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That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:

       Sound but another, and another shall,

       As loud as thine, rattle the welkin’s ear,

       And mock the deep-mouth’d thunder: for at hand,—

       Not trusting to this halting legate here,

       Whom he hath us’d rather for sport than need,—

       Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits

       A bare-ribb’d death, whose office is this day

       To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

       LOUIS.

       Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

       BASTARD.

       And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE 3. The same. The Field of Battle.

       [Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.]

       KING JOHN.

       How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

       HUBERT.

       Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

       KING JOHN.

       This fever that hath troubled me so long

       Lies heavy on me;—O, my heart is sick!

       [Enter a MESSENGER.]

       MESSENGER.

       My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falconbridge,

       Desires your majesty to leave the field

       And send him word by me which way you go.

       KING JOHN.

       Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

       MESSENGER.

       Be of good comfort; for the great supply

       That was expected by the Dauphin here

       Are wreck’d three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.

       This news was brought to Richard but even now:

       The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

       KING JOHN.

       Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up

       And will not let me welcome this good news.—

       Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;

       Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE 4. The same. Another part of the same.

       [Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and others.]

       SALISBURY.

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

       PEMBROKE.

       Up once again; put spirit in the French;

       If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

       SALISBURY.

       That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge,

       In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

       PEMBROKE.

       They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

       [Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers.]

       MELUN.

       Lead me to the revolts of England here.

       SALISBURY.

       When we were happy we had other names.

       PEMBROKE.

       It is the Count Melun.

       SALISBURY.

       Wounded to death.

       MELUN.

       Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;

       Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,

       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 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 Edmunds-bury;

       Even on that altar where we swore to you

       Dear amity and everlasting love.

       SALISBURY.

       May this be possible? 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

       Resolveth from his figure ‘gainst the fire?

       What in the world should make me now deceive,

       Since I must lose the use of all deceit?

       Why should I then be false, since it is true

       That I must die here, and live hence by truth?

       I say again, if Louis do will the day,

       He is forsworn if e’er those eyes of yours

       Behold another day break in the east:

       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

       Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,

       If Louis 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,—

       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.

       SALISBURY.

       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,

       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.—Away, my friends! New flight,

       And happy newness, that intends old right.

       [Exeunt, leading off MELUN.]

       SCENE 5. The same. The French camp.

       [Enter LEWIS and his train.]

       LOUIS.

       The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,

       But stay’d, and made the western welkin blush,

       When

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