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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.

Pan. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

Con. Thou art not holy to belie me so ;
I am not mad ; this hair I tear, is mine ;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey'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!

K. Phil. Bind up those tresses.
Con. To England, if you will.
K. Phil. Bind up your hairs.

Con. O, father Cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven :
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
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 néver, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pan. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Con. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Phil. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.

Con. Grief fills the room up of iny 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,
Stufis 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,
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 sorrow's cure!
K. Phil. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.'
[Exit KING PHilip.
Lew. There's nothing in this 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 bitterness.
Pan. 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.
Pan. If you had won it, certainly you had,
John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall.

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life,

But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pan. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts

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Of all his people shall revolt from him.
Go with me to the King: 'Tis wonderful,
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions : Let us

If you say, Ay, the King will not say, No.

[Exeunt the CARDINAL and LEWIS.




A Room in a Castle.

Enter HUBERT, with Irons in his Hand, and Twe


Hub. Heat me these irons hot: and, look thou

stand Within the arras : when I strike


foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth; And bind the boy, which you shall find with me: Be heedful :-hence, and watch,

Exec. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed, Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you :-look to't.

[Exeunt EXECUTIONERS. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

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Enter ARTHUR. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little Prince.

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 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,

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

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.Read here, young Arthur. - [Gives him a Warrant. How now, foolish rheum ! 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.

do me.


at your

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did

but ache, I knit


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

sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it, cunning: Do, and 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. And if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ’d him : no tongue, but Hu-

bert's. Hub. Come forth.

[HUBERT stamps, and the EXECUTIONERS

enter with the Irons and Cords. Do as I bid you, 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;

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