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K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot be
fore, 0, let me have no subject enemies, When adverse foreigners affright my towns 320 With dreadful pomp of stout invasion! Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels; And Ay, like thought, from them to me again. Faulc. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
Mes. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit.
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 prophesy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one anotner in the ear; And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action
341 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
Makes deeds ill done? Hadst not thou been by, 370
Hub. My lord-
Out of my sight, and never see me more !
eave me; and my state is brav'd,
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. Within this bosom never enter'd yet The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, And you have slander'd nature in my form ; Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
410 Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. Oh, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste: I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt.
A Strect before a Prison. Enter ARTHUR on the Walls.
Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down :Good ground, be pititul, and liurt me not! - 421
There's few, or none, do know me; if they did,
Pemb. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ?
Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.
Sal. Or, rather, then set forward: for 'twill be Two long days journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Faulc. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
440 The king, by me, requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us;