Then, in despite of brooded 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'st me well.
HUB. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I'd do't.
K. JOHN. Do not I know, thou would'ft?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
Оп 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 lies before me: Doft thou understand me?
I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
-Madam, fare you well:
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
ELI. My bleffing go with thee!
K. JOHN. For England, coufin:
Hubert fhall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!
SCENE IV. The fame. The French King's Tent. Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.
K. PHI. So, by a roaring tempeft on the flood, A whole armado of convicted fail
Is fcatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship.
PAND. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. K. PHI. What can go well, when we have run fo ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers loft? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends flain? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, fpite of France?
LEW. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : So hot a speed with such advice difpos'd,
Such temperate order in fo fierce a cause,
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard, any kindred action like to this?
K. PHI. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find fome pattern of our shame.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto à foul;
Holding the eternal fpirit, against her will,
In the vile prifon of afflicted breath :--
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.
CONST. Lo, now! now fee the iffue of your peace!
K. PHI. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Conftance!
CONST. No, I defy all counfel, all redress,
But that which ends all counfel, true redress,
Death, death :-O amiable lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench! found rottennefs!
Arife forth from the couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kifs thy déteftable bones;
And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monfter like thyself:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And buss thee as thy wife! Mifery's love,
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 paffion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which fcorns a modern invocation.
PAND. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
CONST. 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 heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
O, 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 fhould forget my fon;
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 thofe treffes: O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by chance a filver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glew themselves in fociable grief;
Like true, infeparable, 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 cried aloud,
O that these hands could fo 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,
Because my poor child is a prifoner..
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we fhall fee and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, 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 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, rising so again,
When I fhall meet him in the court of heaven
I fhall not know him: therefore never, never
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.
PAND. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
CONST. He talks to me, that never had a fon.
K. PHI. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
CONST. Grief fills the room up of my abfent 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 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-dress.
When there is fuch disorder 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 forrows' cure!
K. PHI. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. LEW. 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 inftant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave,
On their departure, most of all show evil :
What have you loft by lofing of this day?
LEW. 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 them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange, to think how much king John hath lost
In this which he accounts fo clearly won:
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner?
LEW. 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 even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each duft, each ftraw, each little rub,
VOL. III.
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