Act III, Scene 4
The plains near Angiers. King Philip’s tent.
- Enter King Philip of France, Lewis the Dauphin, Pandulph,
King Philip1 - 3
- So by a roaring tempest on the flood,
- A whole armado of convicted sail
- Is scattered and disjoin’d from fellowship.
- Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.
King Philip5 - 9
- 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?
Lewis10 - 14
- 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 Philip15 - 20
- 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, against her will,
- In the vild prison of afflicted breath.
- I prithee, lady, go away with me.
- Lo! Now! Now see the issue of your peace.
- Patience, good lady, comfort, gentle Constance!
Constance23 - 36
- 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!
- O fair affliction, peace!
Constance38 - 43
- 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.
- Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Constance45 - 61
- 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 Philip62 - 68
- Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note
- In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
- Where but by chance a silver drop hath fall’n,
- Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
- Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
- Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
- Sticking together in calamity.
- To England, if you will.
- Bind up your hairs.
Constance71 - 91
- 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 meager 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.
- 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.
Constance95 - 107
- 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 her hair.
- When there is such disorder in my wit.
- O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
- My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
- My widow-comfort, and my sorrows’ cure!
- I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her.
Lewis109 - 113
- 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 word’s taste,
- That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Cardinal Pandulph114 - 118
- 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?
- All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Cardinal Pandulph120 - 125
- If you had won it, certainly you had.
- No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,
- She looks upon them with a threat’ning 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?
- As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Cardinal Pandulph127 - 142
- 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 as boisterously maintain’d as gain’d;
- And he that stands upon a slipp’ry place
- Makes nice of no vild hold to stay him up.
- That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall:
- So be it, for it cannot be but so.
- But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall?
Cardinal Pandulph144 - 145
- You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
- May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
- And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Cardinal Pandulph147 - 161
- 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.
Lewis162 - 163
- May be he will not touch young Arthur’s life,
- But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Cardinal Pandulph164 - 183
- 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 Faulconbridge
- 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 offense.
- For England go; I will whet on the King.
Lewis184 - 185
- Strong reasons makes strange actions. Let us go;
- If you say ay, the King will not say no.