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Look, who comes here? a grave unto a foul,
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.
Conft. Lo, now, now fee the iffue of your peace.
Conft. No, I defy all counfel, and redress,
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou fimil'ft,
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:
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,
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,
And will again commit them to their bonds
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;
For fince the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
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.
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,
Lewis. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prifoner?
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
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd, as gain'd.
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.
John lays you plots; the times confpire with you;
'No 'scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
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.