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The yearly course, that brings this day about,
K. Phil. By Heaven, lady, you shall have no
To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Con. You have beguild me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and
try'd, Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: The grappling vigour and rough frown of war Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league :Arm, arm, you Heavens, against these perjur'd Kings! A widow cries; be husband to me, Heavens ! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd Kings ! Hear me, O, hear me !
Aust, Lady Constance, peace.
Con. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges ! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou
coward : Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!