Then, in defpight of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bofom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not- -yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'ft me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
'Tho' that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heav'n, I'd do't.
K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend;
He is a very ferpent in my way,
And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lyes before me. Doft thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I'll keep him fo,
That he shall not offend your Majesty.
K. John. Death.
Hub. My lord?
K. John. A grave.
Hub. He fhall not live.
Well, I'll not fay what I intend for thee:
Remember:- -Madam, fare you well,
I'll fend those pow'rs o'er to your Majefty.
Eli. My bleffing go with thee!
K. John. For England, coufin, go.
Hubert fhall be your man, t'attend on you
With all true-duty; on, toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the French Court. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants. O, by a roaring tempeft on the flood,
K. Philip. SA whole Armada of collected fail
Is fcatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well. K. Philip. What can go well, when we have run fo ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en Pris'ner? diverfe dear friends flain ?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, fpite of France ?
Lewis What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd:
So hot a speed with fuch advice difpos'd,
Such temp'rate order in fo fierce a cause,
Doth want example; who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?
K. Philip. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Look, who comes here? a grave unto a foul,
Holding th' eternal spirit 'gainft her will
In the vile prison of afflicted breath ;
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.
Conft. Lo, now, now fee the iffue of your peace.
K. Philip. Patience, good lady; comfort, gentle
Conftance.
Conft. No, I defie all counfel, and redress,
But that, which ends all counfel, true redress,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, found rottennefs,
Arife forth from thy couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kifs thy deteftable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy houshold worms;
And ftop this gap of breath with fulsom dust,
And be a carrion monfter, like thy felf;
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And kifs thee as thy wife; mifery's love,
K. Philip. O fair affliction, peace.
Conft. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry;
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth,
Then with a paffion I would fhake the world,
And rouze from fleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
And fcorns a modern invocation.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me so ;
I am not mad; this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Conftance, I was Geffrey's wife:
Young Arthur is my fon, and he is loft!
I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis like, I fhould forget myself.
Oh, if I could, what grief fhould I forget!
Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal,
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself..
If I were mad, I should forget my fon,
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The diff'rent plague of each calamity.
K. Philip. Bind up thofe treffes; O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs;
Where but by chance a filver drop hath fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
Do glew themselves in fociable grief;
Like true, infeparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
Conf. To England, if you will.
K. Philip. Bind up your hairs.
Conf. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds, and cry'd aloud,
O, that these hands could fo redeem my fon,
As they have giv'n thefe hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds;
Because my poor child is a prifoner,
And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall fee and know our friends in heav'n;
If that be, I fhall fee my boy again.
For fince the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
To him that did but yesterday fufpire,
There was not fuch a gracious creature born.
But now will canker forrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheeks
And he will look as hollow as a ghoft;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And fo he'll die and rifing fo again,
When I fhall meet him in the court of heav'n
I fhall not know him; therefore never, never,
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a fon..
K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Conft. Grief fills the room up of my abfent child;
Lyes in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts;
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form?
Then have I reafon to be fond of grief.
Fare you well; had you fuch a lofs as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.
I will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her head cloaths.
When there is fuch diforder in my wit.
O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair fon!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow comfort, and my forrow's cure!
K. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.
Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowfie man.
A bitter fhame hath spoilt the fweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a ftrong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is ftrongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, most of all fhew evil.
What have you loft by lofing of this day?
Lervis. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.
No, no; when fortune means to men moft good,
She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.
'Tis ftrange to think how much King John hath loft
In this, which he accounts fo clearly won.
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lewis. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak with a prophetick spirit;
For ev'n the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne: and therefore mark.
John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be
That whilft warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of reft.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he, that ftands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may ftand, then Arthur needs muft fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but fo.
Lewis. But what fhall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lewis. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old
world?
John lays you plots; the times confpire with you;
For he, that steeps his fafety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody fafety and untrue.
This act, fo evilly born, fhall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That no fo fmall advantage shall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it.
No nat❜ral exhalation in the sky,
No 'scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away its nat'ral caufe,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,
VOL. III.
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