Puslapio vaizdai
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But now will canker forrow eat my bud,
And chafe 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 fo he'll die: and, rifing fo again,

When I fhall meet him in the court of heav'n
I fhall not know him; therefore never, never,
Muft I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a refpect of grief.
Conft. He talks to me, that never had a fon.
K. Philip. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Conft: Grief fills the room up of my abfent child;
Lyes 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 reafon to be fond of grief.
Fare you well; had you fuch a lofs as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.
I will not keep this form upon my head,

[Tearing off her head-cloaths.

When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair fon!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my forrow's cure!

[Exit.

K. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.

Lewis. 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 drowfie man.

A bitter fhame hath spoilt the sweet world's taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure, moft of all fhew evil.
What have you loft by lofing of this day?

Lewis. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.

No,

No, no; when fortune means to men moft good,
She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.

is ftrange to think how much King John hath loft
In this, which he accounts fo clearly won.
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lervis. 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 prophetick spirit;
For ev'n the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each duft, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which fhall directly lead

Thy foot to England's throne: and therefore mark.
John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be
That whilst warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The mifplac'd John fhould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of rest.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'roufly maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he, that ftands upon a flipp'ry place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may ftand, then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but fo.

Lewis. But what fhall 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.

Lewis. And lofe it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old
world?

John lays you plots; the times confpire with you;
For he, that fteeps his fafety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody fafety and untrue.
This act, fo evilly born, fhall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ;
That no fo fmall advantage shall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cherish it.
No nat❜ral exhalation in the sky,
No 'fcape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away its nat'ral caufe,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,
VOL. III.

R

Abor

Abortives, and prefages, tongues of heav'n
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lewis. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life; But hold himself fafe in his prifonment.

Pand. O Sir, when he shall hear of your approach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Ev'n at this news he dies: and then the hearts Of all his people fhall revolt from him, And kifs the lips of unacquainted change; And pick ftrong matter of revolt and wrath, Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks, I fee this hurly all on foot; And O, what better matter breeds for you Than I have nam'd!- The baftard Faulconbridge Is now in England, ranfacking the church, Offending charity. If but twelve French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thoufand English to their fide; Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin; Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful What may be wrought out of their discontent. Now that their fouls are top-full of offence, For England go; I will whet on the King.

Lewis. Strong reafon makes strong actions: let us go; If you fay ay, the King will not fay no.

[Exeunt.

ACT

H

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SCENE changes to England.
A Prifon.

Enter Hubert and Executioners.

HUBERT.

EAT me thefe irons hot, and, look, thou ftand
Within the arras; when I ftrike my foot

Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth;
And bind the boy, which you fhall find with me,
Faft to the chair: be heedful; hence, and watch.
Exe. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly fcruples! fear not you; look to't.-
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having fo great a title
To be more prince) as may be. You are fad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks, no body should be fad but I;
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my christendom,
So were I out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long.
And so I would be here, but that, I doubt,
My uncle practifes more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault, that I was Geffrey's fon?
Indeed, it is not; and I would to heav'n,

I were your fon, fo you would love me, Hubert.

Нив.

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lyes dead; Therefore I will be fudden, and dispatch.

[Afide. Art. Are you fick, Hubert ? you look pale to day; In footh, I wou'd, you were a little fick ; That I might fit all night and watch with you. Alas, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take poffeffion of my bosom. Read here, young Arthur

How now, foolish rheum,

Turning dif-piteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, left refolution drop

[Shewing a paper.

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.
Muft you with irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth. And will you?

Hub. And I will.

[Afide.

Arth. Have you the heart? when your head did but ake, I knit my handkerchief about your brows; (The beft I had, a princess wrought it me) And I did never ask it you again;

head;

And with my hand at midnight held your
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon chear'd up the heavy time,
Saying, what lack you? and where lyes your grief?
Or what good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's fon would have lain still,
And ne'er have fpoke a loving word to you;
But you at your fick fervice had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning. Do, an if you will:
If heav'n be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why then, you must-

Will you put out mine

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,

So much as frown on you.

Hub. I've fworn to do it;

And with hot irons muft I burn them out.

eyes?

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it.

The

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