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.

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PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

CONSTANCE.

92

He talks to me, that never had a son. PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,

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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!
PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

LEWIS.

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104

[Exit.

[Exit.

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;

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And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste,

That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease, 112
Even in the instant of repair and health,

The fit is strongest: evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil.
What have you lost by losing of this day?
LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.

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120

PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had. No, no; when Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won. Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead

Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be,

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That whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins 132
The misplac'd 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.

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140

LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,

May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
How green you are and fresh in this old

PANDULPH.

world!

John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;
For he that steeps his safety in true blood

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Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
This act so evilly borne shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,

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That none so small advantage shall step forth

To check his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the sky,

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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.

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LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

161

PANDULPH. 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 164
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 you
Than I have nam'd. The bastard Faulconbridge
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 offence.
For England go; I will whet on the king.

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172

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LEWIS. Strong reasons make strong actions. Let

us go:

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

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Northampton. A Room in the Castle.
Enter HUBERT and Two Attendants.

HUBERT.
stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,

Heat me these irons hot; and look thou

And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch.
FIRST ATTENDANT. I hope your warrant will bear out
the deed.

HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you

to 't.

look

[Exeunt Attendants.

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

ARTHUR.

HUBERT.

ARTHUR.

Enter ARTHUR.

Good morrow, Hubert.

Good morrow, little prince.
As little prince,—having so great a title

To be more prince,- -as may be. You are sad.
HUBERT. Indeed, I have been merrier.

ARTHUR.

Mercy on me!

12

Methinks nobody should be sad but I:
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.

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is 't not; and I would to heaven

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16

20

24

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. HUBERT. [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.

ARTHUR. 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.

HUBERT.

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[Aside.] His words do take possession of

my bosom. Read here, young Arthur.

32

[Showing a paper.

[Asid.] 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?

ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? HUBERT. Young boy, I must.

ARTHUR.

HUBERT.

ARTHUR.

And will you?

36

And I will. 40

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,

44

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 lain still,
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.

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52

If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? 56
These eyes that never did nor never shall

So much as frown on you?

HUBERT.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

ARTHUR. Ah! none but in this iron age would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench this fiery indignation

Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.

Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ?
An if an angel should have come to me

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