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Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.-
I will not keep this form upon my head,
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son !
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!


K. Phil. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit KING PHilip. 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 naught, but shame and bitterness.
Pan. 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 show evil :
What have you lost by losing of this day?

Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pan. If you had won it, certainly you had,
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:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?
Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

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Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life,

But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pan. 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.
Go with me to the King: 'Tis wonderful,

What may be wrought out of their discontent. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: Let us go;

If you say, Ay, the King will not say, No.

[Exeunt the CARDINAL and LEWIS.




A Room in a Castle.

Enter HUBERT, with Irons in his Hand, and Two EXECUTIONERS.

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:-
Be heedful:-hence, and watch.

Exec. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you:-look [Exeunt EXECUTIONERS. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.



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 :
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.

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. [Gives him a Warrant.

How now, foolish rheum!

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. avert

Arth. And will you?

Hub. And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,

I knit


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, and if you will:
If Heaven be pleas'd that you must 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. And if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd him: no tongue, but Hubert's.

Hub. Come forth.

[HUBERT stamps, and the EXECUTIONERS enter with the Irons and Cords.

Do as I bid you.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are


Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous 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.
Exec. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.
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 in


A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your


Arth. Let me not hold my tongue; let me not,

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;

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, Hub. I will not touch thine eyes,

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