Away, before! conduct me to the king; [Exeunt. 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 dwellinghouse,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 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 H 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, 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. K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 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, Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, 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; 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, As I upon advantage did remove, Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. 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, Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths; And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we: Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, you think meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily. Bast. Let it be so:-And you, my noble prince, With other princes that may beşt 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 And true subjection everlastingly. 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 woe, 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. 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. |