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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

Conft. No, I defy all counfel, and redress,
But that, which ends all counfel, true redrefs,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, found rottennefs,
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 houfhold worms:
And ftop this gap of breath with fulfom duft,
And be a carrion monfter, like thyfelf:

Come, grin on me, and I will think thou fimil'ft,
'And kiss 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 scorns a' modern invocation.

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

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

in contempt, he uses this word, her modern grace. It apparently means fomething flight and inconfiderable..

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 fhalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal.
For, being not mad, but fenfible of grief,
My reasonable' part produces reafon
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 diff'rent plague of each calamity.

K. Philip. 8 Bind up thofe treffes; O, what love I


In the fair multitude of those her hairs;

Where but by chance a filver drop hath fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand 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 thefe hands could fo redeem my fon,
As they have giv'n thefe 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,

It was neceffary that Confrance fhould be interrupted, be caufe a paffion fo violent cannot be born long. I wish the fol

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


That we shall see 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 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, 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 respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me that never had a fon..

K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your


Conft. 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 reafon 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 ber bead-cloaths. 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 forrow's cure! K. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.

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Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me


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 fhame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is ftrongeft: evils that take leave,
On their departure, moft of all fhew evil.
What have you loft by lofing 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 dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which fhall 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 moft

ftrongly in the earlier years; and
when can difgrace be less wel-
come than when a man is going
to his bride?


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Must be as boift'rously maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he, that stands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to ftay him up.
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fail;
So be it, for it cannot be but fo.

Lewis. But what fhall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lewis. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old

John lays you plots; the times confpire with you;
For he, that steeps his fafety in 2 true blood,
Shall find but bloody fafety and untrue.
This act, fo evilly born, fhall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ;
That no fo fmall advantage fhall ftep forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it.
No nat❜ral exhalation in the sky,

'No 'scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away it's nat❜ral cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,.
Abortives, and prefages, tongues of heav'n,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lewis. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life;

But hold himself fafe in his imprisonment.

Pand. O Sir, when he fhall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Ev'n at this news he dies: and then the hearts Of all his people fhall revolt from him,

2 True blood.] The blood of him that has the just claim.

3 No'scape of nature,-] The author very finely calls a monfrous birth, an escape of nature. As if it were produced while fhe

was bufy elsewhere, or intent on fome other thing. But the Oxford Editor will have it, that Shakespeare wrote,

No fhape of nature.


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