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Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendanss. K. Philip. Som

by a roaring tempest on the flood,

A whole s Armada of collected fail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well.
K. Philip. What can go well, when we have run so

ill?
Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en Pris'ner ? divers dear friends Nain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'er-bearing interruption, spite of France ?

Lewis. What he hath won, that hath he fortify'd:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos’d,
Such temp'rate order in so 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 some pattern of our shame.

5 A while Armado, &c.] This But the whole play abounds with fimilitude, as little as it makes touches relative to the then polfor the purpose in hand, was, I ture of affairs. WARBURTON. do not question, a very taking This play, so far as I can difone when the play was first re cover, was not played till a long presented ; which was a winter time after the defeat of the Aror two at most, after the Spanish mada. The old play, I think, invasion in 1588. It was in re wants this fimile. ference likewisc to that glorious mentator should not have afperiod that Shakespear concludes firmed what he could only guess. his play in that triumphant man

in fo fierce a CAUSE,] ner,

We should read COURSE, i. e. Thus England never did, h.or march. The Oxford Editor connever shall

descends to this emendation. Lye at the proud foot of a con

WARBURTON.

The com

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queror, &c.

En'er

Enter Constance.
Look, who comes here? a grave unto a soul,
Holding th' eternal spirit 'gainst her will
In the vile prison of afflicted breath;
I pr’ythee, lady, go away with me.
Const

. Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace. K. Philip. Patience, good Lady; comfort, gentle

Confiance.
Const. No, I defy all counsel, and redress,
But that, which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench, sound rottenness,
Arife forth from thy couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy detestable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;
And ring these fingers with thy houshold worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsom duft,
And be a carrion monster, like thyself;
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'ft,
And kiss thee as thy wife ; misery's love,
O come to me!

K. Pbilip. O fair amfiction, peace.

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry;
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's niouth,
Then with a passion I would shake the world,
And rouze from seep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a Lady's feeble voice,
And scorns a 7 modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me so;

7 Modern ix vocation.] It is in contempt, he uses this word, hard to say what Shakespeare her modern grace. It apparentiv means by niidein: it is not op means fomething fight and isposed to ancient. In All's we'l, considerable. ba: cr.is well, speaking of a girl

I am

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,
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 diff'rent plague of each calamity.
K. Philip. 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 fall'n,
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Conft. To England, if you will.-
K. Pbilip. 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 so redeem my son,
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 prisoner,
And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say,

3 It was necessary that Co - lowing speeches had leen equalfarce should be interrupted, be- ly happy; but they only serve to cause a passion fo violent cannot shew, how difficult it is to mainbe born long. I wish the fol. tuin the pathetick long.

That

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That we shall see and know our friends in heav'n
If that be, 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.
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 so he'll die : and, rising so again,
When I shall meer him in the court of heav'n
I shall not know him ; therefore never, never,
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of you:

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 bead-cloaths. When there is such disorder 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 sorrow's cure ! [Exit. K. P:ibp. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.

(Exit.

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kad you such a loss as 1, ever cannot help himself cafts his I could give better comfort] eyes on others for asliftance, and This is a sentiment which great often mistakes their inability for sorrow always dictates. Who- coldness.

SCENE

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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 sweet world's taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the instant 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 losing 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 most good, She looks upon them with a threat’ning eye. 'Tis strange to think how much King Jobn hath lost In this, which he accounts so 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 spirit; For ev’n the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne: and therefore mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be That whilft warm life plays in that infant's veins, The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest. A scepter, snatch'd with an unruly hand,

There's nothing in this, &c.] ftrongly in the earlier years, and The young Prince feels his de- when can disgrace be less welfeat with more sensibility than his come than when a man is going father. Shame operates molt to his bride ?

Muft

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