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K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh
Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. 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, for me to do thee good. 409
I had a thing to say—But let it go :
A passion hateful to my purposes) -
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
K. John. Do not I know thou would'st 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; 43o And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: Dost thou understand me ! Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I’ll keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty.
R. John. Death. . Hub. My lord
A. John. A grave.
Hub. He shall not live.
R. John. Enough. 440 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.
- Fij - Eli.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!
K. John. For England, cousin, go : . Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.—On toward Calais, ho! - [Exeunt.
The French Court. Enter King PHILIP, Lewis, PAN- DULPH, and Attendants.
K. Phil. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of collečted sail 450 Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship. * Pand. Courage and comfort all shall yet go well. K. Phil. 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'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 temperate order in so fierce a cause, 460 Doth want example; Who hath read, or heard, Of any kindred ačtion like to this o K. Phil. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our shame, * Enter
Enter Const Ance.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. Thou art unholy 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: Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget 1– Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 5Co 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 different plague of each calamity. K. Phil. Bind up those tresses : Oh, what love I note 5 to In the fair multitude of those her hairs | Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Doglew themselves in sociable grief; - * * Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. r Const. To England, if you will. . K. Phil. Bind up your hairs. - w - Const. Yes, that I will And wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds; and cry’d aloud, 52b ". v. " Oh,