Arth. Good-morrow, Hubert. 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 nobody should be sad but I. Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son? He will awake my mercy, which lies dead. 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. (Aside.) Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now, fool ish rheum! Turning dispiteous torture out the 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? Arth. And will you? Hub. And I will. (Aside.) 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; 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? If Heaven be pleased that you should use me ill, 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! Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, Even in the matter of mine innocence; Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him; no tongue, but Hubert's. Do as I bid you. (Stamps.) Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with cord, irons, &c. Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still. For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. Exeunt ATTENDANTS Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 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 wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue. 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 its spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. That mercy which fierce fire, and iron, extends,- Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. Oh, 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 dogged spies with false reports. 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. LESSON CXLVIII. REMORSE OF KING JOHN. FROM SHAKSPEARE. Hubert-King John. Hubert. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night; Four fix'd; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wondrous motion. King 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 he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist; 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 humors for a warrant And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. Oh, 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 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 spoke darkly what I purposed, Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, And 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. And didst in signs again parley with sin,- The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. The dreadful motion of a murderous thought, |