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Pand. Courage and comfort, all fhall yet go well.

K. Phil. 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, fpight 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 cause,
Doth want example; who hath read or heard
Of any kindred-action like to this?

K. Phil. Well could I bear that England had this praife,

So we could find fome pattern of our shame.

Enter Conftance.

Look, who comes here? a Grave unto a foul,
Holding th' eternal spirit '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. Phil. Patience good lady; comfort, gentle Con-
Stance.

Conft. No, I defie all counfel, all redress,
But that which ends all counfel, true redress,
Death; death, oh amiable, lovely death!
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 houthold worms,
And ftop this gap of breath will fulfom duft,
And be a carrion monfter like thy felf;

Come grin on me, and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And kifs thee as thy wife; thou Love of Mifery!
O come to me.

K. Phil. O fair affliction, peace,

Conft. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry; O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth,

2

Then

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 modeft invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me so ;
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 my self.
O if I could, what grief fhould I forget!
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

*

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should I forget!

Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And Cardinal thou shalt be canoniz'd;
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 my self.
If I were mad, 1 fhould forget my fon,
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he :
I am not mad; &c.

of each calamity.

K. Phil. 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 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. Phil. Bind up your hairs.

Conf. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds, and cry'd aloud,

Oh father Cardinal, I have heard you fay

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 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 shall 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. Phil. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Conft. Grief fills the room up of my abfent child: • Lyes 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 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!

[Exit.

K. Phil. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit.

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 prisoner.
Oh father Cardinal, &c.

SCENE

SCENE VI.

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 drowfie inan.

A bitter fhame hath spoilt the sweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but shame 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, 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 fpeak with a prophetic fpirit;
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 should entertain an hour,
A minute, nay one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'roufly maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he that stands 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 shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

VOL IV.

C

Pand.

Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your Wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lewis. And lofe it, life and all, as Arthur did.

04 Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old world?

John lays you plots; the times confpire with you;
For he that steeps 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 sky,

No d scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away its 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
life,

But hold himself fafe in his prifonment.

Arthur's

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,
And kifs the lips of unacquainted change,
And pick ftrong 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;
Or, as a little fnow tumbled about,

Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful

a Scope.

What

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