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Changes to the French Court.

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendance,

K. Philip. A whole Armada of collected fail

by a roaring tempeft on the flood,

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Is fcatter'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? divers dear friends flain?.
And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, fpite 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 course,
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 shame.

5 A whole Armada, &c.] This fimilitude, as little as it makes for the purpose in hand, was, I do not question, a very taking one when the play was first reprefented; which was a winter or two at most, after the Spanish invafion in 1588. It was in reference likewife to that glorious period that Shakespeare concludes his play in that triumphant man

ner,

Thus England never did, nor
never ball,

Iye at the proud foot of a con-
queror, &c.

But the whole play aboundswith touches relative to the then pofture of affairs. WARBURTON. This play, fo far as I can difcover, was not played till a long time after the defeat of the Armada. The old play, I think, wants this fimile. The commentator fhould not have affirmed what he could only guefs.

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in fo fierce a CAUSE,] We fhould read COURSE, i. e. march. The Oxford Editor condefcends to this emendation.

WARBURTON.

Enter

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
Conftance.

Conft. No, I defy all counfel, and redrefs,
But that, which ends all counfel, true redrefs,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous ftench, 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 monfter, like thyself:

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 fleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a Lady's feeble voice, And fcorns a' modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow. Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me for

7 Modern invocation.] It is hard to say what Shakespeare means by modern: is it not op poted to ancient. In All's well, that ends well, fpeaking of a girl

in contempt, he ufes this word, her modern grace. It apparently means fomething flight and inconfiderable..

I am

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 myself.
Oh, if I could, what grief should 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 reafon
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 diff'rent plague of each calamity.

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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 these hands could fo redeem my fon,
As they have giv'n these 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 say,

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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 firft 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 respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me that never had a fon.-

K. Philip. 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 lofs as I, I could give better comfort than you do. I will not keep this form upon my head,

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[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. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit.

9 bad you fuch a lofs as I, I could give better comfort -] This is a fentiment which great forrow always dictates. Who

ever cannot help himself cafts his eyes on others for affistance, and often mistakes their inability for coldness.

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SCENE VIL

Lewis. 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.

A bitter shame hath spoilt the fweet world's tafte,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong difeafe,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, moft of all fhew 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 loft
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 speak with a prophetick 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
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 misplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,

There's nothing in this, &c.] The young Prince feels his defeat with more fenfibility than his father. Shame operates most

ftrongly in the earlier years; and when can difgrace be less welcome than when a man is going to his bride?

Muft

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