KING JOHN. Sidney Lee

Sticking together in calamity.

       CONSTANCE.

       To England, if you will.

       KING PHILIP.

       Bind up your hairs.

       CONSTANCE.

       Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?

       I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud,

       ‘O that these hands could so redeem my son,

       As they have given 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

       That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:

       If that be true, 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 sorrow 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 meet him in the court of heaven

       I shall not know him: therefore never, never

       Must I behold my pretty Arthur more!

       PANDULPH.

       You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

       CONSTANCE.

       He talks to me that never had a son.

       KING PHILIP.

       You are as fond of grief as of your child.

       CONSTANCE.

       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 head-dress.]

       When there is such disorder in my wit.

       O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!

       My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!

       My widow-comfort, and my sorrows’ cure!

       [Exit.]

       KING PHILIP.

       I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her.

       [Exit.]

       LOUIS.

       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;

       And bitter shame hath spoil’d the sweet world’s taste,

       That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

       PANDULPH.

       Before the curing of a strong disease,

       Even in the instant of repair and health,

       The fit is strongest; evils that take leave

       On their departure most of all show evil;

       What have you lost by losing of this day?

       LOUIS.

       All days of glory, joy, and happiness.

       PANDULPH.

       If you had won it, certainly you had.

       No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,

       She looks upon them with a threatening eye.

       ‘Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost

       In this which he accounts so clearly won.

       Are not you griev’d that Arthur is his prisoner?

       LouIS.

       As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

       PANDULPH.

       Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.

       Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;

       For even 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, whiles warm life plays in that infant’s veins,

       The misplac’d John should entertain an hour,

       One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:

       A sceptre snatch’d with an unruly hand

       Must be boisterously maintain’d as gain’d:

       And he that stands upon a slippery place

       Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:

       That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall:

       So be it, for it cannot be but so.

       LOUIS.

       But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall?

       PANDULPH.

       You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,

       May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

       LOUIS.

       And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

       PANDULPH.

       How green you are, and fresh in this old world!

       John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;

       For he that steeps his safety in true blood

       Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.

       This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts

       Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal,

       That none so small advantage shall step forth

       To check his reign, but they will cherish it;

       No natural exhalation in the sky,

       No scope of nature, no distemper’d day,

       No common wind, no customed event,

       But they will pluck away his natural cause

       And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,

       Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,

       Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

       LOUIS.

       May be he will not touch young Arthur’s life,

       But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

       PANDULPH.

       O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,

       If that young Arthur be not gone already,

       Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts

       Of all his people shall revolt from him,

       And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;