So by a roaring tempest on the flood,

3.3.21384A whole armada of convicted sail

3.3.31385Is scattered and disjoined from fellowship.

Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.

What can go well, when we have run so ill?

3.3.61388Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?

3.3.71389Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?

3.3.81390And bloody England into England gone,

3.3.91391O'erbearing interruption spite of France?

What he hath won, that hath he fortified.

3.3.111393So hot a speed, with such advice disposed,

3.3.121394Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,

3.3.131395Doth want example. Who hath read or heard

3.3.141396Of any kindred action like to this?

Well could I bear that England had this praise,

3.3.161398So we could find some pattern of our shame.

3.3.171400Look who comes here: a grave unto a soul,

3.3.181401Holding th' eternal spirit against her will

3.3.191402In the vile prison of afflicted breath.

3.3.201403I prithee lady go away with me.

Lo, now, now see the issue of your peace.

Patience, good lady. Comfort, gentle Constance.

No, I defy all counsel, all redress,

3.3.241407But that which ends all counsel, true redress.

3.3.251408Death. Death, O amiable, lovely death,

3.3.261409Thou odoriferous stench, sound rottenness,

3.3.271410Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,

3.3.281411Thou hate and terror to prosperity,

3.3.291412And I will kiss thy detestable bones,

3.3.301413And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows,

3.3.311414And ring these fingers with thy household worms,

3.3.321415And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,

3.3.331416And be a carrion monster like thy self.

3.3.341417Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,

3.3.351418And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,

3.3.361419O, come to me.

O, come to me. O, fair affliction, peace.

No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.

3.3.391422O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth:

3.3.401423Then with a passion would I shake the world,

3.3.411424And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy

3.3.421425Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,

3.3.431426Which scorns a modern invocation.

Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.

Thou art not holy to belie me so.

3.3.461429I am not mad. This hair I tear is mine;

3.3.471430My name is Constance; I was Geoffrey's wife;

3.3.481431Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:

3.3.491432I am not mad. I would to [god] I were,

3.3.501433For then 'tis like I should forget my self.

3.3.511434O, if I could, what grief should I forget?

3.3.521435Preach some philosophy to make me mad,

3.3.531436And thou shalt be canonized, Cardinal.

3.3.541437For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,

3.3.551438My reasonable part produces reason

3.3.561439How I may be delivered of these woes,

3.3.571440And teaches me to kill or hang my self.

3.3.581441If I were mad, I should forget my son,

3.3.591442Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.

3.3.601443I am not mad: too well, too well I feel

3.3.611444The different plague of each calamity.

Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note

3.3.631446In the fair multitude of those her hairs,

3.3.641447Where but by chance a silver drop hath fall'n,

3.3.651448Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends

3.3.661449Do glue themselves in sociable grief,

3.3.671450Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,

3.3.681451Sticking together in calamity.

To England, if you will.

Bind up your hairs.

Yes that I will. And wherefore will I do it?

3.3.721455I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud,

3.3.731456"O, that these hands could so redeem my son

3.3.741457As they have given these hairs their liberty."

3.3.751458But now I envy at their liberty

3.3.761459And will again commit them to their bonds,

3.3.771460Because my poor child is a prisoner.

3.3.781461And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say

3.3.791462That we shall see and know our friends in heaven.

3.3.801463If that be true, I shall see my boy again;

3.3.811464For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,

3.3.821465To him that did but yesterday suspire,

3.3.831466There was not such a gracious creature born.

3.3.841467But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud

3.3.851468And chase the native beauty from his cheek,

3.3.861469And he will look as hollow as a ghost,

3.3.871470As dim and meager as an ague's fit,

3.3.881471And so he'll die; and, rising so again,

3.3.891472When I shall meet him in the court of heaven

3.3.901473I shall not know him. Therefore never, never

3.3.911474Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

He talks to me that never had a son.

You are as fond of grief as of your child.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child:

3.3.961479Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,

3.3.971480Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,

3.3.981481Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

3.3.991482Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.

3.3.1001483Then have I reason to be fond of grief?

3.3.1011484Fare you well. Had you such a loss as I,

3.3.1021485I could give better comfort than you do.

3.3.1031486I will not keep this form upon my head,

3.3.1041487When there is such disorder in my wit.

3.3.1051488O lord; my boy, my Arthur, my fair son,

3.3.1061489My life, my joy, my food, my all the world,

3.3.1071490My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure.

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

There's nothing in this world can make me joy.

3.3.1101493Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale

3.3.1111494Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;

3.3.1121495And bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet word's taste

3.3.1131496That it yields naught but shame and bitterness.

Before the curing of a strong disease,

3.3.1151498Even in the instant of repair and health,

3.3.1161499The fit is strongest. Evils that take leave

3.3.1171500On their departure most of all show evil.

3.3.1181501What have you lost by losing of this day?

All days of glory, joy, and happiness.

If you had won it, certainly you had.

3.3.1211504No, no. When Fortune means to men most good

3.3.1221505She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.

3.3.1231506'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost

3.3.1241507In this which he accounts so clearly won.

3.3.1251508Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?

As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.

3.3.1281511Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit,

3.3.1291512For even the breath of what I mean to speak

3.3.1301513Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub

3.3.1311514Out of the path which shall directly lead

3.3.1321515Thy foot to England's throne. And therefore mark:

3.3.1331516John hath seized Arthur, and it cannot be,

3.3.1341517That whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,

3.3.1351518The misplaced John should entertain an hour,

3.3.1361519One minute, nay one quiet breath of rest.

3.3.1371520A scepter snatched with an unruly hand

3.3.1381521Must be as boisterously maintained as gained.

3.3.1391522And he that stands upon a slippery place

3.3.1401523Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.

3.3.1411524That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall.

3.3.1421525So be it, for it cannot be but so.

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

You, in the right of Lady Blanche your wife,

3.3.1451528May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

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

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

3.3.1481531John lays you plots. The times conspire with you,

3.3.1491532For he that steeps his safety in true blood

3.3.1501533Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.

3.3.1511534This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts

3.3.1521535Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,

3.3.1531536That none so small advantage shall step forth

3.3.1541537To check his reign but they will cherish it.

3.3.1551538No natural exhalation in the sky,

3.3.1561539No scope of nature, no distempered day,

3.3.1571540No common wind, no customèd event,

3.3.1581541But they will pluck away his natural cause

3.3.1591542And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs;

3.3.1601543Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,

3.3.1611544Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Maybe he will not touch young Arthur's life,

3.3.1631546But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

O sir, when he shall hear of your approach,

3.3.1651548If that young Arthur be not gone already,

3.3.1661549Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts

3.3.1671550Of all his people shall revolt from him

3.3.1681551And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,

3.3.1691552And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath

3.3.1701553Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.

3.3.1711554Methinks I see this hurley all on foot,

3.3.1721555And O, what better matter breeds for you

3.3.1731556Than I have named. The Bastard Falconbridge

3.3.1741557Is now in England ransacking the church,

3.3.1751558Offending charity. If but a dozen French

3.3.1761559Were there in arms they would be as a call

3.3.1771560To train ten thousand English to their side;

3.3.1781561Or as a little snow, tumbled about,

3.3.1791562Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,

3.3.1801563Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful,

3.3.1811564What may be wrought out of their discontent

3.3.1821565Now that their souls are top-full of offence.

3.3.1831566For England go. I will whet on the King.

Strong reasons makes strange actions: let us go,

3.3.1851568If you say ay, the King will not say no.