READ STUDY GUIDE: Act III, Scenes iii-iv |
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Act III, Scene iv:
The same. The FRENCH KING's tent.
The same. The FRENCH KING's tent.
| [Enter KING PHILIP, LOUIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.] |
| KING PHILIP: |
| So, by a roaring tempest on the flood |
| A whole armado of convicted sail |
| Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship. |
| PANDULPH: |
| Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. |
| KING PHILIP: |
| 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? |
| LOUIS: |
| What he hath won, that hath he fortified: |
| So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, |
| Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, |
| Doth want example: who hath read or heard |
| Of any kindred action like to this? |
| KING PHILIP: |
| Well could I bear that England had this praise, |
| So we could find some pattern of our shame.— |
| Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul; |
| Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, |
| In the vile prison of afflicted breath. |
| [Enter CONSTANCE.] |
| I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. |
| CONSTANCE: |
| Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! |
| KING PHILIP: |
| Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance! |
| CONSTANCE: |
| No, I defy all counsel, all redress, |
| But that which ends all counsel, true redress, |
| Death, death:—O amiable lovely death! |
| 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 smil'st, |
| And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, |
| O, come to me! |
| KING PHILIP: |
| O fair affliction, peace! |
| CONSTANCE: |
| 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. |
| PANDULPH: |
| Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. |
| CONSTANCE: |
| 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 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. |
| KING PHILIP: |
| Bind up those tresses.—O, what love I note |
| In the fair multitude of those her hairs! |
| Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fallen, |
| Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends |
| Do glue themselves in sociable grief; |
| Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, |
| 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; |
| And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath |
| Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john. |
| Methinks I see this hurly all on foot: |
| And, O, what better matter breeds for you |
| Than I have nam'd!—The bastard Falconbridge |
| Is now in England, ransacking the church, |
| Offending charity: if but a dozen French |
| Were there in arms, they would be as a call |
| To train ten thousand English to their side: |
| Or as a little snow, tumbled about |
| Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, |
| Go with me to the king:—'tis wonderful |
| What may be wrought out of their discontent, |
| Now that their souls are topful of offence: |
| For England go:—I will whet on the king. |
| LOUIS: |
| Strong reasons makes strong actions: let us go: |
| If you say ay, the king will not say no. |
| [Exeunt.] |
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