« AnteriorContinuar »
Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in King
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,-ill-fare ;-dead, forsook, cast
And none of you will bid the winter come,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!
The salt in them is hot.
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; 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.
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, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood.
[The King dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an
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,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.—
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 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
For so he will'd it.
The lineal state and glory of the land!
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
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,