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GRIEF OF CONSTANCE.-ACT III. SCENE 4.

Constance, mother to Prince Arthur, is overwhelmed with grief at the capture of her son.

SCENE-The French King's tent.

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Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not

sorrow.

Const. Thou art not holy, to belie me1 so; I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: I am not mad;—I would, in sooth, I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget!— Preach some philosophy to make me mad. If I were mad, I should forget my son:

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I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses.—Oh what love I note

In the fair multitude of these her hairs!

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When but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 15
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief,

Like true, inseparable, faithful lovers,
Sticking together in calamity.-

Bind up your hairs. 20

Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will

I do it?

I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,
"Oh that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given 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.

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in

heaven:

If that be true, I shall see my boy again;

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For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,*
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker 5 sorrow eat my bud,"
And chase the native beauty from his cheek, 35
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;

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As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;

And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore, never, never 40
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

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Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Const. He talks to me that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent 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 reason to be fond of grief.Fare you well had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.I will not keep this form upon my head,

[Tearing it off. When there is such disorder in my wit.O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!

[Exit.

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

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NOTES ON "GRIEF OF CONSTANCE."

1 (l. 2). Belie me, saying that of me which is untrue.

8 (1.4). Geffrey, the third son of Henry II. was King John's elder brother.

8 (l. 9). Philosophy, knowledge, wis. dom.

4 (l. 32). Suspire, breathe.

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5 (l. 34). Canker, corroding, causing 9 (l. 49). Vacant garments, the clothes to rust, or eat away as canker.

he wore.

HUBERT AND ARTHUR.

ACT IV. SCENE 1.

Arthur, having been sent to England, is imprisoned in Northampton
Castle. (Historically this is not true. Arthur was first sent to
Falaise, then to Rouen; but Shakespeare's arrangement of the
play requires the scene to be laid in England.)

SCENE.-A room in Northampton Castle.
Enter Hubert, and two Attendants.

Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand

Within the arras: 1 when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy, which 2 you shall find with

me,

Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and

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Arth. As little prince" (having so great a

title

To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

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Arth.
Mercy on me!
Methinks nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him.

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Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would, in sooth,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his in-
nocent prate

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He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch."
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale
to-day:

In sooth,12 I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession
of my bosom.

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Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. 35 [Aside] How now, foolish rheum! 13

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Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop

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