. Complete works of William Shakespeare . ly to belie me so;I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;My name is Constance; I was Geffreys wife;Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:I am not mad: I would to heaven I were!Eor then, t is like I should forget myself:O, if I could, what grief should I forget! 50 Preach some philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;For being not mad but sensible of grief,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliverd of these teaches me to kill or hang myself:If I were mad, I should forget my son,Or madly think a babe of clout
. Complete works of William Shakespeare . ly to belie me so;I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;My name is Constance; I was Geffreys wife;Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:I am not mad: I would to heaven I were!Eor then, t is like I should forget myself:O, if I could, what grief should I forget! 50 Preach some philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;For being not mad but sensible of grief,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliverd of these 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 feelThe different plague of each calamity. 60 K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I noteIn the fair multitude of those her hairs!Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friendsDo glue themselves in sociable grief,Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,Sticking together in calamity. Const. To England, if you will. K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 5°. Iking 3obn. scene iv. Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it ?I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud 70 c 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 , father cardinal, I have heard you sayThat 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, 80 There was not such a gracious creature now will canker-sorrow eat my budAnd chase the native beauty from his cheekAnd he will look as hollow as a ghost,As dim and meagre as an agues fit,And so he 11 die; and, rising so I shall meet him in the court of heavenI shall not know him: therefore, never, neverMust I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. too heinous a respect of grief. 90
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