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He is a very serpent in my way;
And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I'll keep him so,
That he shall not offend your majesty.

K. John. Death!
Hub. My lord ?
K. John. A grave !
Hub. He shall not live.

K. John. Enough.
I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee :
+ Remember.Madam, fare you well.

(Returning to the queen. I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

Eli. My blessing go with thee!
K. John. For England, cousin, go.
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. On, toward Calais, ho!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The French court.

Enter king Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and attendantse

K. Philip. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole 5 armada of collected fail
Is scatter'd and disjoin’d from fellowship.

Pand.

• This is one of the scenes to which may be promised a lasting commendation. Art could add little to its perfe&tion, and time itself can take nothing from its beauties. STEEVENS.

SA whole armada, &c.] This fimilitude, as little as it makes for the purpose in hand, was, I do not question, a very taking one when the play was first represented ; which was a winter or two at most after the Spanish invasion in 88. It w

in re ference,

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well.
K. Phil. What can go well, when we have run lo

ill ?
Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers loft ?
Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends Nain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O’er-bearing interruption, spite of France ?

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos’d,
Such temperate order 6 in so fierce a course,
Doth want example ; who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?
K. Phil. 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,
Holding the eternal spirit against her will
In the vile prison of afflicted breath.—
I pr’ythee, lady, go away with me.
Const

. Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace ! K. Phil. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Con;

stance !

ference likewise to that glorious period that Shakespeare concludes his play in that triumphant manner,

Thus England never did, nor never shall,

Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, &c. but the whole play abounds with touches relative to the then posture of affairs WARBURTON.

This play, so far as I can discover, was not played till a long time after the defeat of the armada. The old play, I think, wants this simile. The commentator should not have affirmed what he can only guess. JOHNSON.

Armada is a Spanish word fignifying a fleet of war. The armada in 1588 was called so by way of distinction. STEEVENS.

in lo fierce a cause,) We should read COURSE, i.e. march. The Oxford editor condescends to this emendation.

WARBURTON

Conft.

Conft. No, I defy all counsel, all re dress,
But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death! Oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy deteftable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows ;
And ring these fingers with thy houshold worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'ft,
And buls thee as thy wife! misery's love,
Oh, come to me!

K. Pbil. Oh fair amiction, peace.
Cont. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:
Oh, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion I would shake the world;
And rouze from Neep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a 7 modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

Const. Thou art unholy 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 loft!
I am not mad; I would to heaven I were !
For then, 'tis like, I should forget myself.
Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget!
Preach fome philofophy 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,

i modern invocation.] It is hard to say what Shakespeare means by modern : it is not opposed to ancient. In All's well, that ends well, speaking of a girl in contempt, he ufes this word, ber modern grace. It apparently means something light and inconfiderable. JOHNSON. Vol. V.

E.

And

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. Phil. 8 Bind up those tresses: Oh, what love I noto
In the fair multitude of those her hairs !
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends *
Do.glew themselves in fociable grief;
Like true inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity,
Conjt, To England, if you

will K. Phil. 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, Oh 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, Because my poor child is a prisoner.-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 iny 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 9.

But & Bind up those triljes :-) It was necessary that Constance' should be interrupted, because a passion fo violent cannot be borne long. I will the following speeches had been equally happy ; but they only serve to fhew, how difficult it is to maing tain the pathetic long. JOHNSON. wiry friends] The old copy reads, wiry fiends.

STEEVENS. -a gracious creature born.] Gracious, I believe, in this iuftance, as in some others, means graceful. So in Albion's Triumph, a masque, 1631.

on which (the freeze) were feftoons of several fruits, « in their natural colours, on which, in gracious postures, lay I! chiidren sleeping.'

Again, ,

But now will canker sorrow 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 so he'll cie: and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore never, never,
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.

Conft. 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,

(Tearing off ber head-cloaths. When there is such disorder in 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. Phil. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit. Lewis. 2 There's nothing in this world, can make

me joy : Again, in the same piece,

they stood about him, not in fet ranks, but in fe“ veral gracious postures.” Steevens.

bad you fuch a loss as I, I could give better comfort - ] This is a sentiment which great forrow always díaates. Whoever cannot help himself cafts his eyes on others for affiftance, and often miflakes their inability for coldness. JOHNSON.

2 There's nothing in this, &c.) The young prince feels his defeat with more senlibility than his father. Shame operates most strongly in the earlier years ; and when can disgrace be less welcome than when a man is going to his bride ? JOHNSON.

Life

my wit.

E 2

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