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ARTHUR'S DEATH. Act IV. SCENE 3.Before the Castle. Arthur, disguised as a sailor boy, tries to escape. He leaps from

the castle wall, and is killed. Arth. The wallis high; and yet will I leapdown: Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance ? hath disguised me I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. [quite. 5 If I get down, and do not break my I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : As good to die and go, as die and stay.

[Leaps down. Oh me! my uncle's spirit? is in these stones : Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

[Dies. Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies

here? (seeing Arthur) Pem. Oh death, made proud with pure

and princely beauty. The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

Sal. Murther, as hating what himself hath Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. [done, 15

Big. Or, when hedoom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

Sal. We had a kind of light what would ensue: It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand, The practice and the purpose of the king : From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life. Pem., Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy



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NOTES. i (l. 4). Ship-boy's semblance, the 2 (1. 9). Uncle's spirit. In reference

sailor-boy's dress which Arthur to the hard stormy nature of King had put on.



KING JOHN AND HIS CROWN. Act V. SCENE 1.-Northampton Palace. Enter King John, PANDULPH and ATTENDANTS. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your

hand The circle of my glory." Pand. [giving John the crown)

. Take again From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority. K. John. Now keep your holy word; go

meet the French; And from his Holiness ? use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflamed. 3 Our discontented counties* do revolt, Our people quarrel with obedience, Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To strange blood, to foreign royalty This inundation of mistemper'd humour Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not; for the present time's so sick, 15 That present medicine must be minister'd, Or overthrow incurable ensues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this

tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope; But since you are a gentle convertite, My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blustering





On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the Pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. 25

[Exit. K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not

the prophet Say, that before Ascension day at noon My crown I should give off? Even so I have. I did suppose it should be on constraint, But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.


NOTES. 1 (l. 2). Circle of my glory, my royal 4 (l. 9). Counties, the people living in crown.

them. 2 (l. 7). His Holiness, the Pope. B (l. 10). Quarrel with obedience, do 3 (l. 8). 'Fore we are inflamed, before not heed John's orders, and there.

the enemy begins to burn our fore disobey him.
towns and villages.

6 (l. 20). Convertite, convert.
7 (l. 29). Constraint, compulsion.



The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected nobles of England, gives

battle to John at St. Edmund's-Bury. The king's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyed to Swinstead Abbey, sick of a fever. There the King dies.

SCENE-Swinstead Abbey.
Enter Bigor and ATTENDANTS, who bring in

King John in a chair.
K, John. Ay, marry, now my soul bath

elbow-room ;
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

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Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
P. Henry

How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poisoned—ill fare ;-dead, forsook,

cast. off: And none of


will bid the Winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burned bosom, nor entreat the

North To make his bleak winds kiss my parchëd lips, And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,

15 I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, And so ungrateful, you deny me that. P. Henry. O that there were some virtue in

my tears, That might relieve you! K. John.

The salt in them is hot. 20 Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannise On unreprievable condemnöd blood.

Enter FAULCONBRIDGE. Faul. Oh, 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 cracked and burned ; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should


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