Bast.
Oh, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your Majesty.

K. John.
Oh cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crackt and burnt,
And all the shrouds wherewith my life shou'd 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 heav'n 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 ear:
My Liege! my lord!—but now a King—now thus.

Henry.
Ev'n so must I run on, and ev'n so stop.* ^note

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 heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now you stars, that move in your bright spheres,
Where be your pow'rs? shew 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:
Strait let us seek, or strait we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal.
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 honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

Bast.
He will the rather do it, when he sees
Our selves well sinewed to our defence.

Sal.
Nay, it is in a manner done already,
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the Cardinal:
With whom your self, my self, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.

Bast.
Let it be so; and you, my noble Prince,
With other Princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

Henry.
At Worcester must his body be interr'd,
For so he will'd it.

Bast.
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.

Sal.
And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

Hen.
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Bast.
Oh let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
This England never did, and never shall
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound it self.
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 it self do rest but true. [Exeunt omnes.

THE

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