By heaven,Hubert,I am almost ashamed To say what good respect I have of thee.HUBERT I am much bounden to your majesty.KING 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 from me to do thee good.
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 into the drowsy race of night;If this same were a churchyard where we stand,And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,Or if that surly spirit,melancholy,Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick,Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,Making that idiot,laughter,keep men's eyes And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,A passion hateful to my purposes,Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,Hear me without thine ears,and make reply Without a tongue,using conceit alone,Without eyes,ears and harmful sound of words;Then,in despite of brooded watchful day,I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But,ah,I will not!yet I love thee well;
And,by my troth,I think thou lovest me well.HUBERT So well,that what you bid me undertake,Though that my death were adjunct to my act,By heaven,I would do it.KING JOHN Do not I know thou wouldst?
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 whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread,He lies before me:dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.HUBERT And I'll keep him so,That he shall not offend your majesty.KING JOHN Death.HUBERT My lord?KING JOHN A grave.HUBERT He shall not live.KING JOHN Enough.
I could be merry now.Hubert,I love thee;
Well,I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.Madam,fare you well:
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.ELINOR My blessing go with thee!KING JOHN For England,cousin,go:
Hubert shall be your man,attend on you With all true duty.On toward Calais,ho!
Exeunt
SCENE IV.France.The FRENCH KING's camp
Enter KING PHILIP,LEWIS,CARDINAL PANDULPH,and Attendants KING PHILIP So,by a roaring tempest on the flood,A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.CARDINAL PANDULPH Courage and comfort!all shall yet go well.KING PHILIP What can go well,when we have run so ill?
Are we not beaten?Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner?divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,O'erbearing interruption,spite of France?LEWIS What he hath won,that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice disposed,Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,Doth want example:who hath read or heard Of any kindred action like to this?KING PHILIP Well could I bear that England had this praise,So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter CONSTANCE
Look,who comes here!a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit against her will,In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
I prithee,lady,go away with me.CONSTANCE Lo,now I now see the issue of your peace.KING PHILIP Patience,good lady!comfort,gentle Constance!CONSTANCE No,I defy all counsel,all redress,But that which ends all counsel,true redress,Death,death;O amiable lovely death!
Thou odouriferous stench!sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,Thou hate and terror to prosperity,And I will kiss thy detestable bones And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows And ring these fingers with thy household worms And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust And be a carrion monster like thyself:
Come,grin on me,and I will think thou smilest And buss thee as thy wife.Misery's love,O,come to me!KING PHILIP O fair affliction,peace!CONSTANCE No,no,I will not,having breath to cry:
O,that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,Which scorns a modern invocation.CARDINAL PANDULPH Lady,you utter madness,and not sorrow.CONSTANCE Thou art not holy 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:
O,if I could,what grief should I forget!
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be canonized,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.KING PHILIP Bind up those tresses.O,what love Inote In the fair multitude of those her hairs!