Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd, to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :- Give life to yours. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd 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. That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 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. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; Your uncle must not know but you are dead: That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Arth. O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. SCENE II.-The same. [Exeunt. 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 pleas'd, Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained 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 smooth the ice, or add another hue To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be done, Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured : It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well, They do confound their skill in covetousness; And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your highness To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd; Since all and every part of what we would, Doth make a stand at what your highness will. K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation I will both hear and grant you your requests. To break into this dangerous argument,- If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth Enter HUBERT. To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you? Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed; He show'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 show the mood of a much-troubled breast; 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. Pem. 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, |