Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not:-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lovest me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I'd do't.

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;

And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I will keep him so,

That he shall not offend your majesty.

K. John. Death.

Hub. My lord?

K. John. A grave.

Hub. He shall not live.

K. John. Enough.

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.Madam, fare you well:
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee!

K. John. For England, Cousin:
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-The same.-The French KING'S Tent.
Enter King PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and At-

tendants.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado ‡ of convicted sail Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pand. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well. K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill?

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice disposed,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Enter CONSTANCE.

Look, who comes here! A grave unto a soul;
Holding the etert al spirit, against her will,
In the vile prison of afflicted breath :-

I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now! Now see the issue of your peace! K. Phi. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle

Constance!

Const. No, I defy || all counsel, all redress,
But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death: O amiable lovely death!

Thoa odoriferous stench! Sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,
Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
And I will kiss thy detestable bones:
And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows;

And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself:

Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,
And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,

0, come to me!

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace.

Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
I am not mad;-I would to heaven, I were!
For then, 'tis hike I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!-
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal:
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
If I were mad, I should forget my son;
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note In the fair multitude of those her hairs!

Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends

Do glew themselves in sociable grief;

Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Const. To England, if you will.

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.

Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?

I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,
O that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty,

And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.-
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore, never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son.
K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
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,
[Tearing off her Head-dress.
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 sorrows' cure! [Exit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.

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.
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.

O, that the tongue were in the thunder's mouth!

Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation.

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine:
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;

In this which he accounts so clearly won:
Are not you grieved, 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 seized Arthur; and it cannot be,

So I may keep mine eyes; 0, 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.

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 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 while You were disguised.

Huo. Peace: no more. Adieu;

Your uncle must not know but you are dead :
I'll fill these dogged 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 lor thee. [Exeunt.

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
pleased,

Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off;
The faiths of men ne'er stain'd 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.

Pemb. 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.

Pemb. When workmen strive to do better than

Pemb. 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 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 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 deper ding, Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth

He shew'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 shew 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.
Pemb. 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 deceased to-night.

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. Pemb. 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.
Pemb. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with
thee,

And find the inheritance of this poor child
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which owed; the breath 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 achieved 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 9

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 alt arrived.
K. John. O, where hatli our intelligence been
drunk?

SCENE 111.—The same.—Before the Castle.

Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down:

Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!-There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.

If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away: As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. (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 B.GOT.
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.

Pemb. 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. Sul. 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 atten, 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.
Pemb 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.

Pemb. O death, made proud with pure and 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 be held, Or have you read, or heard? Or could you think? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see? Could thought, without this object,

Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shanie,

The wildest savagery, the viles stroke,

Than ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse ‡.

Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pemb. Big. Our sonls religionsly confirm thy words
Enter HUBERT

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you :
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death: -
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.

Sal. Must I rob the law. [Drawing his Sword.
Bast. Your sword is bright, Sir: put it up again.
Sul. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I
say;

By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, iord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out dunghill Darest thou brave a nobleman ?
Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Hub. Do not prove me so ;

Yet I am none; whose tongue soe'er speaks false, Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. Pemb. Cut him to pieces.

Bast. Keep the peace, I say.

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge ?
Second a villain, and a murderer?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd this prince ?

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I loved him; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum §;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
For I am stified with this smell of sin.
Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
Pemb. There, tell the king, he may enquire us
[Exeunt Lords.
Bust. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this
fair work?

out.

Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

Hub. Do but hear me, Sir.
Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;

Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell

As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child
Hub. Upon my soul,-

Bast. If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair,

And, if thou want'st cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rusk will be

And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet-unbegotten sin of time;

And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bast. 1: is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ?— We had a kind of light, what would ensue: It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; The practice, and the purpose, of the king :From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vow, a holy vow; Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight,

Nor conversant with ease and idleness,

thyself,

Put nt a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.-

I do suspect thee very grievously.
Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Bast. Go, hear him in thine arms

I am amazed, methinks; and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.-
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,

• Hand should be head; a glory is the circle of rays which surrounds the heads of saints in pic