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...Shakespeare's poignant lines from King John refer to this event: Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. Then have I reason to be fond of grief. The same year, the College of Heralds finally granted John...

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...the fate of her son Arthur in these lines that follow: Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form: Then have I reason to be fond of grief . Of course, I could be wrong. My linking of the writing of...

...in the words of Arthur's mother Constance in King John: Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. . ." But although the sentiments certainly evoke every reality of grief for a lost child, Dr Rowse's...

...pleased to be placed. (OC, 1577-78) Remembering the Dead Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, and repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with...

...only to fit the scene. [Richard III, IV.iv.82-91] (23) Grief fills the room up of my absent child: Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. Then have I reason to be fond of grief? (24) This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father....

...PHILIP: You are as fond of grief as of your child. CONSTANCE: Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...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...

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...the lamentation of Constance for her son, in King John: Grief fills the room up of my absent child. Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on...parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief? O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son; My life, my joy, my...