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(If ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewel, my gentle Cousin.
K. John. Coz, farewel.
[Exit Faulc. 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 soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love :
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bofom, 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. Fohn. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so
But thou shalt have — and creep Time ne'er fo flow,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say -- but, let it go:
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 (19)
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
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 imprefs by this fine Description; and which my Emendation conveys. i. c. If it were the still part of the Night, or One of the Clock in the Morning, when the Sound of the Bell strikes upon the Ear with most Awe and Terror. And it is very usual with our Shakespeare in other Passages to express the Horror of a Midnight Bell. So, in Othello; Silence that dreadful Bell, it frights the Ife.
what's the Business,
That such an hideous Trumpet calls to Parley
The Sleepers of the House?
Sound One unto the drowsie race of night;
If this same were a Church-yard where we ftand,
And thou poffeffed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that furly 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 passion hateful to my purposes)
Or if that thou could'st 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;
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'ft me well.
Hub. 'So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Tho' that my Death were adjunct to my Ad,
By heav'n, I'd do't.
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,
And, wherefoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lyes before me. Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I'll keep him fo,
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;
And sometimes, for the more Solemnity, he is used to add the Circum:
stance of the particular Hour.
The iron Tongue of Midnight harb tall d twelve.
Midlum. Night's Dream. The Bell then beating One.
Hamlet. P 2
K. Pbilip. SA whole Armado of collected fail
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember: Madam, fare you well.
[Returning to the Queen. I'll send those Pow'rs o'er to your Majesty.
Eli. My Blessing go with thee!
K. John. For England, Cousin, 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.
by a roaring tempeft on the flood, Is 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 flain? And bloody England into England gone, O'er-bearing interruption, spight 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 shame.
Enter Constance. Look, who comes here? a Grave unto a soul, Holding th'eternal spirit ’gainst her will In the vile prison of afflicted breath ; I pr’ythee, lady, go away with me. Conft. Lo, now, now see the issue of your Peace. K. Philip. Patience, good lady; comfort, gentle Conftance.
Conft. No, I defie all counsel, all 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 lasting 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 dust,
And bea carrion monster, like thy self;
Come grin on me, and I will think thou smil'ft,
And kiss thee as thy wife; Misery's Love,
O come to me!
K. Philip. O fair affliction, 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. (20)
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Conft. 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 loft!
I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis like, I should forget my self.
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
(20) And Scorns a modeft Invocation.] So Mr. Pope: but I have thought fit to restore the Reading of the old Copies. "Íis certain, our Author employs this Word, modern, in a great many places, very cramply. But we shall always understand him, if we but carry this Remark with us; that he generally uses it in the Signification of trifling, insignificant, not weighty, of small Moment, &c. Thus his Şense will be always clear to us; as it were, metaphorically, from those, who despise modern Things, and prefer the Antient to them.
Where but by chance a silver drop hath falling
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang my self.
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 | nate In the fair multitude of those her hairs;
Ev'n to that drop ten thousand wiery friends
Do glew themselyes in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithfu! 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 giy’n 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 heav'nı
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.
But now will canker-forrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek ;
And he will look as hollow as a Ghoft;
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 Heav'n
I shall not know him; therefore never, never,
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold' top heinous a respect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a son. -
K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.