Jul. Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
[Exit above. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
KING JOHN.-Act III-Scene 4.
Constance. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace.
King Philip. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!
Const. 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 smilest
And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
O, come to me!
K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace!
Const. 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 sor-
Const. 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 pe canonized, 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. Phi. 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 fallen
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
Const. To England, if you will.
K. Phi.
Const. 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.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me that never had a son.
K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Const. 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 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,
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!
A noise of some one coming through the lawn,
And singing clearer than the crested bird,
That claps his wings at dawn.
“The torrent brooks of hallowed Israel,
From craggy hollows pouring, late and soon,
Sound all night long, in falling thro' the dell,
Far-heard beneath the moon.
"The balmy moon of blessed Israel
Floods all the deep-blue gloom with beams divine:
All night the splintered crags that wall the dell
With spires of silver shine."
As one that museth where broad sunlight laves
The lawn by some cathedral, thro' the door
Hearing the holy organ rolling waves
Of sound on roof and floor.
Within, and anthem sung, is charmed and tied
To where he stands,-so stood I, when that flow
Of music left the lips of her that died
To save her father's vow;
The daughter of the warrior Gileadite,
A maiden pure; as when she went along
From Mizpeth's tower'd gate with welcome light, With timbrel and with song.
My words leapt forth: "Heaven heads the count of crimes
With that wild oath." She rendered answer high: "Not so, nor once alone: a thousand times
"Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root
Creeps to the garden water-pipes beneath,
Feeding the flower; but ere my flower to fruit
Changed, I was ripe for death.
"My God, my land, my father-these did move
Me from my bliss of life, that nature gave,
Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love
Down to a silent grave.
"And I went mourning, "No fair Hebrew boy
Shall smile away my maiden blame among
The Hebrew mothers'-emptied of all joy,
Leaving the dance and song.
"Leaving the olive-gardens far below,
Leaving the promise of my bridal bower,
The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow
Beneath the battled tower.
"The light white cloud swam over us.
We heard the lion roaring from his den; We saw the large white stars rise one by one, Or, from the darken'd glen,
"Saw God divide the night with flying flame,
And thunder on the everlasting hills.
I heard him, for he spake, and grief became
A solemn scorn of ills.
"When the next moon was rolled into the sky,
Strength came to me that equall'd my desire,
How beautiful a thing it was to die
For God and for my sire!
"It comforts me in this one thought to dwell,
That I subdued me to my father's will;
Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell
Sweetens the spirit still."
Glowed, as I looked at her.
She locked her lips: she left me where I stood:
'Glory to God," she sang, and passed afar, Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, Toward the morning-star.
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