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The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holyday.
Con. [Rising.] A wicked day, and not a holy

day!
What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done,
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among the high tides, in the kalendar?
Nay, rather, turn this day o’t of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
This day, all things begun come to ill end ;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

K. Phil. By Heaven, lady, you shall have no

cause

a

To curse the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ?

Con. You have beguild me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and

try'd, Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: The grappling vigour and rough frown of war Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league :Arm, arm, you Heavens, against these perjur'd Kings! A widow cries; be husband to me, Heavens ! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd Kings! Hear me, 0, hear me !

Aust, Lady Constance, peace,

Con. War! war! no peace ! peace is to me a war. O Lymoges ! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou

coward : Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!

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