The First Web Folio Edition of Shakespeare's Works
| The orchard in Swinstead Abbey. |
| [Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT] |
| PRINCE HENRY | 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 | |||
| Foretell the ending of mortality. | 5 | ||
| [Enter PEMBROKE] |
| PEMBROKE | 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. |
| PRINCE HENRY | Let him be brought into the orchard here. | 10 | |
| Doth he still rage? | |||
| [Exit BIGOT] |
| PEMBROKE | He is more patient | ||
| Than when you left him; even now he sung. |
| PRINCE HENRY | O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes | ||
| In their continuance will not feel themselves. | 15 | ||
| Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, | |||
| Leaves them invisible, 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, | 20 | ||
| 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 | 25 | ||
| His soul and body to their lasting rest. |
| SALISBURY | 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. | |||
| [Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair] |
| KING JOHN | Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room; | 30 | |
| 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 | 35 | ||
| Do I shrink up. |
| PRINCE HENRY | How fares your majesty? |
| KING 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 | 40 | ||
| 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. | 45 |
| PRINCE HENRY | O that there were some virtue in my tears, | ||
| That might relieve you! |
| KING JOHN | The salt in them is hot. | ||
| Within me is a hell; and there the poison | |||
| Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize | 50 | ||
| On unreprievable condemned blood. | |||
| [Enter the BASTARD] |
| BASTARD | O, I am scalded with my violent motion, | ||
| And spleen of speed to see your majesty! |
| KING JOHN | O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: | ||
| The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, | 55 | ||
| 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 seest is but a clod | 60 | ||
| And module of confounded royalty. |
| BASTARD | 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, | 65 | ||
| Were in the Washes all unwarily | |||
| Devoured by the unexpected flood. | |||
| [KING JOHN dies] |
| SALISBURY | You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. | ||
| My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus. |
| PRINCE HENRY | Even so must I run on, and even so stop. | 70 | |
| What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, | |||
| When this was now a king, and now is clay? |
| BASTARD | 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, | 75 | ||
| 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, | |||
| And instantly return with me again, | |||
| To push destruction and perpetual shame | 80 | ||
| 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. |
| SALISBURY | It seems you know not, then, so much as we: | ||
| The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, | 85 | ||
| 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. |
| BASTARD | He will the rather do it when he sees | 90 | |
| Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. |
| SALISBURY | 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: | 95 | ||
| With whom yourself, myself and other lords, | |||
| If you think meet, this afternoon will post | |||
| To consummate this business happily. |
| BASTARD | Let it be so: and you, my noble prince, | ||
| With other princes that may best be spared, | 100 | ||
| Shall wait upon your father's funeral. |
| PRINCE HENRY | At Worcester must his body be interr'd; | ||
| For so he will'd it. |
| BASTARD | Thither shall it then: | ||
| And happily may your sweet self put on | 105 | ||
| The lineal state and glory of the land! | |||
| To whom with all submission, on my knee | |||
| I do bequeath my faithful services | |||
| And true subjection everlastingly. |
| SALISBURY | And the like tender of our love we make, | 110 | |
| To rest without a spot for evermore. |
| PRINCE HENRY | I have a kind soul that would give you thanks | ||
| And knows not how to do it but with tears. |
| BASTARD | O, let us pay the time but needful woe, | ||
| Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. | 115 | ||
| 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, | 120 | ||
| And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, | |||
| If England to itself do rest but true. | |||
| [Exeunt] |
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