Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. K.John. No more than he that threats.-To arms let's hie! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Plains near Angiers. A larums, Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's Head. Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot ; Some airy devil hovers in the sky, And pours down mischief. While Philip breathes. Austria's head lie there; Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy ;-Philip, make up : My mother is assailed in our tent, And ta'en, I fear. Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her; Her highness is in safety, fear you not: But on, my liege; for very little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. SCENE III.-The same. [Exeunt. Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. K. John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay be hind, [To Elinor. So strongly guarded.-Cousin, look not sad: [To Arthur. Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for Eng land; haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness :-Grandam, I will pray (If ever I remember to be holy,) For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. K.John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bas [She takes Arthur aside. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. Omy gentle Hubert, We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, I had a thing to say,-But let it go : Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st? And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; K. John. For England, cousin : Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. The French King's Tent. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and Attend ants. K. Phil. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. K. Phil. What can go well, when we have run so ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: K. Phil. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame. Enter Constance. Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul ; I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! K. Phil. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance! Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, L And ring these fingers with thy household worms; Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, 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 passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation. 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 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 babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each ealamity. K. Phil. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, |