. Golden leaves from the British and American dramatic poets. ion would I shake the world;And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,Which cannot hear a ladys feeble scorns a modern invocation. Pandulph. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow 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 Geffreys 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 thou shalt be c
. Golden leaves from the British and American dramatic poets. ion would I shake the world;And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,Which cannot hear a ladys feeble scorns a modern invocation. Pandulph. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow 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 Geffreys 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 thou shalt be canonized, cardinal:For, not being mad, but sensible of reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be delivered 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, K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it rJ tore them from their bonds; and cried OTHELLO. SHAKSPEARE. 49 0 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 agues fit; And so hell 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
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