Constance monologue (Act 3) — King John

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, if I could, what grief should I forget! Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz’d, cardinal; For, being not mad but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver’d 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 plague of each calamity.