KING JOHN.

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 iny 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

som.

Act IV.

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-stili.
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.
Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend;
[Exeunt Attendants.
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:-
bo-Give life to yours.
Let him come back, that his compassion may

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.

Hub.

And will you?

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head
And I will.
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
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
your head;
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.
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
I have sworn to do it;
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 haminer'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.

(1) In eruelty I have not deserved.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Hub.
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!
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there,

Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your

tongue.

Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
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.
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes;
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre2 him on.
All things, that you should use to do me wrong,
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
Deny their office: only you do lack
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine

eyes

Peace: no more.

For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :3
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.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
Hub.
Adieu;
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 closely1 in with me;
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.
(3) Owns.

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;
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,

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

Enter Hubert.

To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you?
Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed;
He show'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.

Sal. 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:
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night.

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure.
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?

go

Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame, That greatness should so grossly offer it: So thrive it in your game! and so farewell! with thee, Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; And find the inheritance of this poor child, As patches, set upon a little breach, His little kingdom of a forced grave. Discredit more in hiding of the fault, That blood, which ow'd the breath of all this isle, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Three foot of it doth hold; Bad world the while! Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, This must not be thus borne: this will break out We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your high-To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.

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
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong
And more, more strong (when lesser is my fear,)
I shall indue you with: Meantime, 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 enfranchisements of Arthur; whose restraint
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, attend
The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his 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;
(1) Lace.
(2) Decorate.
3) Desire of excelling.

(4) Publish.

[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,
That 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. O, 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 hear, my lord,
The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not.

KING JOHN.

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
My discontented peers!-What! mother dead?
How wildly then walks my estate in France!—
Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here?
Mess. Under the dauphin.

Enter the Bastard, and Feter of Pomfret.
K. John.
With these ill tidings.-Now, what says the world
Thou hast made me giddy
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 amaz'd'
Under the tide: but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood; and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen,
The sums I have collected shall express
But, as I travelled hither 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 I found
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 out so.
K: John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
And on that day, at noon, whereon he says
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd:
Deliver him to safety,2 and return,
For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin,
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?
[Exit Hubert, with Peter,
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 kinsman, 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.

Do prophesy upon it dangerously:

Act IV.

and beldams,

Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action,
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
And whisper one another in the ear;

With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling
eyes.

With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
Standing on slippers (which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contráry feet,)
That were embatteled, and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer

I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,

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?
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not

provoke me?

By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant
K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended
And, on the winking of authority,
To break within the bloody house of life:

To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour than advis'd respect.3

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I
did.

Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt hea-
ven and earth
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 Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,

K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

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 speed.

[Ecit.

Hub. My lord,

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or
made a pause,

When I spake darkly what I purposed;

Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break
As bid me tell my tale in express words;

off,

K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentle-And those thy fears might have wrought fears in

man

Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit.
K. John. My mother dead!

Re-enter Hubert.

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen Out of my sight, and never see me more!

to-night:

(1) Stunned, confounded.

(2) Custody.

My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,

(3) Deliberate consideration. (4) Observed.

The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.

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,

K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to Form such another? This is the very top,