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, O, what better matter breeds for you, Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulconbridge 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 discontent: 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. [Exeunt. ACT IV. 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: * Tapestry. 1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to't. [Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! 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, [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: Hub. His words do take possession of my bo som. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum? Turning dispiteous torture out of door! [Aside. Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 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 ake, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me), And with my hand at midnight held your head; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 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, Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 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! I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 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? 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 seen 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; 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*: See else yourself; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Snatch at his master that doth tarret him on. That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owest: With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised. Peace: no more. Adieu; Hub. Arth. O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. * In cruelty I have not deserved. |