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 nought but shame and bitterness.

Pand. 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 shew evil :
What have you lost by losing of this day?

Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had.
No, no when fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.

"Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won:

Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit ;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.
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:
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd:
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
That John may stand then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old world! John lays you plots; the times conspire with you : For he that steeps his safety in true blood Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, That none so small advantage shall step forth To check his reign, but they will cherish it; No natural exhalation in the sky, No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. 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
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 Falconbridge
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 topful 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.

SCENE I-Northampton. A Room in the Castle.1

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,
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

First 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.

Mercy on me!

Arth.
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 bosom.

Read here, young Arthur [Shewing a paper]. How now,

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

And will you?

foolish