Oh, if I could, what grief fhould I forget! *
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The diff'rent plague of each calamity. †
And, Father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall fee and know our friends in heav'n;
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 chase the native beauty from his cheek;
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
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 shall not know him; therefore never, never,
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a refpect of grief.
-fhould I forget!
Preach fome philofophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal.
For, being not mad, but fensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reafon
How I may be deliver'a of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I fhould for. et my fon,
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he
I am not mad, &c.
K. Phil. Bind up thofe treffes. O, what love I note In the fair multitude of thofe her hans;
Where but by chance a fi ver drop hath fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
Do glew themfelves in fociable grief;
Like true, infeparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
Conft. To England, if you will.
K. Phil. 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 these hands could to redeem my fon,
As they have giv'n the e hairs their liberty
But now I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds;
Bec ufe my poor child is a prifoner.
And, Father Cardinal, &c.
Conft. He talks to me that never had a fon.
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Conft. Grief fills the room up of my abfent 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 reafon to be fond of grief.
Fare you well; had you fuch 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-cloaths.
When there is fuch diforder in my wit.
O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair fon!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my forrow's cure! [Exit.
K.Phil. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit.
Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.'
A bitter fhame hath spoilt the fweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but fhame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, most of all shew 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 threat'ning eye.
'Tis ftrange to think how much King John hath lofti
In this, which he accounts fo clearly won.
Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lewis. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me fpeak with a prophetic fpirit;
For ev'n 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 1 ANT
Thy foot to England's throne: and therefore mark.
John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be
That whilft warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The mifplace'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fceptre fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'rously maintain'd as gain'd.
"And he that stands upon a flipp'ry place,
"Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up."
That John may ftand, then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but fo.
Lewis. But what shall 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 fteeps his fafety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody fafety and untrue.
"This act, fo evilly born, fhall cool the hearts
"Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That no fo fmall advantage shall step forth "To check his reign, but they will cherish it. "No nat'ral exhalation in the sky,
"No 'scape of nature, no distemper'd day, "No common wind, no customed event, "But they will pluck away its natʼral cause, "And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns, "Abortives, and prefages, tongues of heav'n "Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John." Lewis. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life;
But hold himself fafe in his prifonment.
Pand. O Sir, when he fhall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Ev'n 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 hurly 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 twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thoufand English to their fide;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.
Lewis. Strong reafon makes strong actions: let us go;
If you fay dy, the King will not fay No.
Enter Hubert and Executioners.
Eat me thefe irons hot, and look thou 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 fcruples! fear not you; look to't.— Young lad, come forth; I have to fay with you.
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.
Methinks no body should be fad but I;
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my christendom,
So were I out of prison, and kept theep,'
I fhould be as merry as the day is long.
And fo I fhould be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's fon?
Indeed it is not; and I would to heav'n
I were your fon, fo you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
Therefore I will be fudden and dispatch.
[Afide. Arth. Are you fick, Hubert! you look pale to-day;
In footh I wou'd you were a little fick,
That I might fit all night and watch with you.
Alas, I love you more than you do me.
Hub. His words do take poffeffion of my bofom.
Read here, young Arthur
How now, foolish rheum,
Turning dif-piteous nature out of door!
I must be brief, left refolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanifh tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for fo foul effect.
Muft you with irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you?
Hub. And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but
The best I had, a princefs wrought it me,
And I did never afk it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon chear'd up the heavy time,
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's fon would have lain fill,
And ne'er have fpoke a loving word to you;
But you at your
fick fervice had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning. Do, an if you will:
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