Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

SCENE IV.

France.

The French Court.

Enter LEWIS, King Philip, and PANDULPH,

K. Phil. So, by a roaring tempest in the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail

Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pan. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well, K. Phil. What can go well, when we have run se ill?

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?

Arthur ta'en prisoner?

And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption?→

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath:

Enter CONSTANCE.

I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

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

Con. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,

But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death:-O, amiable, lovely death:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil❜st,
And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,
O, come to me!

K. Phil. O fair affliction, peace.

Con. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry :

1

O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth,
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation.

Pan. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Con. Thou art not holy 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 lost;
I am not mad ;-I would to Heaven I were !
For then, 'tis like, I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!—
K. Phil. Bind up those tresses.

Con. To England, if you will.
K. Phil. Bind up your hairs.

Con. O, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my 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.
But now will canker sorrow eat his bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
As aim and meagre as an ague's fit:
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,

child.

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.
Pan. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Con. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief as of
your
Con. 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,
When there is such disorder in my wit.
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 CONSTANCE.

K. Phil. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit KING PHILIP.

Lew. 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;

And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,
That it yields naught, but shame and bitterness.
Pan. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave,
On their departure, most of all show evil :
What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pan. If you had won it, certainly you had.
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest :
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

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

But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pan. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already,

Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts

Of all his people shall revolt from him.
Go with me to the King: 'Tis wonderful,

What may be wrought out of their discontent. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: Let us go;

If you say, Ay, the King will not say, No.

[Exeunt the CARDINAL and LEWIS.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

England.

A Room in a Castle.

Enter HUBERT, with Irons in his Hand, and Two EXECUTIONERS.

Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou
stand

Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me:-
Be heedful:-hence, and watch.

Exec. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you :-look [Exeunt EXECUTIONERS. Young lad, come forth; I have. to say with you.

to't.

Enter ARTHur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Good morrow, little Prince.

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my
christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long:
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me :
He is afraid of me, and I of him :

Is it my fault, that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not: And I would to Heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick:
That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
I warrant, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— Read here, young Arthur. [Gives him a Warrant.

How now, foolish rheum!

I must be brief, lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth. And will you?

Hub. And I will.

« ZurückWeiter »