And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, fpight of France?
Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'da
So hot a speed, with fuch advice difpos'd,
Such temp'rate order in fo fierce a course,

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.

Enter Conftance.

Look, who comes here? a Grave unto a foul, 1
Holding th' eternal spirit 'gainft her will
In the vile prifon of afflicted breath;

I pr'ythee, Lady, go away with me.

Conft. Lo now; now see the iffue of your peace.

K. Philip. Patience, good Lady; comfort, gentle Conftance.

Conft. No, I defie all counsel, all redress,

But that which ends all counfel, true redress,
Death; death, oh amiable, lovely death!
Arife forth from thy couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kifs thy bones deteftable;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows,
And ring these fingers with thy houfhold worms,
And ftop this gap of breath with fulfom duft,
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; thou Love of Misery!
O come to me!

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 shake 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.
Cont. Thou art not holy to belie me fo;
I am not mad; this hair I tear is mine;

My

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 heav'n I were,
For then 'tis like I fhould forget my felf.
O, if I could, what grief fhould I forget! ❤
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity. †
Oh father Cardinal, I have heard you fay
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 firft 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 chafe the native beauty from his cheek,
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,

of each calamity.

K. Philip. Bind up thofe treffes; 0, what love I note In the fair multitude of thofe 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.

Conft. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?

I tore them from their bonds, and cry'd aloud,

O that thefe hands could fo redeem my fon,
As they have giv'n these hairs their liberty!
But now 1 envy at their liberty,

And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.
Oh father Cardinal, &.

When

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 refpect 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 Aribur, my fair fon!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world,

My widow-comfort, and my forrow's cure!

[Exit

K. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me joy s

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,

Vexing the dull ear of a drowfie man.

A bitter fhame hath fpoilt the fweet world's taste,

That it yields nought but fhame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a ftrong difeafe,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is ftrohgeft: evils that take leave,
On their departure, moft of all fhew evil.
What have you loft by lofing of this day?
Lewis. 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 prifoner?
VOL. IV.

U

Ι

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 duft, each straw, each little rub
Out of the path which fhall 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 mifplac'd John should entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he that stands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to ftay him up.
That John may ftand then, Arthur needs muft fall;
So be it, for it cannot but be so.

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 lofe 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 fteeps 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 fhall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it.
No natral exhalation in the sky,
No fhape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no cuftomed event,
But they will pluck away its nat❜ral cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,
Abortives, and prefages, tongues of heav'n
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lewis. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself fafe in his prifonment.

Pand. O Sir, when he fhall hear of your approach,

If that young Arthur be not gone already,

Ey'A

Ev'n at this news he dies: and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kifs the lips of unacquainted change,
And pick ftrong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks I fee this hurly all on foot;
And O, what better matter breeds for you
Than I have nam'd? The baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the church,
Offending charity. If but twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their fide;
Ev'n as a little fnow tumbled about
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.

Lervis. Strong reafon makes ftrong actions: let us go; If you, fay ay, the King will not fay no.

ACT IV. SCENE I.
Changes to England. A Prifon.

Hub. H

Enter Hubert and Executioners.

[Exeunt,

[EAT me these irons hot, and look you stand Within the arras; when I ftrike my foot Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy which you fhall find with me, Faft to the chair: be heedful; hence, and watch! Exe. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly fcruples! fear not you; look to't. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Morrow, little Prince.

Artb. As little Prince (having fo great a title To be more Prince) as may be. You are fad. Hub. Indeed I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks no body should be fad but I.