Are turn'd to one thread, one little hair;
My heart hath one poor ftring to ftay is by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou feeft, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

my power,

Faule. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, Where, heav'n he knows, how we fhall answer him, For, in a night, the best part of As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[The King dies. Sal. You breathe thefe dead news in as dead an ear: My Liege! my Lord! but now a King

now thus.

Henry, Ev'n fo muft I run on, and ev'n so stop. What furety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a King, and now is clay?

Faule. Art thou gone fo? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge,

And then my foul shall wait on thee to heav'n,
As it on earth hath been thy fervant still.

Now, now, you ftars, that move in your bright spheres,

Where be your pow'rs? fhew now your mended faiths, And inftantly return with me again,

To push destruction and perpetual fhame

Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Strait let us feek, or strait we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It feems you know not then so much as we: The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,

Who half an hour fince came from the Dauphin;
And brings from him fuch offers of our peace,
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

Faule. He will the rather do it, when he fees
Ourfelves well finewed to our defence.

Sal.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many Carriages he hath dispatch'd

To the fea-fide, and put his Cause and Quarrel
To the difpofing of the Cardinal,

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
you think meet, this afternoon will post

If

To confummate this business happily.

Faulc. Let it be fo; and you, my noble Prince,
With other Princes that may best be fpar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's Funeral.

Henry. At Worcester muft his body be inter'd.
For fo he will'd it.

Faulc. Thither shall it then.

And happily may your sweet felf put on
The lineal State and Glory of the Land!
To whom, with all Submiffion on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful fervices,

And true fubjection everlastingly.

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

Henry. I have a kind foul, that would give you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Faulc. Oh, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been before-hand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lye at the proud foot of a Conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
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 itself do reft but true.

THE tragedy of King Jahn, though not written with the utmoft power of Shakespeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and charac

[Exeunt omnes.

ters. The Lady's grief is very affecting, and the character of the Baftard contains that mixture of greatnefs and lenity which this authour delighted to exhibit.

There

The END of the THIRD VOLUME,