(If ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair fafety; fo I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewel, my gentle Coufin.
K. John. Coz, farewel.

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman;

[Exit Faulc.
-hark, a word.
[Taking him to one fide of the ftage.

K. John. [to Hubert on the other fide.]
Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a foul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love :
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bofom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand, I had a thing to fay
But I will fit it with fome better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I'm almost afham'd
To fay what good refpect I have of thee.
Hub. I am much bounden to your Majefty.

K. John. Good friend, thou haft no cause to say fo yet,

But thou shalt have-and creep Time ne'er fo flow,
Yet it fhall come for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to fay-but, let it go:
The Sun is in the heav'n, 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 (19)
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth

(19)

If the mid-night Bell

Did with his iron Tongue, and brazen Mouth,

Sound

Sound on into the drowzy race of Night;] I do not think, that found on gives here that Idea of Solemnity and Horror, which, 'tis plain, our Poet intended to imprefs by this fine Defcription; and which my Emendation conveys. i. e. If it were the ftill part of the Night, or One of the Clock in the Morning, when the Sound of the Bell ftrikes. upon the Ear with most Awe and Terror. And it is very ufual with our ShakeSpeare in other Paffages to express the Horror of a Midnight Bell. So, in Othello;

Silence that dreadful Bell, it frights the Isle.

what's the Business,

That fuch an hideous Trumpet calls to Parley
The Sleepers of the Houfe?

Macbeth.

And

Sound One unto the drow fie race of night;
If this fame were a Church-yard where we ftand,
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that furly Spirit Melancholy

Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
Which elfe runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that Ideot Laughter keep mens eyes,
And ftrain their cheeks to idle merriment;
(A paffion hateful to my purposes)

Or if that thou could't fee me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, ufing conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful found of words
Then, in defpight of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bofom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'ft me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Tho' that my Death were adjunct to my Act,
By heav'n, I'd do't.

K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st ?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee What, my friend;
He is a very Serpent in my way,

And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lyes before me. Doft thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I'll keep him fo,

That he shall not offend your Majesty.

K. John. Death.

Hub. My lord?

K. John. A Grave.

Hub. He fhall not live.

K. John. Enough.

I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee

And fometimes, for the more Solemnity, he is used to add the Circum

ftance of the particular Hour.

The iron Tongue of Midnight hath toll' & twelve.

The Bell then beating One.

P 2

Midfum. Night's Dream.

Hamlet.

Well,

Well, I'll not fay what I intend for thee:
Remember:Madam, fare you well.

[Returning to the Queen.

I'll fend thofe Pow'rs o'er to your Majesty.
Eli. My Bleffing go with thee!

K. John. For England, Coufin, go.

Hubert fhall be your man, t'attend on you

With all true duty; On, toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the French Court.

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants.

K. Philip. Swhole Armado of collected fail
by a roaring tempeft on the flood,

Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pand. Courage and comfort, all fhall yet go well. K, Philip. What can go well, when we have run fo ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers loft? Arthur ta'en Pris'ner? diverfe dear friends flain? And bloody England into England gone, O'er-bearing interruption, fpight of France?

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd: So hot a speed with fuch advice difpos'd, Such temp'rate order in fo fierce a cause, Doth want example; who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Philip. Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find fome pattern of our fhame.

Enter Conftance.

Look, who comes here? a Grave unto a foul,
Holding th'eternal spirit 'gainst her will

In the vile prison of afflicted breath

I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Conft. Lo, now, now fee the iffue of your Peace.
K. Philip. Patience, good lady; comfort, gentle Con-

ftance.

Conft.

Conft. No, I defie all counfel, all redress,
But That, which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, Death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous Stench, found Rottennefs,
Arife forth from thy 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 these fingers with thy houfhold worms;
And ftop this gap of breath with fulfom duft,
And be a carrion monster, like thy felf;
Come grin on me, and I will think thou fmil'ft,
And kifs thee as thy wife; Mifery's 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,
And scorns a modern invocation. (20)

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie 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 fon, and he is loft!
I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis like, I should forget my felf.
Oh, 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

(20) And fcorns a modeft Invocation.] So Mr. Pope: but I have thought fit to restore the Reading of the old Copies. 'Tis certain, our Author employs this Word, modern, in a great many places, very cramply. But we fhall always understand him, if we but carry this Remark with us; that he generally uses it in the Signification of trifling, infignifi cant, not weighty, of fmall Moment, &c. Thus his Senfe will be always clear to us; as it were, metaphorically, from thofe, who defpife modern Things, and prefer the Antient to them.

P 3

How

How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang my self.
If I were mad, I should forget my fon,
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The diff'rent Plague of each Calamity.

K. Philip. Bind up thofe treffes; O, what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs;
Where but by chance a filver drop hath fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
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 giv'n thefe Hairs their Liberty!
But now I envy at their Liberty,

And will again commit them to their Bonds;
Because my poor Child is a Prifoner,

And, father Cardinal, I have heard you fay,
That we fhall fee and know our friends in heav'n ş
If That be, I fhall fee my boy again.

For fince the birth of Cain, the first male-child,
To him that did but yesterday fufpire,

There was not fuch a gracious Creature born.
But now will canker-forrow eat my bud,
And chafe the native beauty from his cheek;
And he will look as hollow as a Ghoft;
As dim and meagre as an ague's 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 heinous a refpect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a fon.

K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.

is

Conft.