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

Total: 8
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# Act / Scene Speech text
1 V / 7
  • It is too late: the life of all his blood
    Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pu...
  • 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.
  • Philip the Bastard. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
    And tempt us not to bear above our power!
    I'll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
    Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
    These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
    Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
    Away before: conduct me to the king;
    I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

    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
  • Let him be brought into the orchard here.
    Doth he still rage?
  • Let him be brought into the orchard here.
    Doth he still rage?
  • 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
  • O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
    In their continuance will not feel the...
  • 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.
  • 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
  • How fares your majesty?
  • How fares your majesty?
  • 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
  • O that there were some virtue in my tears,
    That might relieve you!
  • O that there were some virtue in my tears,
    That might relieve you!
  • 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
  • Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
    What surety of the world, what hope...
  • 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?
  • 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
  • At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
    For so he will'd it.
  • At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
    For so he will'd it.
  • 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
  • I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
    And knows not how to do it but...
  • I have a kind soul that would give you thanks
    And knows not how to do it but with tears.
  • 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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© Copyright 2017-2022 Shakespeare Network - Maximianno Cobra - All rights reserved.