80

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.

Pund. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 90

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,
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!

100

[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,

110

That it yields nought but shame and bitter

ness.

Pand. Before the curing of a strong dis

ease,

Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil :

Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark.

130 John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,

The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd;
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must
fall;

So be it, for it cannot be but so.

140

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall?

Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,

May then make all the claim that Arthur did. Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur

did.

Pand. How green you are and fresh in this

old world!

John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;

For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
This act so evilly born shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, 150
That none so small advantage shall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the sky,

No scope of nature, no distemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away his natural cause
And call them meteors, prodigies and signs,
Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven.
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be he will not touch young Ar
thur's life,

160

But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Pand. 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

O all his people shall revolt from him
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John,
Methinks I see this hurly all on foot :

And, 0, what better matter breeds for you 170 Than I have named! The bastard Faulconbridge

Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Ofending charity: if but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side,
Or as a little snow, tumbled about,

Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
So with me to the king: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent,
Now that their souls are topful of offence. 180
For England go: I will whet on the king.
Lev. Strong reasons make strong actions:
let us go:

If you say ay, the king will not say no.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A room in a castle.

[Exeunt.

Enter ARTHUR.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.

Arth.

10

Good morrow, little prince. As little prince, having so great a title To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. Hb. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks no body should be sad but Ĩ: 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 :

20

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, Hu-
bert.

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 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. 31
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. 40

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 lien

still

50

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 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. Ah, none but in this iron age would

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 the inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.

That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,

Three foot of it doth hold bad world the while! 100 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. repent:

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achieved by others' death.

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 givest out are landed here? Mess. Under the Dauphin. 130

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings.

Enter the BASTARD and PETER of Pomfret.
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 amazed

Under the tide but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood, and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
Bust. How I have sped among the clergy-

men,

140

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.
Erit

K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.

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. 19 [Er

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 wondrous motion.

K. John. Five moons!

Hub. Old men and beldams in the streets Do prophecy upon it dangerously: Young Arthur's death is common in the mouths:

And when they talk of him, they shake thei heads

And whisper one another in the ear; And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer' wrist.

19

Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rollin 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 han
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 n

with these fears?