CONSTANCE.

Constance. I will instruct my sorrows to be proud;

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great,

That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit;

Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

[She throws herself on the ground.

Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, ELINOR, Bastard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants.

King Philip. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day,

Ever in France shall be kept festival:

To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glistering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holiday.

Constance. A wicked day, and not a holyday!—
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done;
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the calendar?
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
Or if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day,
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd;
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck;
No bargains break, that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

[Rising.

KING JOHN.-Act III. Scene I.