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King John

Act V, Scene 7

The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.
 
[Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]
 
PRINCE HENRY
               ,    ,          ,        ,          ,
      It is / too late,| the life | of all | his blood
            ,         ,     ,                ,    ,
      Is touched, corrup|tibly:| and his / pure brain
               ,         ,          ,        T      Tx      T
      (Which some | suppose | the soul's | frail dwelling-house) ??
        ,           ,      ,          ,         ,
      Doth by | the i|dle com|ments that | it makes
            ,         ,       ,       ,    ,
      Foretell | the en|ding of | morta|lity.
 
[Enter PEMBROKE]
 
PEMBROKE
            ,        ,           ,           ,         ,
      His high|ness yet | doth speak,| and holds | belief,
            ,        ,       ,         ,      ,
      That be|ing brought | into | the o|pen air,
       ,            ,         ,        ,     ,
      It would | allay | the bur|ning qua|lity
                  ,   ,        ,        ,        ,
      Of that / fell poi|son which | assai|leth him.
 
PRINCE HENRY
       ,              ,         ,        ,         ,
      Let him | be brought | into | the or|chard here:
        ,         T     T
      Doth he | still rage?
 
[Exit BIGOT]
 
PEMBROKE
                             T        ,     ,
                            He | is more | patient
             ,          ,         ,      ,         ,
      Than when | you left | him; e|ven now | he sung.
 
PRINCE HENRY
         ,    ,        ,           ,         ,
      O va|nity | of sick|ness: fierce | extremes
           ,         ,    2      ,          ,          ,
      In their | contin|uance, will | not feel | themselves.
        ,              ,       ,         ,         ,
      Death ha|ving preyed | upon | the out|ward parts
         ,             ,    ,       2      ,         ,
      Leaves them | invi|sible,| and his siege | is now
          ,           ,          ,           ,            ,
      Against | the mind,| the which | he pricks | and wounds
            ,     ,               ,     ,      ,
      With ma|ny le|gions of / strange fan|tasies,
             ,            ,           ,                 ,    ,
      Which in | their throng | and press | to that / last hold,
           ,            ,             ,             ,              ,
      Confound | themselves.| 'Tis strange | that death | should sing:
      ,   2       ,            ,      T    T     T
      I am the | cygnet | to this | pale faint swan,
             ,         ,        ,              ,    ,
      Who chants | a dole|ful hymn | to his / own death,
            ,         ,       ,         ,        ,
      And from | the or|gan-pipe | of frail|ty sings
            ,         ,     ,          ,         ,
      His soul | and bo|dy to | their las|ting rest.
 
SALISBURY
       ,             ,           ,          ,          ,
      Be of | good* com|fort (prince)| for you | are born
          ,        ,      ,          ,     ,
      To set | a form | upon | that in|digest
             ,          ,         ,          ,         ,
      Which he | hath left | so shape|less, and | so rude.
 
[Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair]
 
KING JOHN
            ,       ,         ,          ,       ,
      Aye* mar|ry, now | my soul | hath el|bow room,
           ,          ,        ,         ,         ,
      It would | not out | at win|dows, nor | at doors,
           2    ,    ,       ,        ,       ,
      There is so | hot a | summer | in my | bosom,
            ,        ,        ,       ,        ,
      That all | my bo|wels crum|ble up | to dust:
      ,          ,          ,      ,             ,
      I am | a scrib|bled form,| drawn with | a pen
        ,        ,          ,        ,            ,
      Upon | a parch|ment, and | against | this fire
         ,           ,
      Do I | shrink^up.
 
PRINCE HENRY
                             ,           ,    ,
                       How fares | your ma|jesty?
 
KING JOHN
       ,          T    T     T         ,          ,
      Poisoned,| ill fare: dead,| forsook,| cast^off,
            ,        ,          ,         ,        ,
      And none | of you | will bid | the win|ter come
            ,         ,     ,        ,       ,
      To thrust | his i|cy fin|gers in | my maw;
           ,         ,         ,        ,             ,
      Nor let | my king|dom's ri|vers take | their course
                      ,    ,       ,        ,           ,
      Through my / burned bo|som: nor | entreat | the north
             x        T     T     T        ,         ,
      To make his | bleak winds kiss | my par|ched lips,  ??
           ,        ,          ,         ,          ,
      And com|fort me | with cold.| I do not ask you much,
         ,      ,   ,               ,              ,
      I beg | cold com/fort: and | you are | so straight
           ,       ,         ,       ,        ,
      And so | ingrate|ful, you | deny | me that.
 
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
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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 cracked and burned,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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.
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      And brings from him such offers of our peace
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      As we with honor and respect may take,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      With purpose presently to leave this war.
 
BASTARD
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      He will the rather do it when he sees
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Ourselves well sinewed to our defense.
 
SALISBURY
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Nay, it is in a manner done already;
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      For many carriages he hath dispatched
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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 consummate this business happily.
 
BASTARD
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Let it be so: and you, my noble prince,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      With other princes that may best be spared,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
 
PRINCE HENRY
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      At Worcester must his body be interred;
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      For so he willed it.
 
BASTARD
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      Thither shall it then:
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      And happily may your sweet self put on
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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,
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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.
        ,         ,         ,         ,          ,
      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]

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