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 Attendants. 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? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred action like to this? 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; In the vile prison of afflicted breath:- 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, Death, death:-O amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy détestable bones; And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery'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! Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: O, if I could, what grief should I forget!— 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, Const. To England, if you will. K. Phil. Bind up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will I do it? 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! And will again commit them to their bonds,' 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; 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. When I shall meet him in the court of heaven' Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 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 off her head-dress. 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 sorrows' cure! [Exit. K. Phil. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. Lew. 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; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields naught, but shame, and bitterness. Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner? One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest; |