On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend; He is a very serpent in my way;

And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,

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.
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.

SCENE IV.

The same. The French king's tent.

Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and
Attendants.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,

A whole armado 1 of convicted 2 sail

Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pan. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. K. Phi. 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'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice disposed,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example. Who hath read or heard
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find some partner of our shame.

Enter CONSTANCE.

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath.

I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Con. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance !

Con. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,

But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death.-O amiable, lovely death!

1 Refuse.

Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!

Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,

And I will kiss thy detestable bones;

And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows;

And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself.

Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smilest, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,

O, come to me!

K. Phi.

O fair affliction, peace.

Con. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry. O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern invocation.

Pan. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Con. Thou art not holy 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:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!-
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canonised, cardinal;

1 Common.