From King John
Philip, King of France
O fair affliction, peace.
No, no. I will not, having breath to cry:/ O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth,/ Then with a passion would I shake the world,/ And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy/ Which cannot hear a Lady's feeble voice,/ Which scorns a modern invocation.
Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Thou art not holy to belie me so./ I am not mad, this hair I tear is mine,/ My name is Constance, I was Geoffrey's 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...