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Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life;

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ?1
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
Why should I then be false; since it is true,
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
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;
Paying the fine of rated treachery,

Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis, by your assistance, win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,-and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,-
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu2 whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

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 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 you please,
Thou may'st 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,

Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew my soul, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,

But I do love the favour and the form

Of this most fair occasion, by the which

We will untread the steps of damned flight;

And, like a bated and retired flood,

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 shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see 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. SCENE V.-The same. 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,

In faint retire: O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin?
Lew.
Here:-What news?
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 Alv, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers? (1) In allusion to the images made by witches. (2) Place. (3) Ill betide. (4) Immediate. (5) Innovation. (6) Sky.

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? 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: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might The better arm you to the sudden time, Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, 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 brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!-
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.'
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come.
SCENE VII.-The orchard of Swinstead 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,

In your posts or stations.
Without.
(9) Forces.

[Exeunt.

Foretel 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?

[Exit Bigot.
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;
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,
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.

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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':

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
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,'
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, confin'd 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:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should'sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:

My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered:
And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Bast. The dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of my power,
(2) Model.

(1) Narrow, avaricious.

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My liege! my lord !-But now a king,—now thus,
P. 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!

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge;
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.-
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right
spheres,

Where be your powers? Show now your mended
faiths;

To push destruction, and perpetual shame,
And instantly return with me again,
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought,
The dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not then 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.
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees

For many carriages he hath despatch'd
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
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 cónsummate this business happily.

Bast. Let it be so:-And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
For so he will'd it.

Bast.
Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
The lineal state and glory of the land!
And true subjection everlastingly.
I do bequeath my faithful services

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you
thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful wo,
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.-
This England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
Now these her princes are come home again,
And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.

rue,

The tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and characters. The lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity, which this author delighted to exhibit. JOHNSON.

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KING RICHARD II.

King Richard the Second.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater.

Edmund of Langley, Duke of York; uncles to the Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster.
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; King
Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Here-
ford, son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King
Henry IV.

Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

Duke of Surrey.

Earl of Salisbury.

Earl Berkley.

Bushy,

Bagot,

creatures to King Richard.

Green,

Earl of Northumberland:

Henry Percy, his son.

ACT I.

SCENE I-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, and other nobles, with him.

OLD

King Richard.

John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,' Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him,

If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that ar-
gument,-

On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face
to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:-
[Exeunt some attendants.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter attendants, with Bolingbroke and Norfolk.

Boling. May many years of happy days befall
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flat

ters us,

As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal? each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object

(1) Bond. (2) Charge. (3) Uninhabitable.

Lord Marshal; and another Lord.
Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a band of Welshmen.

Queen to King Richard.
Duchess of Gloster.
Duchess of York.

Lady attending on the Queen.

Lords, heralds, officers, soldiers, two gardeners, keeper, messenger, groom, and other attendants.

Scene, dispersedly in England and Wales.

Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Boling. First (heaven be the record of my speech!)

In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.-
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live;
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish (so please my sovereign,) ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword
may prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this,
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,

I do defy him, and I spit at him;

Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain:
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds;
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot."
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,-
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Boling Pale trembling coward, there I throw
my gage,

22

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