar in found; there is no queftion 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? Ill fate both takes away the antithefis, and makes a very flat infipid exclamation.

And

And none of you
will bid the winter come
To thruft his icy fingers in my maw;

Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bofom: nor intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold. I afk not much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And fo ungrateful, you deny me that.

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

K. John. The falt of them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poifon
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable, condemned blood.

Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc. Oh, I am fcalded with my violent motion,
And spleen af fpeed to fee your Majesty.

K.John. Oh, coufin, thou art come to fet 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 ftring to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou feeft, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Faule. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,

Where, heav'n he knows, how we fhall anfwer him...
For, in a night, the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,

Were in the washes, all unwarily,

Devoured by the unexpected flood..

[The King dies

Sal. You breathe thefe dead news in as dead an ear; My Liege! my Lord!--but now a King-now thus. Henry. Ev'n fo muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what ftay, When this was now a King, and now is clay? Faule. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind,. To do the office for thee of revenge:

And

And then my foul shall wait on thee to heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy fervant ftill.

Now, now, you stars, that move in your bright spheres, Where be your pow'rs? fhew now your mended faiths, And inftantly return with me again,

To push deftruction and perpetual shame

Out of the weak door of our fainting land :
Strait let us feek, or ftrait we shall be fought;
The Dauphin rages at our very

heels.

Sal. It feems, you know not then so much as we': The Cardinal Pandulph is within at reft,

Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin;
And brings from him fuch 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 fea-fide, and put his caufe and quarrel
To the difpofing of the Cardinal :

With whom yourself, myfelf, and other Lords,
you think meet, this afternoon will post

If

To confummate this bufinefs happily.

Faule. 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 fhall it then.

And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state, and glory of the land!
To whom, with all fubmiffion on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful fervices,

And true fubjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,

To reft without a fpot for evermore.

Henry. I have a kind foul, that would give you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Faulc

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 fhall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it firft 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 rest but true.

[Exeunt omnes.

The End of the THIRD Volume.