It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so: And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, As doth the fury of two desperate men, Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die.- Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou? Sal. What other harm have 1, good lady, done, But spoke the harm that is by others done? Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, As it makes harmful all that speak of it. Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, [1] This was not the fact. Constance was at this time married to a third husband, Guido, brother to the Viscount of Touars. MALONE. [2] The poet uses sightless for that which we now express by unsightly, disagreeable to the eyes. JOHNSON. Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,' Sal. Pardon me, madam, I may not go without you to the kings. Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee: I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.* [She throws herself on the ground. Enter King Joux, King PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, Elinor, Bastard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants. K. Phil. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day, Ever in France shall be kept festival : [3] i. e. portentous, so deformed as to be taken for a foretoken of evil. JOHN. [4] In Much Ado about Nothing, the father of Hero, depressed by her disgrace, declares himself so subdued by grief, that a thread may lead him. How is it that grief, in Leonato and Lady Constance, produces effects directly opposite, and yet both agreeable to nature? Sorrow softens the mind while it is yet warmed by hope, but hardens it when it is congealed by despair. Distress, while there remains any prospect of relief, is weak and flexible, but when no succour remains, is fearless and stubborn; angry alike at those that injure, and at those that do not help; careless to please where nothing cau be gained, and fearless to offend when there is nothing further to be dreaded. Such was this writer's knowledge of the passions. JOHNSON. 38 KING JOHN, To solemnize this day,' the glorious sun Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday! [Rising. -What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done; That it in golden letters should be set, Among the high tides, in the kalendar? Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 8 K. Phil. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, And our oppression bath made up this league :- Let not the hours of this ungodly day [5] From this passage Rowe seems to have borrowed the first lines of his Fair Penitent. JOHNSON. [6] In allusion to Job iii. 3, 6: "Let the day perish," &c. "Let it not be joined to the days of the year, let it not come into the number of the months."-In the Fair Penitent, the imprecation of Calista on the night that betrayed her to Lothario, is chiefly borrowed from this chapter of Job. STEEVENS. [7] i. e. be disappointed by the production of a prodigy, a monster. [8] That is, except on this day. JOHNSON. STEEVENS. In the ancient almanacs, (several of which I have in my possession,) the days supposed to be favourable or unfavourable to bargains. are distinguished among a number of other particulars of the like importance. STEEVENS. [9] Being touch'd, signifies having the touchstone applied to it. The two last words, and tried, which create a redundancy of measure, should, as Mr. Ritson observes, be omitted. STEEVENS. Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Aust. Lady Constance, peace. Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward; Thou little valiant, great in villany! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight [1] O Lymoges! O Austria!] The propriety or impropriety of these titles, which every editor has suffered to pass minoted, deserves a little consideration. Shakespeare has, on this occasion, followed the old play, which at once furnished him with the character of Faulconbridge, and ascribed the death of Richard I. to the duke of Austria. In the person of Austria, he has conjoined the two wellknown enemies of Caur-de-lion. Leopold, duke of Austria, threw him into prison, in a former expedition; (in 1193) but the castle of Chaluz, before which he fell (1199) belonged to Vidomar, viscount of Limoges; and the archer who pierced his shoulder with an arrow (of which wound he died) was Bertrand de Gourdon. The editors seem hitherto to have understood Lymoges as being an appendage to the title of Austria, and therefore inquired no further about it. STEEVENS. [2] When fools were kept for diversion in great families, they were distinguished by a calf's-skin-coat, which had the buttons down the back; and this they wore that they might be known for fools, and escape the resentment of those whom they provoked with their waggeries. This fact will explain the sarcasm of Constance and Faulconbridge, who mean to call Austria a fool. SIR JHAWKINS. [3] Here Mr. Pope inserts the following speeches from the old play of King John, printed 1591, before Shakespeare appears to have commenced a writer: "Aust. Methinks, that Richard's pride, and Richard's fall, Should be a precedent to fright you all. Faile. What words are these? how do my sinews shake! Enter PANDUlph. K. Phil. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!To thee, king John, my holy errand is. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, And from pope Innocent the legate here, Why thou against the church, our holy mother, K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories, Can task the free breath of a sacred king? Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; But as we under heaven are supreme head, K. Phil. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Dreading the curse that money may buy out; Till I have torn that trophy from thy back, And split thy heart for wearing it so long." STEEVENS. [4] This must have been, at the time when it was written, in our struggles with popery, a very captivating scene. So many passages remain in which Shakespeare evidently takes his advantage of the facts then recent, and of the passions then in motion, that I cannot but suspect that time has obscured much of his art, and that many allusions yet remain undis covered, which perhaps may be gradually retrieved by succeeding commentators. JOHNSON. |