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The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday,
Con. [Rising.] A wicked day, and not a holy

day !
What hath this day deserv’d? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar?
Nay, rather, turn this day o’t of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
This day, all things begun come to ill end ;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

K. Phil. By Heaven, lady, you shall have no

cause

To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ?

Con. You have beguild me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and

try'd, Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: The grappling vigour and rough frown of war Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league :Arm, arm, you Heavens, against these perjur'd Kings! A widow cries; be husband to me, Heavens ! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd Kings ! Hear me, O, hear me !

Aust, Lady Constance, peace.

Con. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges ! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou

coward : Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

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