K. John. Nay, but make hafte; the better foot before.
O, let me have no fubject enemies,
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of ftout invafion !---
Be Mercury, fet feathers to thy heels;

And fly, like thought, from them to me again.

Faulc. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

[Exit.

K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. Go after him; for he, perhaps, fhall need

Some meffenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.

Mef. With all my heart, my liege.

K. John. My mother dead!

Re-enter Hubert.

h

{Exit.

Hub. My lord, they fay, five moons were feen to

night:

Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about

The other four, in wond'rous motion.

K. John. Five moons?

Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets

Do prophefy 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 another in the ear;

And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilft he, that hears, makes fearful action
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I faw a fmith ftand with his hammer, thus,
The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth fwallowing a taylor's news;
Who, with his fhears and measure in his hand,

five moons]-Fabyan's Chronicle, Part VII. fol. xii.

Standing

Standing' on flippers (which his nimble haste
Had falfely thrust upon contrary feet)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer

Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

K. John. Why feek'st thou to poffefs me with these fears? Why urgest thou fo oft young Arthur's death? Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause To with him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did not you provoke me?

K. John. It is the curfe of kings, to be attended By flaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life:

And, on the winking of authority,

To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majefty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour than advis'd refpect.

Hub. Here is your hand and feal for what I did.

K. John. O, when the laft account 'twixt heaven and

earth

Is to be made, then fhall this hand and feal

Witness against us to damnation !

How oft the fight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done! Hadeft not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and fign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,

i on flippers]-shaped exactly to each foot, the extremities fpreading more to the outfide than to the infide.

* Quoted,]-Pointed out diftinctly.

"He's quoted for a moft perfidious flave."

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, Vol. II. p. 465. Ber.

Finding

Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,

Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,

I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,

Mad'ft it no confcience to destroy a prince.
Hub. My lord,-

K. John. Hadit thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,

When I spake darkly what I purposed;

Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face;

Or bid me tell my tale in exprefs words;

Deep shame had ftruck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: But thou didst understand me by my figns,

And didst in signs again parley with sin;

Yea, without stop, didft let thy heart confent,
And, confequently, thy rude hand to act

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.

Out of my fight, and never fee me more!

My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,

This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hoftility and civil tumult reigns

Between my confcience, and my coufin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your foul 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 bofom never enter'd yet
"The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought,

↑ the body of this fiefbly land,]—this my natural body.

The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought,]-Even the horrid idea,

or premeditation of murder.

And

And you have flander'd nature in my
Which, howfoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind.

form;

Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, hafte thee to the peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience! Forgive the comment that my paffion 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 clofet bring The angry lords, with all expedient hafte: I conjure thee but flowly; run more fast.

[Exeunt.

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down :Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!-There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, This ship-boy's femblance hath disguis'd me quite. I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.

If I get down, and do not break my limbs,

I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:

As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps down.
Oh me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :-
Heaven take my foul, and England keep my bones!

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot.

[Dies.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at faint Edmund's-bury;

It is our fafety, and we must embrace

This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pemb.

Pemb. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France;
"Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love,
Is much more general than thefe lines import.
Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.
Sal. Or, rather, then fet forward: for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.

Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd lords!
The king, by me, requests your prefence ftraight.
Sal. The king hath difpoffefs'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin beftained cloak

With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks:
Return, and tell him fo; we know the worst.

Faulc. What e'er you think, good words, I think, were

beft.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reafon now. Faulc. But there is little reafon in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reafon, you had manners now. Pemb. Sir, fir, impatience hath its privilege. Faulc. 'Tis true; to hurt his mafter, no man else. Sal. This is the prifon: What is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthur. Pemb. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,

Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

Whofe private with me,]-Whofe private account of the Dauphin's affection to our caufe, is much more ample than this letter.

reafon now.]—are now expreffed.