Saturday, May 19, 2007

From King John by William Shakespeare

PANDOLF:
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 am Goeffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son;and he is lost.
I am not mad;I would to God 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 canonized,Cardinal.
For,being not mad,but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be delivered 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 plagues of each calamity.
.................................................................

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;therefor never,never

Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.


PANDOLF:

You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE:
He talks to me that never had a son.
KING PHILIP:
You are so 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.
.....................................................................

O Lord,my boy,my Arthur,my fair son,

My life,my joy,my food,my all the world,

My widow-comfort,and my sorrow's cure!

From King John in William Shakespeare:The Complete Works (Compact edition),edited by Stanley Wells,Gary Taylor,John Jowett,and William Montgomery.Cited in :McCracken A and Semel M. A Broken Heart Still Beats.Hazelden,1998.Pp 203-5.