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Changes to the French Court.

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants.

K. Philip. So, by a roaring tempeft on the flood,
S% A collected fail

Is fcatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall 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, fpite of France?

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd:
So hot a speed 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 praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

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Enter Conftance.

Look, who comes here? a grave unto a foul,
Holding th' eternal fpirit 'gainst her will
In the vile prison 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
Conftance.

Conft. No, I defy all counsel, and redress,
But that, which ends all counfel, true redress,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, found rottenness,
Arife forth from thy couch of lafting night,
Thou hate and terror to profperity,
And I will kifs thy deteftable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring thefe fingers with thy houshold worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulfom duft,
And be a carrion monfter, like thyfelf;
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil's,
And kifs thee as thy wife; mifery's love,
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,
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 7 modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me fo;

7 Modern invocation.] It is hard to fay what Shakespeare means by modern: it is not oppofed to ancient. In All's we'l, that ends well, fpeaking of a girl

in contempt, he ufes this word, her modern grace. It apparently means fomething fight and itconfiderable.

I am

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 fhould forget myself.
Oh, 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 reafon
How I may be deliver'd of thefe 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 diff'rent plague of each calamity.

K. Philip. Bind up thofe treffes; O, what love I

note

In the fair multitude of thofe her hairs;

Where but by chance a filver drop hath fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thoufand 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,

And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say,

8 It was neceffary that Co france fhould be interrupted, becaufe a paffion fo violent cannot be born long. I wish the fol

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lowing fpeeches had leen equally happy; but they only ferve to fhew, how difficult it is to maintain the pathetick long.

That

That we shall fee and know our friends in heav'n
If that be, 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 chafe 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 refpect 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; 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 reafon to be fond of grief. Fare you well; had you fuch a lofs as I, 9 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.

9 had you fuch a lofs as I, I could give better comfort- -] This is a fentiment which great forrow always dictates. Who

[Exit.

[Exit.

ever cannot help himself cafts his eyes on others for affiftance, and often mistakes their inability for coldness.

SCENE

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SCENE VII.

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 drowsy man.

A bitter fhame hath spoilt the fweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but shame 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, moft of all fhew evil.
What have you loft by losing 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 shall 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 misplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,

There's nothing in this, &c.] The young Prince feels his defeat with more fenfibility than his father. Shame operates most

ftrongly in the earlier years, and when can difgrace be less welcome than when a man is going to his bride?

Muft

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