And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, , come to me! K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry: O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. Thou art not holy to belie me 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 to heaven, I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How 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 babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: 0, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Const. To England, if you will. Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud, O 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 hea * ven: If that be true, I shall see my boy again; never 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; [Tearing off her head-dress. When there is such disorder in my wit. Qlord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! [Exit. K. Phi. I fear, some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice - told tale, taste, That it yields naught, but shame, and bitter ness. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil: What have you lost by losing of this day? Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. No, no when fortune means to men most good," She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange, to think how much King John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won: blood. Now hear me speak, with a prophetick spirit; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be, The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, So be it, for it cannot be but so. Lew. 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. Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old world! John lays you plots; the times conspire with you: For he, that steeps his safety in true blood, No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, But hold himself safe in his prisonment. If that young Arthur be not gone already, Is now in England, ransacking the church, Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, |