Const.
Down, down, thou rolling Sun, to Darkness down,
Lose in eternal Shades thy hateful Beams,
Never to give these Eyes more painful Day!
See there an Object stains thy conscious Lustre!
Not all thy Promises of blooming Springs,
Or Autumn Fruit, can this dead Flow'r supply!
Thus mercilesly cropp'd by fell Ambition!
O since the Birth of Cain, the first Male-Child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious Creature born.

Abbot.
Repine not at the Will of Heav'n, and this
Thy Comfort be, that in the World to come
The dearest Friends shall meet and know each other.

Const.
O didst thou see his chang'd and ghastly Semblance,
Thy frighted Sense would not remember him;
That Canker Death has so devour'd his Beauties,
So blanch'd the damask Bloom upon his Cheek;
All the soft Smiles that wanton'd in his Eye,
The sweet and graceful Spirit of his Features,
So sunk, so faded from their native Hue,
That, e'en in Heav'n, my Soul must pause to know him.

Abbot.
O yet retire! part from this Feast of Death,
Where solemn Rites and Forms on Forms succeeding,
Feed but the fatal Appetite of Grief!
Hark, the last Bell now calls us to the Grave. [Bell tolls.

Const.
O piercing Sound! O agonizing Knell!
Stay your officious Haste! one Moment's Pause! [To the Bearers.
And the same Service shall be sung for both
Our parted Souls! Inexorable Death!

I ask thee not for Mercy! No, be cruel still!
Behold in me the Wretch that dares thy Rage!
A grieving Mother, whose Distress defies thee!
That thus arrests thy Triumph o'er her Child,
And will not let it pass. The Grave shall not devour him;
O! we must never part, one Earth shall hold us,
Now seize me, strike me, and compleat the Tyrant!

Abbot.
Be watchful o'er her Health, gently support her
Till Grief subsiding may admit Repose: [To her Attendants, who lead her off.
But hark, the Terrors of the Field are ended!
The hostile Wounds of France and England now
Are, by the Trumpet's loud Retreat, proclaim'd.
Behold the harass'd Barons from the Toil retiring. [Exit after Constance. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, &c. at a distance.

Pem.
We were deceiv'd, the King was stronger than we thought him.

Salis.
I fear'd his late Submission to the Pope,
Would draw the Commons thronging to his Side:
Had not the timely Night stept in between
Our Swords, I tremble to conceive what Fate
Had follow'd us.—

Pem.
—But see the Corps of Arthur!

Salis.
Alas! poor injur'd Youth, but for thy Death
Our private Griefs had spar'd this fruitless Battle,
And due Redress had hush'd us into Peace. Enter Melun wounded, led by Soldiers.

Melun.
O lead me, lead to the revolted Barons!

Salis.
When we were happy we had other Names.

Melun.
I come, my Lords, to warn you of your Danger;
When you have serv'd the Dauphin's Ends, you die.

Salis.
Die for our Services? explain this Riddle.

Melun.
Know then, this Dauphin hearing you had bound
Your Swords, by private Oaths, never to yield

Your Crown, or e'en a Province of your England, to
The Claims of France. This so inflam'd his Rage,
That on the Altar at St. Edmond's-Bury,
Where, to your firm Alliance, first he swore
Determin'd Faith and lasting Amity;
There did he secretly make After-oath,
That when his Arms should have subdu'd King John
Your Heads should be the Victims of his Right
Refus'd.—

Pem.
—Perfidious France!—

Salis.
—Can this be true?

Melun.
What in this World should make me now deceive you?
Have I not hideous Death within my View?
See you not Life like a meer Form of Wax,
Dissolving to the Fire? When Life is done,
Useless were all Deceit; but needful is Remorse,
When Oaths so ill devis'd require Atonement;
Repentance, then, has mov'd me to reveal
This Oath, which in my Rashness I had taken,
If you can pardon it—Your Charity
Will hence appoint me to some safe Repose,
Where I may breathe my latest Hour in Peace,
And pass my dire Account with Heav'n's Inquiry.

Salis.
Gently conduct him to Relief and Rest.
Dauphin, we thank thee for this Treachery,
That now so timely warns us to repay it.
What a strange Mixture had this Frenchman's Heart
Tainted with Falshood, yet inclin'd to Honour?

Pem.
That Mystery, my Lord, explains itself;
His Grandsire was, you know, of English Blood;
Perhaps from him he had his Honesty.

Salis
Let us then make our Profit of his Virtue,
Protect ourselves, and while Occasion serves,
March to the King, accept his offer'd Peace,
With old Allegiance heal our civil Wounds,
And on this Dauphin's Head revenge his Falshood. [As they go off, Constance re-enters to the Funeral, with the Abbot, &c.

Const.
Thy holy Counsels, Father, have reliev'd me;
Misfortunes now, familiar to my Sense,
Abate their Terror. Now my peaceful Heart,
With tearless Eyes, shall wait him to the Grave. Enter Falconbridge.

Fal.
O Reverend Father, haste, the dying King
Implores thy holy Aid.—

Abbot.
—Said'st thou the King?

Fal.
Dying he seems, or cannot long survive:
Whether by Heat of Action in the Field,
His latent Fever is inflam'd to Danger,
Or, as Suspicion strongly has avouch'd,
The gloomy Monk, who serv'd him with the Cup,
Might impiously infuse some Bane of Life,
We know not; but his Interval of Sense
In Grones calls earnest for his Confessor.

Const.
In his accounted Sins be this* remember'd. [*Pointing to the Corps of Arthur.

Fal.
If Grief or Prejudice could bear to hear me,
I could a Truth unfold would calm thy Sorrows.

Const.
Lies not my Child there murder'd?—

Fal.
—Hear my Story. [He seems to talk apart with Constance. Enter Salisbury with Arundel, &c.

Salis.
How fortunate the Hour! that he had Sense
To ratify our Rights and seal the Charter.

Abbot.
What News, my Lords? How fares the King?

Salis.
I fear me, poison'd! his whole Mass of Blood
Is touch'd corruptibly, and his frail Brain,
Which some suppose the Mansion of the Soul,
By the disjointed Comments that it makes,
Foreshews its mortal Office is expiring.

Fal.
And Hubert dying disavow'd the Deed. [Apart to Constance.

Const.
Admitting this, that meer Mischance destroy'd him,
What but his Wrongs expos'd him to Mischance?

Nor therefore are my Sorrows more reliev'd,
But as Oppression may be less than Murder. Enter Pembroke.
The King seems more at Ease, and holds Belief,
That were he brought into the open Air,
It might asswage the Ferment that consumes him.

Salis.
Behold the sad Remains of Royalty!

Fal.
Let those who lov'd him not endure the Sight,
When he is gone, my Hopes in Life are friendless. [Exit. King John is brought in.

Abbot.
How fares your Majesty?—

K. John.
—The Air's too hot.
It steams, it scalds, I cannot bear this Furnace!
Stand off,—and let the Northern Wind have Way!
Blow, blow, ye freezing Blasts from Iceland Skies!
O blissful Region, that I there were King!
To range and roll me in eternal Snow,
Where Crowns of Icicles might cool my Brain,
And comfort me with Cold.—

Abbot.
—O gracious Heav'n!—
Relieve his Senses from these mortal Pangs,
That his reflecting Soul may yet look back
On his Offences past with Penitence!

K. John.
Why am I tortur'd thus? I kill'd him not;
Was it so criminal to wish him dead!
If Wishes were effectual, O, my Crown,
My Crown should from the Grave with Joy redeem him!

Abbot.
If Penitence, not Frenzy, prompts thy Tongue,
Behold this Object of Calamity,
Whom thy Severities have sunk with Sorrow.
O carry not, beyond the Grave, your Enmity.

K. John.
Constance, the mournful Relict of my Brother,
How do thy Wrongs sit heavy on my Soul;

But who was ever just in his Ambition!
Thou seest me now an Object of thy Triumph,
The vital Cordage of my Heart burnt up!
All to a single Thread on which it hangs
Consum'd; now may the fearless Lamb approach,
Now close the Lion Eye of Enmity.
Hence but a Moment all this Royalty,
This Pride of Pow'r will crumble into Ashes.

Abbot.
In his Extremities Heav'n help the King.

Const.
And may his contrite Soul receive its Mercy.

K. John.
The Lamp of Life is dry—Thy Pray'rs, O Father!
At Worcester let these mortal Bones have Rest.
My Eyes refuse the Light—the Stroke is giv'n.
O, I am call'd—I wander—Mercy, Heav'n!

Const.
He's gone.
The turbulent Oppressor is no more.
The Hour of heav'nly Justice has at last
Demanded his Account of England's Empire;
But since he seem'd to pass in Penitence,
Let all his Crimes be bury'd in his Grave.
Thou Pow'r ador'd, what Thanks shall I repay thee,
That my Afflictions have subdu'd my Soul,
T'extend its Charity ev'n to my Enemies?
Now, Life, I have no farther Use for thee;
Defer a while the Obsequies of Arthur,
Pass but some Hours and I shall soon o'ertake him,
Then lay us in one peaceful Grave together. [Exit, led off. Enter Falconbridge, who, seeing the King, starts back.

Fal.
My Fears are true, good News comes now too late;
Deaf is the Ear which best might give it hearing.

Salis.
O Falconbridge! if thou hast ought that may
Dispel our gen'ral Consternation, speak it.

Fal.
Something I bring to cheer this sudden Sadness;
From France the Lady Blanch, arriv'd, has wrought

Her Consort Dauphin to such peaceful Temper,
That hearing you the Barons had disclaim'd him,
He now accepts the Legate's Mediation,
And, on such Terms as Honour may accord,
He and his Forces leave our Land in Peace.

Salis.
Lose not a Moment then to close this Treaty;
Build we a Bridge of Gold for his Retreat!
And may the recent Dangers we have pass'd,
Never by civil Discord be recall'd.

Fal.
There only lives the Error can mislead us.
Let not Self-wounds our native Strength impair,
What rash Invader can have Hope to shake us?
Come the three Corners of the World in Arms,
England no foreign Force shall e'er subdue,
While Prince and Subject to themselves are true.

EPILOGUE.