Speeches (Lines) for Prince Henry
in "King John"

Total: 8

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# Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context)
Speech text

1

V,7,2628

(stage directions). [Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT]

Prince Henry. It is too late: the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,
Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
Doth by the idle comments that it makes
Foretell the ending of mortality.


2

V,7,2638

Pembroke. His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

Prince Henry. Let him be brought into the orchard here.
Doth he still rage?


3

V,7,2643

Pembroke. He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.

Prince Henry. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death
should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.


4

V,7,2667

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,
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?


5

V,7,2677

King John. Poison'd,—ill fare—dead, forsook, cast off:
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
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!


6

V,7,2703

Salisbury. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus.

Prince Henry. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay?


7

V,7,2735

Philip the Bastard. Let it be so: and you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spared,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

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


8

V,7,2745

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

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


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