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Which, in their 'throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should
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, sings
His soul and body to their lasting reft.
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ;
you are born To set a form upon that indigest Which he hath left fo shapeless and fo rude,
King John brought in.
K. fobn. 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 al} 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.
Hen. How fares your majesty ?
K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare ;-dead, forfook, 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 intreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold :-I do not afk you much,
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
Flen. Oh, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!
throng and press to tbat laj bold,)--tumult and hurry in resorting to that lait tenable part. on but indigef]-chaos.
K. John. The salt 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.
Faulo. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And o spleen of speed to see your majesty.
K. Jobn. Oh cousin, thou art come to set mine eye :
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt ;
And all the shrowds, wherewith my life should fail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but 'till thy news bę uttered ;
And then all this thou seest, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.
Faulc. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of my power,
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. My liege! my lord !-Bụt now a king,-now thus,
Hen. Even so must 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!
Faulc. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge ;
And then my foul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.-
Spleen of Speed]-exceflive hafte,
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers ? Shew now your mended faiths;
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 fought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems, you know not 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.
Faulo. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Ourselves well sinewed 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 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 confummate this business happily.
Faulc. Let it be fo :--And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spard,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
· Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr’d; For so 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,
your mended faiths ; ] — yourselves true, as heretofore, to the Englijh.
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.
Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Faulo. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. This England never did (nor never shall) Lye 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 rest but true.
Since it bath been beforehand with our griefs. ]-Since we've already received so much from the time.
s ber princes]-sevolted peers.