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 Arthur'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

́Of 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, O, what better matter breeds for
Than I have named! The bastard Faulcon-

bridge

you

170

Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending 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,
Go with me to the king: 'tis wonderful

What may be wrought out of their discontent, Now that their souls are topful of offense. 180 For England go: I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: let us go:

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

[Exeunt.

176. "A little snow"; Bacon, in his History of Henry VII, speaking of Simnel's march, observes that their snowball did not gather as it went.-H. N. H.

182. "strong actions," so Folios 2, 3, 4. Folio 1 misprints "strange actions."-I. G.

ACT FOURTH

SCENE I

A room in a castle.

Enter Hubert and 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 Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. First Exec. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to 't. [Exeunt Executioners. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.
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.

Good morrow, little prince.

Arth.

Mercy on me!
Methinks no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,

10

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 practices 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, 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 to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick,

31

That I might sit all night and watch with you: I warrant I love you more than do me. you 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

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did

but ache,

I knit my handkercher 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 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 do it! 60 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my

tears

And quench his fiery indignation

Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,

46. "watchful minutes to the hour," minutes that serve as watches to the hour (succeed one another at regular intervals).—C. H. H.