And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll 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 as fond of grief, as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room of my absent
child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form:
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.-
I will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her Head-dress.
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!
[Erit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow
her.
[Erit.
Lew. There's nothing in the world can make
me joy:
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's
taste,
That it yields naught, but shame and bitter
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil:
What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you have won it, certainly, you had.
No, no when fortune means to men most
good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
"Tis strange, to think how much King John hath
lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won:
Are not you griev'd, that Authur is his pri-
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ;
That none so small advantage shall step forth,
To check his reign, but they will cherish it:
No natural exhalation in the sky,
No scape of nature, no distemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Abortives, présages and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Ar-
thur's life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O Sir, when he shall hear of your ap.
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot;
And oh what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulcon-
bridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity: If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the king: 'Tis wonderful,
What may be wrought out of their discoutent :
Now that their souls are topfull of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the king.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions:
Let us go;
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no.
SCENE I.-Northampton.-A Room in the
Castle.
Enter HUBERT and two ATTENDANTS. Hub. Heat me these irons hot and look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth:
And bind the boy, which you shall find with
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.
1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look to't.
[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's Young lad, come forth; I have to say with
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:
A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd:
And he, that stands upon a slippery place,
Makes nice of no vile held to stay him up:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must
fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your
wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this
old world!
John lays you plots; the times conspire with
For he, that steeps his safety in true blood,
Shal find but bloody safety, and untrue.
No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.
[Aside. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. His words do take possession of my bo-
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.]
How now, foolish rheum ! [Aside.
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you?
Hub. And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ake,
I knit my bandkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again:
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your
grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
And call it cunning: Do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine
eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?
Hub. I have sworn to do it;
And with bot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ab! none, but in this iron age, would
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
1 Attend. Iam best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt ATTENDANTS. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a mote in your's,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous
there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your
tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert!
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes; O spare mine eyes;
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,
And would not barin me
Hub. I can heat it, boy.
Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief
(Being create for comfort) to be us'd in undeserv'd extremes: See else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy, Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hu
Nay, it, perchance will sparkle in your eyes;
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre + him on.
All things, that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office only you do lack
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses.
Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arth. O now you look like Hubert! all this
while
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. SCENE II.-The same.-A Room of State in
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous
Enter King John, crowned; PEMBOKE, SALIS-
BURY, and other Lords.
The King takes
his State.
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pem. This once again, but that your highness
pleas'd, Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
• In cruelty I have not deserved.
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off :
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land,
With any long'd-for change, or better state.
Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double
pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told;
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
Being urged at a tiine unseasonable.
Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured :
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to
about:
Startles and frights consideration ;
Makes sound opinion sick, and
He sbow'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast;
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sol. The colour of the king doth come and
go,
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
Pem. And, when it breaks, I fear will issue
thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong
hand :-
Good lords, although my will to give is living,
The suit which you demand is gone and
dead :
fetch He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to night.
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness:
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault,
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse;
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Discredit more in hiding of the fault
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
Sul. To this effect, before you were new-
crown'd,
We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your
To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd;
Since all and every part of what we would,
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.
K. John. Some reasons of this double coro-
nation
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,)
I shall indue you with: Mean time, but ask What you would have reform'd, that is not well,
And well shall you perceive, how willingly.
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
Pem. Then I (as one that am the tongue of
these,
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,)
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all,
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies,) heartily request
The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose re-
straint
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument,
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold,
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, at-
tend
The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke bis days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise?
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit,
That you have bid us ask his liberty;
Which for our goods we do no further ask,
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty.
K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his
youth
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past
Pem. Indeed we heard how near his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was sick :
This must be answer'd, either here or hence.
K. John. Why do you bend such solemn
brows on me?
Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play; and 'Lis
shame,
That greatness should so grossly offer it:
So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.
Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with
thee,
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which ow'd the breath of all this isle,
Three foot of it doth hold; Bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne: this will break ont
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.
[Exeunt LORDS. K. John. They burn in indignation; I repent;
There is no sure foundation set on blood;
No certain life achiev'd by others' death.—
Enter a MESSENGER.
A fearful eye thou hast; Where is that blood,
fhat I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
Pour down thy weather:-How goes all in
France ?
Mess. From France to England.-Never such a power
For any foreign preparation,
Was levied in the body of a land!
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them; For, when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd.
K. John. Oh! where hath our intelligence been drunk? Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care ?
That such an army could be drawn in France, -And she not hear of it?
Mess. My liege, her ear
Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died Your noble mother: And, as I bear, my lord, The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
I idiy heard; if true or false, I know not. K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
To your direction.-Hubert, what news with Oh! make a league with me, till I have you?
My discontented peers!--What! mother, dead ↑ How wildly then walks my estate in France !—
Under whose conduct came those powers of, Whilst he that hears, makes fearful action,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here?
Mess. Under the Dauphin.
Enter the BASTARD, and PETER of Pomfret.
K. John. Thou hast made me giddy (world
With these ill tidings.-Now, what says the
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
K. John. Bear with me, cousin; For I was
Under the tide but now I breathe again [amaz'd
Aloft the flood; and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
Bast. How I have sped among the
The sums I have collected shall express.
But as I travelled bither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied;
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams;
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:
And here's a prophet, that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom
With many hundreds treading on his heels;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding
rhymes,
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
Your highness should deliver up your crown.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst
thou so?
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall
K. John. Hubert, away with him; imprison
And on that day at noon, whereon he says
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd:
Deliver him to safety and return,
For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin,
[Exit HUBERT, with PETER.
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd ?
Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths
are full of it:
Besides, I met lord Bigot and lord Salisbury,
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, who they say, is kill'd to night
On your suggestion.
K. John. Gentle kinsmen, go,
And thrust thyself into their companies:
I have a way to win their loves again;
Bring them before me.
Bast. I will seek them out.
K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better
foot before.-
O let me have no subject enemies,
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion -
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels;
And fly, like thought, from them to me again.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me
[Exit.
speed.
K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gen-
Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou be.
Mess. With all my heart, my liege.
K. John. My mother dead!
Re-enter HUBERT.
Hub. My lord, they say five moons
seen to-night:
Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four, in wond'rous motion,
K. John. Five moons?
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his haud,
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble baste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me
with these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
[him.
Thy hand hath murder'd him: 1 had mighty
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill
Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not
provoke me?
K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be at
[rant
By slaves, that take their humours for a war-
To break within the bloody house of life,
And, on the winking of authority,
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty when, perchance, it
frowns
More upon humour than advis'd respect.
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I
did.
K. John. O when the last account 'twixt
heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthu.'s death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hub. My lord,-
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or
made a pause,
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Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this fleshly laud,
This kingdoin, this contine of blood and breath,
[death.
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin's
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
were Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophecy upon it dangerously: [mouths is common in their Young Arthur's death And when they talk of him, they shake their [heads, And whisper one another in the ear; And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
K. John. Doth Arthur live? O haste thee
to the peers,
Throw this report on their incensed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient haste;
1 conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-The same.-Before the Castle.
Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.
Arth. The wall is high; and yet will
down:-
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not !—
There's few, or none, do know me; if they did,
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. [quite.
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die and go, as die and stay.
[Leaps down.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones-
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my
bones!
[Dies.
Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Ed-
mund's-Bury;
It is our safety and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time. [dinal?
Pem. Who brought that letter from the car-
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of
France;
Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love,
Is much more general than these lines import,
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him
then.
Sal. Or, rather then set forward: for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Enter the BASTARD.
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savaga'ry, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. *
Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in
And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,
"this:
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet-unbegotten sin of time;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.
Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ?—
We had a kind of light what would ensue :
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
The practice and the purpose of the king:
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow;
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy
words.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. Oh! he is bold, and blushes not at
death :-
Avaunt thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Must I rob the law?
[Drawing his sword. Bast. Your sword is bright, Sir: put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back,
[your's:
By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as
I would not have you, lord, forget yourselt,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distem-
per'd + lords!
[straight.
requests your presence
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it My innocent life against an emperor.
Return and tell him so; we know the worst.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, 1
think, were best.
[now.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. [done,
Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a
grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you
beheld,
Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? could thought without this
object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Hub. Do not prove me so; †
Yet, I am none: Whose tougue soe'er speaks
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pem. Cut him to pieces.
Bast. Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulcon-
bridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salis-
bury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
Put up thy sword be-
I'll strike thee dead.
time;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from hell,
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon.
bridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer ?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd this prince ?
Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his
eyes,
For villany is not without such rheum;
And he long traded in it, makes it seem
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