In the vile Prison of afflicted Breath;

I prithee, Lady, go away with me.

Conft. Lo, now; now fee the iffue of your Peace.

K. Philip. Patience, good Lady; comfort, gentle Conftance.
Conft. No, I defie all Counfel, all Redrefs,
But that which ends all Counfel, true Redrefs;,
Death, Death, oh amiable, lovely Death,
Thou odoriferous Stench; found Rottennefs,
Arife forth from the 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 houfhould Worms,
And ftop this Gap of Breath with fulfom Duft,
And be a Carrion Monfter like thy felf.

Come, grin on me, and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And bufs thee as thy Wife; Miseries Love,
O come to me.

K. Philip. O fair Affliction, Peace.

Conft. 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 shake the World,
And rouze from Sleep that fell Anatomy,

Which cannot hear a Lady's feeble Voice,
Which fcorns a modern Invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter Madness, and not Sorrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belye me fo;

I am not mad; this Hair I tear is mine,
My Name is Conftance, I was Geffrey's Wife;
Young Arthur is my Son, and he is loft:
I am not mad, I would to Heav'n I were,
For then 'tis like I fhould forget my felf.
O, if I could, what 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 Reason
How I may be deliver'd of these Woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang my felf.
If I were mad, I fhould 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. Philip. 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,
Even to that Drop ten thousand wiery Fiends
Do glew themselves in fociable Grief,
Like true, infeparable, faithful Loves,
Sticking together in Calamity.

Conft. To England, if you will.

K. Philip. 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 thefe Hands could fo 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 fay
That we fhall fee and know our Friends in Heav'n;
If that be true, I fhall fee my Boy again.
For fince the Birth of Cain, the firft Male-Child
To him that did but Yefterday fufpire,
There was not fuch a gracious Creature born.
But now will Canker-Sorrow eat my Bud,
And chase the native Beauty from his Check,
And he will look as hollow as a Ghoft,
As dim and meager as an Agues 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 hainous a refpect of Grief.
Conft. He talks to me that never had a Son.

your
K. Philip. You are as fond of Grief, as of Child.
Conft. Grief fills the Room up of my abfent Child;
Lyes 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.
D 4

Fare

Fáre you well; had you fuch a Lofs as I,
I could give better Comfort than you do.
I will not keep this Form upon my Head,
When there is fuch Diforder 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 Sorrows Cure.

[Exit.

[Exit.

K. Philip. I fear fome Outrage, and I'll follow her.

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 drowfie Man;

And bitter Shame hath spoil'd the fweet Words taste,
That it yields nought but Shame and Bitternefs.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong Disease,
Even in the Inftant of repair and health,
The Fit is ftrongeft: Evils that take Leave,
On their Departure, most 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 threatning 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 Prifoner?
Lewis. As heartily as he is g ad he hath him.
Pand. Your Mind is all as youthful as your Blood.
Now hear me fpeak with a prophetick Spirit;
For even the Breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each Duft, each Straw, each little rub
Out of the Path which fhall directly lead

Thy Foot to England Throne: And therefore mark,
John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be,
That whilft warm Life plays in that Infant's Veins,
The mifplac'd John fhould entertain an Hour,
A Minute, nay one quiet Breath of Reft.
A Scepter fnatch'd with an unruly Hand,
Must be as boyft'roufly maintain'd as gain'd.
And he that ftands upon a flippery Place,
Makes nice of no vile Hold to ftay him up.

That

That John may ftand, then Arthur needs must fall,
So be it, for it cannot be but fo

Lewis. But what fhall 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 steeps his Safety in true Blood, Shall find but bloody Safety and untrue. This A&t fo evilly born fhall cool the Hearts Of all his People, and freeze up their Zeal, That none fo fmall Advantage shall step forth To check his Reign, but they will cherish it. No natural exhalation in the Sky,

No Scope of Nature, no diftemper'd Day,
No common Wind, no cuftomed Event,
But they will pluck away his natural Cause,
And call them Meteors, Prodigies, and Signs,
Abortives, Prefages, and Tongues of Heav'n,
Plainly denouncing Vengeance upon John.

Lewis. May be he will not touch young Arthur's Life, But hold himfelf fafe in his Prisonment.

Pand. O, Sir, when he fhall hear of your Approach,
If that young Arthur be not gone already,

Even 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.
Methinks I fee this Hurley all on foot;
And O, what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have nam'd. The Baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the Church,
Offending Charity. If but a dozen French
Were there in Arms, they would be as a Call
To train ten thousand English to their fide;
Or, as a little Snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a Mountain. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the King, 'tis wonderful,
What may be wrought out of their Difcontent.

Now

Now that their Souls are top full of Offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.

Lewis. Strong Reafon makes ftrong Actions; let us go, If you fay ay, the King will not fay no.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

HE

Enter Hubert and Executioner.

[Exeunt.

Hub.TTEAT me thefe Irons hot, and look you ftand
Within the Arras; when I ftrike my Foot
Upon the Bofom of the Ground, rush forth

And bind the Boy, which you fhall find with me,
Faft to the Chair: Be heedful; hence, and watch.
Exe. I hope your Warrant will bear out the Deed!
Hub. Uncleanly Scruples, fear not you; look to't,
Young Lad come forth; I have to fay with you.
Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good Morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Good Morrow, little Prince.

Arth. As little Prince, having fo great a Title To be more Prince, as may be. You are fad. Hub. Indeed I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me;

Methinks no Body should be fad but I;
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young Gentlemen would be as fad a Night
Only for Wantonnefs; by my Christendom,
So I were out of Prison, and kept Sheep,
I fhould be as merry as the Day is long:
And fo I would be here, but that I doubt
My Uncle practifes more Harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my Fault that I was Geffrey's Son?
No indeed is't not, and I would to Heav'n

I were your Son, fo you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his Innocent Prate
He will awake my Mercy, which lyes dead;
Therefore I will be fudden, and difpatch.