Sal.
I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.

Pem.
Up once again; put spirit in the French;

If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal.
That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pem.
They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers.

Mel.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.

Sal.
When we were happy, we had other names.

Pem.
It is the count Melun.

Sal.
Wounded to death.

Mel.
Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold^{4 note}

And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet;
For, if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means^{6 note} to recompense the pains you take,
By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury;
Even on that altar, where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal.
May this be possible? may this be true?

Mel.
Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire^{7 note}

But even this night,—whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,—
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery^{8 note},
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,—and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman^{9 note},—
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise 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 desires.

Sal.
We do believe thee,—And beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course^{1 note}

,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.—
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;

For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye^{2 note}.—Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness^{3 note}, that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading off Melun.

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