Puslapio vaizdai

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,
Though 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 fhall not offend your Majesty.
K. John. Death.

Hub. My Lord?

K. John. A Grave.

Hub. He fhall not live,

K. John. Enough.

I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;

Well, I'll not fay what I intend for thee:

Remember:-Madam, fare you well.

[Returning to the Queen.

I'll fend those pow'rs o'er to your Majesty.
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!


The French Court.



Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants.

K. Philip. So by a roaring tempeft on the flood,

A whole armado of collected fail

Is fcatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.


Pand. Courage and comfort, all fhall yet go well.

K. Philip. What can go well, when we have run fo ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers loft?

Arthur ta'en pris'ner? divers dear friends flain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, fpight of France?

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd:
So hot a fpeed, 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 praife, So we could find fome pattern of our shame.

Enter Conftance.

Look, who comes here? a Grave unto a foul,
Holding th' eternal spirit 'gainst her will
In the vile prifon 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 Con-
Conft. No, I defie all counfel, all redress,

But that which ends all counsel, 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 4'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,

K 3

3 caufe, 4 deteftable bones;



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.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me fo;
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 heav'n I were,
For then 'tis like I fhould forget my self.
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.b
Oh father Cardinal, I have heard you say

(a). fhould I forget!

Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And, Cardinal, thou fhalt be canoniz'd;
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reafonable part produces reafon
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang my self.
If I were mad, I fhould forget my son,
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; &c.

(b) of each calamity.

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K. Philip. Bind up these treffes; O, what love I note In the fair multitude of thofe her hair;

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.

Conft. 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 these hands could fo redeem my fon,

As they have giv'n these 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.
Oh father Cardinal, &c.


That we fhall 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 yetterday fufpire,

There was not fuch a gracious creature born.
But now will canker forrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
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 absent 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 reason 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 bead-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.


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

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,

Vexing the dull ear of a drowfie man.

FK 4

A bitter

A bitter fhame hath spoilt the fweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but fhame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, most 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?
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 fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of reft
A scepter 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 stand then, Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot 'but be 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 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;

5 be bat


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