But that, which ends all counfel, true redrefs,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, found rottenness,
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 fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monfter, like thyself;
Come grin on me, and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And kifs 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 fcorns a modern invocation (20).

Pand. Lady, your utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belye me fo;
I am not mad; this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Conftance, I was Gefrey'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

(20) And feerns a modeft invocation] So Mr. Pope: but I have thought fit to reftore the reading of the old Copies. 'Tis certain, our Author employs this word, modern, in a great many places, very cramply. But we shall always underfland him, if we but carry this remark with us; that he gene a ly uses it in the fignification of trifling, infignificant, not weighty, of small moment, &c. Thus his fenfe will be always clear to us; as it were, metaphorically, from thofe, who despise modern things, and prefer the ancient to them,

How

How I may be deliver'd of thefe woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I fhould forget my son,
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 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,
E'en to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
Do glew themfelves 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 fhall fee my boy again.

For fince the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
To him that did but yesterday fuspire,

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 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 child.

R 4

Conft.

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;
Stuff's out his vacant garments with his form;
Then have I reason 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. Ph. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. Leavis. 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.

A bitter fame hath fpoilt 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 inflant 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 fpeak with a prophetick spirit;
For ev'n the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each duft, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead

Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.

John

John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be
That whilft warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The mifplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd, as gain’d.
And he, that ftands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to ftay 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 lofe 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 and 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 shall step forth To check his reign, but they will cherish it. No nat❜ral exhalation in the sky, No fcape 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 Arthur's life; But hold himself fafe in his prisonment.

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,
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 Englife to their fide;
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 difcontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.

Lenvis. Strong reafon makes strong actions: let us go; If you fay ay, the King will not fay no.

[Exeunt.

ACT