No; know the gallant Monarch is in Arms,
And like an Eagle, o'er his aiery Tower,
To foufe Annoiance that comes near his Neft;
And you degenerate, you ingrate Revolts,
You bloody Nero's ripping up the Womb
Of your dear Mother-England, blush for shame:
For your own Ladies, and pale-vifag'd Maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after Drums:
Their Thimbles into armed Gautlets change,
Their Needles to Lances, and their gentle Hearts
To fierce and bloody Inclination.
Lewis. There end thy Brave, and turn thy Face in Peace, We grant thou canft out-fcold us; fare thee well:
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With fuch a Babler.
Pand. Give me leave to speak.
Baft. No, I will fpeak.
Lewis. We will attend to neither:
Strike up the Drums, and let the Tongue of War
Plead for our Intereft, and our being here.
Baft. Indeed your Drums being beaten, will cry out?
And fo fhall you, being beaten; do but flart
An eccho with the Clamour of thy Drum,
And even at hand, a Drum is ready brac'd,
That fhall reverberate all, as loud as thine.
Sound but another, and another' fhall,
As loud as thine, rattle the Welkin's Ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd Thunder; for at hand
(Not trufting to this halting Legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for fport than need)
Is warlike John; and in his Forehead fits
A bare-rib'd Death, whofe Office is this Day
To feaft upon whole thousands of the French.
Lewis. Strike up our Drums, to find this danger out.
Baft. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
Alarms. Enter King John and Hubert.
K. John. How goes the Day with us? Oh tell me, Hubert Hub. Badly, I fear; how fares your Majefty?
K. John. This Feaver that hath troubled me fo long, Lyes heavy on me : oh, my Heart is fick.
Meff. My Lord, your valiant Kinfman, Faulconbridge, Defires your Majefty to leave the Field,
And fend him word by me, which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, toward Swinfted, to the Abby there:
Mell. Be of good Comfort: For the great Supply,
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Are wrack'd three Nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This News was brought to Richard but even now,
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ay me, this Tyrant Feaver burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good News.
Set on toward Swinfted; to my Litter ftreight,
Weakness poffeffeth me, and I am faint.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke and Bigot.
Sal. I did not think the King fo ftor'd with Friends,
Pemb. Up once again; put Spirit in the French:
If they miscarry, we mifcarry too.
Sal. That mif-begotten Devil, Faulconbridge,
In fpight of fpight, alone upholds the Day.
Pemb. They fay King John, fore fick, hath left the Field.
Melan. Lead me to the Revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy, we had other Names.
Pemb. It is the Count Melun.
Sal. Wounded to Death.
Melun. Fly, noble English, you are bought and fold,
Unthread the rude Eye of Rebellion,
And welcome home again difcarded Faith,
Seek out King John, and fall before his Feet:
For if the French be Lords of this loud Day,
He means to recompence the Pains you take,
By cutting off your Heads; thus hath he fworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the Altar at St. Edmondsbury,
Even on that Altar, where we fwore to you
Dear Amity, and everlafting Love.
Sal. May this be poffible! May this be true?
Melun. Have I not hideous Death within my View,
Retaining but a quantity of Life,
Which bleeds away, even as a Form of Wax
Refolveth from his Figure 'gainst the Fire?
What in the World fhould make me now deceive,
Since I muft lofe the use of all deceit ?
Why should I then be false, fince it is true
That I must die here, and live hence, by truth?
I fay again, if Lewis do win the Day,
He is forfworn if e'er thofe Eyes of yours
Behold another Day break in the East:
But even this Night, whofe black contagious Breath
Already fmoaks about the burning Creft
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied Sun,
Even this ill Night, your breathing fhall expire,
Paying the Fine of rated Treachery,
Even with a treacherous Fine of all your Lives;
If Lewis, by your affiftance win the Day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;
The Love of him, and this refpe& befides,
For that my Grandfire was an Englishman,
Awakes my Confcience to confefs all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence
From forth the noife and rumour of the Field;
Where I may think the remnant of my Thoughts
In peace; and part this Body and my Soul,
With Contemplation, and devout Defires.
Sal. We do believe thee, and befhrew my Soul,
But I do love the favour, and the form
VOL. III.
Of this moft fair Occafion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight,
And like a bated and retired Flood,
Leaving our Ranknefs, and irregular Course,
Stoop low within thofe Bounds we have o'er-look'd,
And calmly run on in Obedience,
Even to our Ocean, to our great King John.
My Arm fhall give thee help to bear thee hence,
For I do fee the cruel Pangs of Death
Right in thine Eye. Away, my Friends, new flight,
And happy newnefs that intends old right.
Lewis. The Sun of Heav'n, methought, was loth to set ; But ftaid, and made the Western Welkin blush,
When English measure backward their own Ground
In faint retire: Oh bravely came we off,
When with a Volley of our needless shot,
After fuch bloody Toil, we bid good Night,
And woon'd our tott'ring Colours clearly up,
Laft in the Field, and almost Lords of it.
Enter a Messenger.
Melf. Where is my Prince, the Dauphin?
Lewis. Here, what News?
Meff. The Count Melun islain; the English Lords
By his Perfwafion are at length fall'n off,
And your Supply, which you have with'd fo long,
Are caft away, and funk on Goodwin Sands.
Lewis. Ah foul fhrewd News. Befhrew thy very Heart;
I did not think to be fo fad to Night
As this bath made me. Who was he that faid
King John did fly an Hour or two before
The ft mbling Night did part our weary Powers?
Meff. Who ever fpoke it, it is true, my Lord.
Lewis. Well; keep good Quarter, and good care to Night,
The Day fhall not be up fo foon as I,
To try the fair Adventure of to Morrow.
Enter Baftard and Hubert feverally.
Hab. Who's there? Speak, hoa, fpeak quickly, or I shoot. Baft. A Friend. What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Baft. Whither doft thou go?
Hub. What's that to thee?
Why may not I demand of thine Affairs,
As well as thou of mine?
Baft. Hubert, I think.
Hub. Thou haft a perfect Thought:
I will upon all Hazards well believe
Thou art my Friend, that know'ft my Tongue fo well:
Who art thou?
Baft. Who thou wilt; and if thou please
Thou may'ft be-friend me fo much, as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub. Unkind Remembrance; thou, and endless Night, Have done me fhame; brave Soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy Tongue,
Should fcape the true acquaintance of mine Ear.
Baft. Come, come; fans complement, what News abroad? Hub. Why here walk I, in the black Brow of Night, To find you out.
Baft. Brief then; and what's the News?
Hub. O my fweet Sir, News fitting to the Night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Baft. Shew me the very Wound of this ill News,
I am no Woman, I'll not fwoon at it.
Hub. The King I fear is poifon'd by a Monk,
I left him almoft fpeechlefs, and broke out
To acquaint you with this Evil, that you might
The better arm you to the fudden time,
Than if you had at leifure known of this.
Baft. How did he take it? Who did tafte to him?
Hub. A Monk, I tell you, a refolved Villain,
Whofe Bowels fuddenly burft out; the King
Yet fpeaks, and peradventure may recover.
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