Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born25
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Enter Attendants, and Bigot, carrying King John in a chair.[666]
K. 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[667]
Do I shrink up.[667]
P. Hen. How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,—ill fare—dead, forsook, cast off:[668]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 lips40
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,[669]
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait[670]
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.[671]
P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!
K. John. The salt in them is hot.[672]45
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize
On unreprieveable condemned blood.[673]
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,[674]
And spleen of speed to see your majesty!50
K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd,
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,55
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.[675]