2520For I do see the cruell pangs of death

2521Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight,

2522And happie newnesse, that intends old right. Exeunt

2525Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set;

2526But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush,

2527When English measure backward their owne ground

2528In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off,

2529When with a volley of our needlesse shot,

2530After such bloody toile, we bid good night,

2531And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp,

2532Last in the field, and almost Lords of it.

2534Mes. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin?

2535Dol. Heere: what newes?

2536Mes. The Count Meloone is slaine: The English Lords

2537By his perswasion, are againe falne off,

2538And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long,

2539Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands.

2540Dol. Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very (hart:

2541I did not thinke to be so sad to night

2542As this hath made me. Who was he that said

2543King Iohn did flie an houre or two before

2544The stumbling night did part our wearie powres?

2545Mes. Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord.

2546Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night,

2547The day shall not be vp so soone as I,

2548To try the faire aduenture of to morrow. Exeunt

2551Hub. Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, or

2552 I shoote.

2553Bast. A Friend. What art thou?

2554Hub. Of the part of England.

2555Bast. Whether doest thou go?

2556Hub. What's that to thee?

2557Why may not I demand of thine affaires,

2558As well as thou of mine?

2559Bast. Hubert, I thinke.

2560Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought:

2561I will vpon all hazards well beleeue

2562Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well:

2563Who art thou?

2564Bast. Who thou wiIt: and if thou please

2565Thou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinke

2566I come one way of the Plantagenets.

2567Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night,

2568Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me,

2569That any accent breaking from thy tongue,

2570Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare.

2571Bast. Come, come: sans complement, What newes

2572 abroad?

2573Hub. Why heere walke I, in the black brow of night

2574To finde you out.

2575Bast. Brcefe then: and what's the newes?

2576Hub. O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night,

2577Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible.

2578Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes,

2579I am no woman, Ile not swound at it.

2580Hub. The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke,

2581I left him almost speechlesse, and broke out

2582To acquaint you with this euill, that you might

2583The better arme you to the sodaine time,

2584Then if you had at leisure knowne of this.

2585Bast. How did he take it? Who did taste to him?

2586Hub. A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaine

2587Whose Bowels sodainly burst out: The King

2588Yet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer.

2589Bast. Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty?

2590Hub. Why know you not? The Lords are all come

2591 backe,

2592And brought Prince Henry in their companie,

2593At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,

2594And they are all about his Maiestie.

2595Bast. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen,

2596And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power.

2597Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this night

2598Passing these Flats, are taken by the Tide,

2599These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them,

2600My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd.

2601Away before: Conduct me to the king,

2602I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. Exeunt

2605Hen. It is too late, the life of all his blood

2606Is touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine

2607(Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house)

2608Doth by the idle Comments that it makes,

2609Fore-tell the ending of mortality.

2611Pem. His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe,

2612That being brought into the open ayre,

2613It would allay the burning qualitie

2614Of that fell poison which assayleth him.

2615Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard heere:

2616Doth he still rage?

2617Pem. He is more patient

2618Then when you left him; euen now he sung.

2619Hen. Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreames

2620In their continuance, will not feele themselues.

2621Death hauing praide vpon the outward parts

2622Leaues them inuisible, and his seige is now

2623Against the winde, the which he prickes and wounds

2624With many legions of strange fantasies,

2625Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold,

2626Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange y^t death shold sing:

2627I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan,

2628Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death,

2629And from the organ-pipe of frailety sings

2630His soule and body to their lasting rest.

2631Sal. Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borne

2632To set a forme vpon that indigest

2633Which he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude.

2635Iohn. I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome,