Hub. And I'll keep him so, That he shall not offend your Majesty. K. John. Hub. K. John. Hub. K. John. Death. My lord? He shall not live. Enough. I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; Madam, fare you well: I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty. K. John. For England, cousin: go. Hubert shall be your man, attend on you SCENE IV. The Same. The French King's Tent. [Exeunt. Enter King PHILIP, LOUIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants. K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. K. Phi. What can go well, when we have rur so ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain ? O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? Lou. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, Doth want example. Who hath read or heard K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame. Enter CONSTANCE. Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul; I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Const. Lo, now! now peace! see the issue of your K. Phi. Patience, good lady; comfort, gentle Con stance. Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death. O, amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, O, come to me! K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace! Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world, And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. Thou art [not] holy to belie me so. I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost! I am not mad: -I would to Heaven, I were, For then 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible 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 son, Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. I am not mad: too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. -O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Const. To England, if you will. K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds, and cri'd aloud, 66 "O, that these hands could so redeem my son, As they have given these hairs their liberty!" But now I envy at their liberty, And will again commit them to their bonds. And, Father Cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in Heaven: If that be true, I shall see my boy again;' For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire, There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of Heaven Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies 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 such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do. I will not keep this form upon my head, When there is such disorder in my wit. O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world, My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure! [Exit. K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. VOL. VI. E Lou. 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 drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields naught but shame and bitterness. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, : The fit is strongest evils that take leave, Lou. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. |