Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Refolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?

What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?

Why should I then be false; fince it is true

That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I fay again, if Lewis do win the day,

He is forfworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east :

But even this night,-whose black contagious breath
Already fmokes about the burning crest

Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied fun,-
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,

a

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your affistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,—and this respect besides,
For that my grandfire was an Englishman,—
Awakes my confcience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, 1 pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noife and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my foul
With contemplation and devout defires.

Sal. We do believe thee,-And befhrew my
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occafion, by the which
We will untread the fteps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,

Y a form of wax]-an image made by witches.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, Vol. I,
2 of rated treachery,]-at which treafon is rated,
fine]-conclufion, termination.

a

foul

P. 457. Claud.

VOL. III.

A a

Leay

Leaving our rankness and irregular course,

Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,

Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-—————
My arm fhall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do fee the cruel pangs of death

Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight; And happy newness, that intends old right.

[Exeunt, leading off Melun.

V.

SCENE

A different Part of the French Camp.

Enter Lewis, and his train.

Lewis. The fun of heaven, methought, was loth to fet; But ftaid, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground In faint retire: Oh, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needlefs fhot, After fuch bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Laft in the field, and almost lords of it!

d

Enter a Messenger.

Mef. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?
Lewis. Here:-What news?

Mef. The count Melun is flain; the English lords,

By his perfuafion, are again fallen off:

And your * fupplies, which you have wifh'd fo long, Are caft away, and funk, on Goodwin fands.

Right-Plainly, ftrongly indicated, full in view there.

• And bappy newness, that intends old right.]-Change of mind, intent on returning to ancient duty and allegiance.

a tort'ring.

• chearly.

* Supply.

Lewis. Ah foul fhrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be fo fad to-night,

As this hath made me.-Who was he, that faid,
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The ftumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mes. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

f

Lewis. Well; keep good quarter, and good care to

night:

The day shall not be up fo foon as I,

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

SCENE VI.

[Exeunt.

An open Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinftead Abbey. Enter Faulconbridge, and Hubert, feverally.

Hub. Who's there? fpeak, ho! fpeak quickly, of I

shoot.

Faulc. A friend :-What art thou?

Hub. Of the part of England.

Faulc. Whether doft thou go?

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand

Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

Faulc. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou haft a perfect thought:

I will, upon all hazards, well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'ft my tongue fo well: Who art thou?

Faulc. Who thou wilt: an if thou please,

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets,

f quarter,]-order.

A a 2

Hub.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, Have done me fhame :-Brave foldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,

Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Faulc. Come, come; fans compliment, what news abroad?

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out.

Faulc. Brief, then; and what's the news?

Hub. O my fweet fir, news fitted to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Faulc. Shew me the very wound of this ill news;
I am no woman, I'll not fwoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poifon'd by a monk :
I left him almoft fpeechlefs, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the fudden 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,
Whose bowels fuddenly burst out: the king.
Yet fpeaks, and, peradventure, may recover..
Faule. 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 ?

At whole request the king hath pardon'd them;
And they are all about his majesty.

Faule. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!-
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Paffing thefe flats, are taken by the tide,

& Unkind remembrance !]-Not to remember thee.
Than bad you at lefs leifure-when you were lefs prepared.

Thefe

;

Thefe Lincoln washes have devoured them
Myfelf, well mounted, hardly have efcap'd.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

VII.

The Orchard in Swinftead Abbey.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood
Is touch'd' corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the foul's frail dwelling-house)
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke.

Pemb. His highnefs yet doth speak; and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air,

It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poifon that affaileth him.

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

Pemb. He is more patient

Than when you left him; even now he fung.
Hen. O vanity of fickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward
parts,
Leaves them infenfible: his fiege is now,
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;

k

corruptively.

k

* invifible.

A a 3

Which,