Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub
[graphic][subsumed][merged small]

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. 1 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.

Hubert.

Arth. Good morrow,
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, no body 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. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead :
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale today.

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? Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth.

Hub.

And will you?

And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head 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 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 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 will 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. 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,

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][subsumed][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterousrough?

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.

1 Attend. 1 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 Give life to yours.

Hub.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub.

None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a mote

[blocks in formation]

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 us'd

In undeserv'd extremes: 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.
Arth. And 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 compell'd 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

[blocks in formation]

SCENE II.—The Same. A Room of State in the Palace.

Enter King JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords. The King takes his 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, 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;
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 patch'd.

Sal. To this effect, before you were newcrown'd,

We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your high

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: mean time, 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

Th' enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
Doth move the murinuring 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;
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!
[HUBERT whispers the King.
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?

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.

Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee,
And find th' inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.

That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while. This must not be thus borne: this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.

[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
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.

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 PETER of Pomfret. K. John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings.-Now, what says the world 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 travell'd 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 haug'd. Deliver him to safety, and return,

For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin!

[Exit HUBERT, with Peter. Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 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.

K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot

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.
[Exit.

K. John. Spoke like a spriteful, noble gentle

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 to-night:

Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wonderous motion.
K. John. Five moons?
Hub.

Old men, and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously.
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths,
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;

And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
Whilst he that hears, makes fearful action,
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his land,
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste

Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent. Another lean, unwash'd artificer

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 a mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?

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

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

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. O! when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth

Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done! Had'st 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 villainy,
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,

Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
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,
As bid me tell my tale in express words,

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,

And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:
But thou didst understand me by my signs,
And didst in signs again parley with sin;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And consequently 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 state is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
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 murderous thought,
And you have slander'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

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

[Leaps down.

O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.

Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's
Bury:

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 general than these lines import.

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward: for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. Once more to-day well-met, distemper'd lords.

The king by me requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd 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 so: we know the worst.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think,
were best.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here? [Seeing ARTHUR. proud with pure and

Pem. O death! made princely beauty,

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,

[blocks in formation]
« ÎnapoiContinuă »