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soul and you.

Yea, without stop, didit let thy heart consent,
And confequently thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name,
Out of my sight, and never see me more !
My nobles leave 'me, and my Itate is brav’d,
Ev'n at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs ;
Nay, in the body of this fieshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hoftility and civil tumult reigns,
Between my conscience, and my coufin's death.

Hub, Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your
Young Arthur is alive : this hand of mine
Is yet a maiden, and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood,
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a mard'rous thought,
And you have flander'd nature in my form ;
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind,
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

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.
Oh, answer not, but to my closet bring
The angry Lords with all expedient haite.
I conjure thee but Ilowly: run more faft. (Exeurit.

SCENE, a Street before a Prifon.

Enter Arthur on the walls, disguis’d. Arch. HE wall is high, and yet will I leap 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 quite.

T

2

'I am

afraid, and yet

I'll venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thoufand shifts to get away : As good to die, and go; as die, and itay. [Leaps down. Oh me! my uncle's fpirit is in these stones : Heay'n take my soul; and England keep my bones!

.[Dies. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at St. Edmundsbury; It is our safety; and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pem. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal

Sal. The Count Melun, a noble Lord of France,
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
Is much more gen’ral than thele lines import.

Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

Sal. Or rather then set forward, for twill be Two long days.journey, Lords, or ere we meet.

Enter Faulconbridge.
Faulc. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd Lords 3
T'he King by me requests your presence strait.

Sal. The King hath dispofleft 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 walks.
Return, and tell him fo: we know the worst.

Faul.Whate'er youthink,good words, I think, were beft.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

Faulo. But there is little reason in your grief,
Therefore 'twere reason, you had manners now.

Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath its privilege.
Faulc. 'Tis true, to hurt its master, no man elle.
Sal. This is the prison : what is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthur: Pemb. Oh death, made proud with pure and princely

beauty! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,

Deth

Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

Bigot. Or when he doom'd this beauty to the 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 almoft think, although you see, What

you do see ? could thought, without this object,
Form such another ? 'tis the very top,
The height, 'the crest, or crest unto the crest
Of'murder's arms; this is the bloodieit shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroak,
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pemb. All murders paft do‘ltand excus'd in this
And this so sole, and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet-un begotten sins of time;
And prove a deadly blood-lhed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle,

Faulc. 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 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 this breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow !
Neyer to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idlenefs,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pemb. Bigot. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with hafte, in seeking you ; Arthur doth live, the King hath sent for you.

Sal.

any

Sal. Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death; Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Muit I rob the law ? [Drawing his word.
Faulc. Your sword is bright, Sir, put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murd'rer's skin.

Hub. Stand back, Lord Salifury; stand back, I say;
By heav'n, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours.
I would not have you, Lord, forget yourlelf,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Left I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Bigot. Out, dunghill! darilt thou brave a Nobleman,

Hub. Not for my life; bet yet I dare defend My innocent life against an Emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murd'rer.

Hub. Do not prove me so;
Yet, I am none. Whose tongue foe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lyes.

Pemb. Cat 'him to pieces.
Fuulc. Keep the peace, I say.
Şal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you, Faulconbridge.

Fául. Thou wert better gaul the devil, Salifoury.
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty fpleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or I'll fo maul you, and your tofting-iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

Bigot. What will you do, renowned Faulconbridge ? Second a villain, and a murderer?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Bigot. Who kill'd this Prince ?

Hub. 'Tis not an hour fince I left him well:
Í 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 villainy is not without such rheum ;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocence.
Vol. III.

S

Away

Away with me all you, whose souls abhor
Th' uncleanly favour of a flaughter-house,
For I am stifled with the smell of fin.

Bigot. Away tow'rd Bury, to the Dauphin there.
Pemb. There, tell the King, he may enquire us out.

(Exeunt Lords. Faulc. Here's a good world; knew you of this fair work? Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, (if thou didit this deed of death) Art thou damn'd, Hubert,

Hub. Do but hear me, Sir.

Faulc. Ha? I'll tell thee what, Thou'rt damn'd so black-nay, nothing is so black; Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer. There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hub. Upon my foal

Faulc. If thou didft but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread,
That ever spider twisted from her womb,
Will ftrangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on: or would't thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do fufpe& thee very grievously.

Hub. 'If I in act, consent, or fin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath,
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Faulc, Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How easy doft thou take all England up! (23)

From (23) How easy dost thou take all England up,

From forrb this morsel of dead royalty?] But how did Hubert take England up, from forth the dead body of young ArtburMolt

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