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K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hu
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, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 408 I had a thing to say-But let it go : The sun is in the heaven ; and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, To give me audience :-If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound on unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
410 Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, Making that ideot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes)
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
death werè adjunct to my act,
K. John. Do not I know thou would'st ?
Hub. And I'll keep him so,
K. John, Death.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!
K. John. For England, cousin, go:. Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho !
The French Court. Enter King PHILIP, Lewis, PAN
DULPH, and Attendants.
K. Phil. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of collected sail
450 Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship. 1. Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well, K. Phil. What can go well, when we have run so
Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd :
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.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul ;
K. Phil. Oh fair affliction, peace.
Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry: Oh, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouze 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 unholy 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: Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 500 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 calamity. K. Phil. Bind up those tresses : Oh, what love I note
510 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 Do glew themselves in sociable grief; Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Const, To England, if yoll
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 cry'd aloud, 520