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. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my

bosom..

Read here, young Arthur.

[Showing a paper. [Aside.] How now, foolish rheum,

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?

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 your head,

And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,

Still and anon cheered 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 pleased that you will use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes s?
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. 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 hammered iron?
An if an angel should have come to me

And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,

I would not have believed him; no tongue but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth!

Come forth!

[Stamps.

Re-enter Attendants, with cords and irons.

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.
Arth.

Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Alas! what need you be so boisterous-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 ;

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.
I Atten. I am best pleased 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

None but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O Heaven,—that there were but a mote in yours,

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,

Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,

Your vile intent must needs seem 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;
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 used

In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;

There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,

And strewed repentant ashes on his head.

Hub.

But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. An if you do, you will but make it blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes;
And like a dog that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office only you do lack

That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,

Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub. Well, see to live, I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :

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.

Hub.

Peace! no more.

Adieu.

Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these doggéd 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 closely in with me;
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV

SCENE I.—Northampton. A Room of State in the Castle.

Enter KING JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords. The KING takes his State.

K. John. Here once again we sit, crowned once again, And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

Pem. This 'once again,' but that your highness pleased, Was once superfluous: you were crowned before,

And that high royalty was ne'er plucked off,
The faiths of men ne'er stainéd with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land

With any longed-for change, or better state.

Sal. Therefore, to be possessed 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,

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 disfiguréd;

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 fashioned robe.

Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well,

They do confound their skill in covetousness;

And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault

Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse :

As patches set upon a little breach

Discredit more in hiding of the fault

Than did the fault before it was so patched.

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crowned, We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,

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 possessed 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 reformed 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 they
Bend their best studies, heartily request

The enfranchisement 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 should your fears,—which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong,—then 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.

Enter HUBERT.

K. John. Let it be so I do commit his youth To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you? [HUBERT whispers the KING.

Pem.

This is the man should do the bloody deed : He showed his warrant to a friend of mine.

The image of a wicked heinous fault