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But on, my Lieges for very little pains
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt.
Alarms, Excursions, Retreat. Re-enter King John, Elinor,
Arthur, Faulconbridge, Hubert, and Lords.
K. John. So thall it be; your Grace shall stay behind
So strongly guarded : Coufin, look not fad, [TÓ Arthur.
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee, as thy father was.
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.
K. John. Cousin, away for England; hafte before,
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding Abbots; their imprison'd angels
Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace (13)
Must by the hungry war be fed upon.
Use our commission in its utmost force.
Faulc. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,
When gold and silver beck me to come on.
I leave your highness : grandam, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewel, my gentle coufin.
K. John. Coz, farewel.
[Exit Faulce Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; -hark, a word.
[Taking him to one fide of the stage. K. John. [to Hubert on the other side. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh There is a foul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love : (13) —äthe fat Ribs of Peace
Muft by the hungry now be fed upon.] This Word now feems a very idle Term here, and conveys no fatisfactory Idea. An Antithesis, and Opposition of Terms, fo perpetual with our Author, requires ;
Must by the liungry War be fect upon. War, demanding a large Expence, is very poetically said to be hungry, and to prey on the Wealth and Fai of Peace.
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand, I had a thing to say
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hub. I am much bounden to your Majesty:
K. John. Good friend; thou hast ro cause to say so
But thou shalt have and creep time ne'er so flow,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say
-but, let it
The sun is in the heav'n, 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 (14)
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound one unto the drowsie race of night ;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit Melancholy
Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy.thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that ideot laughter keep mens' eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment;
(A paffion hateful to my purposes)
Or if that thou could'It 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 ;
-If the mid-night Bell
Did with his iron Tongue, and brazen Mouth,
Sound on into the drowzy race of Night;] I do not think, that found on gives here that Idea of Solemnity and Horror, which, 'tis plain, our Poet intended to impress by this fine Description; and which my Emendation conveys. 1. c. If it were the ftill part of the Night, or One of the clock in the Morning, when the sound of the Bell Atrikes upon the Eac with moft Awe and Terror. And it is very usual with our Shake Spears in other Passages to express the Horror of a Midnight Bell.
Then, in despight of broad-ey'd 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 lov'it me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Tho' that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heav'n, I'd do't.
K. John. Do not I know, thou would'A?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine
yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend;
He is a very serpent in my way,
And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lyes before me.
Doft thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I'll keep him so,
That he shall not offend your Majesty,
K. John. Death.
Hub. My lord?
K. John. A grave:
Hub. He shall not live.
K. John. Enough.
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee :
[Returning to the Queen. I'll send those pow'rs o'er to your Majesty.
Eli. My bleffing go with thee! K. John. For England, coufin, go. Hubert shall be your man, t'attend on you With all true duty; on, toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the French Court. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulpho, and Attendants,
O, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 3
A whole Armado of collected fail iss 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 loft?
Arthur ta'en Pris'ner ? diverse dear friends lain :
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 cause,
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 Thame.
Look, who comes here? a grave unto a soul,
Holding th' eternal spirit 'gainst her will
In-the vile prison of amicted breath ;
I proythee, lady, go away with me.
Conft. Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace.
K.' Philip. Patience, good lady ; comfort, gentle
Conft. No, I defie all counsel, and redress,
But that, which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death; oh amiable, lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench, found rottenness,
Arise forth from thy couch of lafting 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 thy self;
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'it,
And kiss thee as thy wife; mifery's love,
O come to me!
K. Philip. O fair a Miction, peace.
Conft. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry; O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth, Then with a passion I would shake the world, And rouze from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, And scorns a modern invocation.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not forrow.
Conft. Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad; this hair I tear is mine ;
My name is Confiance, I was Geffrey's wife:
Young Arthur is my son, and he is loft !
I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'cis 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; 0, 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. 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 so redeem my son,
As they have giv'n these hairs their liberty!
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,
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.