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 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. Bind up those 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 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 fay,
That we shall fee and know our friends in heav'n;
If that be, I shall 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 shall 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 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.
1 will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her head-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
ever cannot help himself cafts his
eyes on others for affiftance, and
often mistakes their inability for
coldness.
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 dröwfy 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 ftrong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, most 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 fpirit;
For ev❜n the breath of what I mean to fpeak
Shall blow each duft, 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 whilst warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of reft..
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 welcome than when a man is going to his bride?
Must be as boist'rously maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he, that ftands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may ftand, then Arthur needs muft fall;
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
world!
John lays you plots.; the times confpire with you;
For he, that fteeps his fafety in 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 fky,
3 No 'scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away it's natʼral 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 shall 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 'fcape of nature,-] The author very finely calls a monftrous birth, an escape of nature. As if it were produced while he
was bufy elsewhere, or intent on fome other thing. But the Oxford Editor will have it, that Shakespeare wrote,
No fhape of nature.
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I fee this hurly all on foot;
And.O, what better matter breeds for you
Than I have nam'd!- -The baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the church,
Offending charity. If but twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their fide;
4 Or, as a little fnow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin;
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.
Lewis. Strong reafon makes strong actions: let us go; Ifyou fay ay, the King will not fay no.
Changes to ENGLAND.
A PRISON.
Enter Hubert and Executioners.
EAT me these irons hot, and, look, thou
Within the arras; when I ftrike my foot
Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth;
4 Or, as a little Snow.] Bacon, in his hiftory of Henry VII. *fpeaking of Perkin's march, ob
ferves, that their fnow-ball did not gather as it rolled.
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