Page 241 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2
P. 241
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
SALISBURY
Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born [25]
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Enter Attendants, and Bigot, bringing in King John in a chair.
KING JOHN
Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room
It would not out at windows nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom, [30]
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
PRINCE HENRY
How fares your majesty?
KING JOHN
Poison’d, ill fare; dead, forsook, cast off: [35]
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,
Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their course
Through my burn’d bosom, nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips [40]
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
PRINCE HENRY
O that there were some virtue in my tears
That might relieve you!
KING JOHN
