Methinks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
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

som.

Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] [Aside.

How now, foolish rheum? 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.

Hub.

And will you?

And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head

did but ache,

I knit my handkerchief 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 hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation,
Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth.
[Stamps.

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.
Do as I bid you do.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes

are out,

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous

rough?

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,

Nor look upon the iron angerly :
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 1 Attend. I am 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

yours,

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 harm 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:1 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.

(1) In cruelty I have not deserved.

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarrel 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
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :2
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

You were disguised.

Hub.

Peace: no more. Adieu;

Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

Arth.

O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely3 in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A room of state in the palace. Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, 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 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off;

(1) Set him on. (2) Owns. (3) Secretly.

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,2
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 time 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 fetch about;
Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
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 :3
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.

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your high

ness

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 coronation