He is a very ferpent in my way.

And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me. Doft thou understand me
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I'll keep him fo,

That he shall not offend your Majefty.

K. John. Death.

Hub. My Lord?

K. John. A grave.

Hub. He fhall not live.

K. John. Enough.

I could be merry now.

Well, I'll not fay what I intend for thee:

Hubert, I love thee;

[Returning to the Queen.

Remember.-Madam, fare you well.

I'll fend thofe pow'rs o'er to your Majefty.

Eli. My bleffing go with thee!

K. John. For England, coufin, go.

Hubert fhall be your man, t'attend on your

With all true duty; on toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt,

SCENE VI. Changes to the French court. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants. K. Phil. So, by a roaring tempeft on the flood,, A whole armado * of collected fail

Is fcatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship..

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 lost?

Arthur ta'en pris'ner? divers dear friends flain ?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, fpite of France?"

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd'e:

So hot a fpeed with fuch advice difpos'd,.
Such temp'rate order in fo fierce a course,
Doth want example; who hath read or heard
Of any kindred action like to this?

* This play was first reprefented a winter or two after the Spa-nifh invafion in 1588. And it abounds with touches relative to the then pofture of affairs.

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

praise,

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 prifon 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-
ftance.

Conft. No, I defy all counfel and redress,
But that which ends all counfel, true redrefs,
Death, Death; oh amiable, lovely Death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, found rottennefs,
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 stop this gap of breath with fulsome duft,
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.Phil. O fair affliction, peace.

Const. 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 fhake the world,
And roufe from deep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
And fcorns a modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madnefs, and not forrow..
Conft. Thou art not holy to bely 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 should forget myself.

Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget! *
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The diff'rent plague of each calamity. †
And, Father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
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 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 fhall not know him; therefore never, never,
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a refpect of 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 should forget my son,
Or madly think a babé of clouts were he.
I am not mad, &c.

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.

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 thefe 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, &c.

child.

Conft. He talks to me that never had a fon.-
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief as of your
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 loss 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.

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 drowsy man.'

A bitter shame hath spoilt the sweet 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 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 prisoner?
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 duft, each ftraw,, each little rub

1

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 fhould entertain an hour,
▲ minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fceptre 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 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? 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 find but bloody fafety and untrue.

“This act, so 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 natʼral 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 safe in his prisonment.

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.