Sal. We do beleeue thee, and beshrew my soule, But I do loue the fauour, and the forme Of this most faire occasion, by the which We will vntread the steps of damned flight, And like a bated and retired Flood, Leauing our ranknesse and irregular course, Stoope lowe within those bounds we haue ore-look'd, And calmely run on in obedience Euen to our Ocean, to our great King Iohn. My arme shall giue thee helpe to beare thee hence, For I do see the cruell pangs of death Right in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight, And happie newnesse, that intends old right. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Dolphin, and his Traine. Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set; But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush, When English measure backward their owne ground In faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off, When with a volley of our needlesse shot, After such bloody toile, we bid good night, And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp, Last in the field, and almost Lords of it. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin? Dol. Heere: what newes? Mes. The Count Meloone is slaine: The English Lords By his perswasion, are againe falne off, And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands Dol. Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart: I did not thinke to be so sad to night As this hath made me. Who was he that said King Iohn did flie an houre or two before The stumbling night did part our wearie powres? Mes. Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night, The day shall not be vp so soone as I, To try the faire aduenture of to morrow. Exeunt. Scena Sexta. Enter Bastard and Hubert, seuerally. Hub. Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, or I shoote Bast. A Friend. What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England Bast. Whether doest thou go? Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand of thine affaires, As well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I thinke Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will vpon all hazards well beleeue Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou please Thou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinke I come one way of the Plantagenets Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night, Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me, That any accent breaking from thy tongue, Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare Bast. Come, come: sans complement, What newes abroad? Hub. Why heere walke I in the black brow of night To finde you out Bast. Breefe then: and what's the newes? Hub. O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night, Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes, I am no woman, Ile not swound at it