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Enter Faulconbridge. Faul. Once more to day well met, distemper'd lords The King by me requests your presence (trait.
Sal. The King háth dispofseft himself of us s 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,
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
Faut. But there is little reason in your grief,
Therefore 'twere reason, you had manners now.
Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath its privileg
Faulc. 'Tis true, to hurt its master, no man else.
Sel. This is the prison: what is he dyés here!
[Seeing Arthur. Pemb. Oh death, made proud with pure and princely
beauty! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as having what himself hath done, Doth ļay it open to urge on Revenge.
Bigot. Or when he doom'd this beauty to the Grave, Found it too precious princely for a Grave.
Sal. Sit Richard, what think you have you beheld,
Or have you read, or heard, or could you think,
Or do you almost think, altho' you see,
What you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? 'tis the very top,
The height, the creft, or crest unto the creft
Of murder's Arms, this is the bloodieft shame,
The wildett favag'ry, the vileft troak,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath or faring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorte.
Pemb. All murders paft do stand excus'd in this ;
And this fo sole, and to unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yep-unbegotten fins of Time;
And prove a deadly blood-lhed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
Faulc. It is a damned and a bloody work,
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.
Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?
We had a kind of light, what would ensue.
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand,
The practice and the purpose of the King:
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to this breathless Excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow!
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of Revenge.
Pemb. Bigot. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with hafte, in seeking you; Arthur doth live, the King hath fent for you.
Sal. Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death
Avant, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Must I rob the law ? (Drawing his Sword.
Fault. Your sword is bright, Sir, put
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murd'rer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury; stand back, I say;
By heav'n, I thinking my sword's as sharp as yours.
I would not have you, lord, forget your fell,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Left I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your Worth, your Greatness, and Nobility.
Bigot. Out, dunghill! dar'ft'thou brave a Nobleman?
Hub. Nor for my life; but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an Emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murd'rer.
Hub. Do not prove me so;
Yet, I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lyes.
Pemb. Cut him to pieces.
Faulc. Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you, Faulconbridge.
Faulc. Thou wert better gaul the Devil, Salisbury,
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or I'll fo maul
your tosting-iron, That you shall think, the Devil is come from hell.
Bigot. What will you do, renowned Faulconbridge ? Second a villain, and a murderer?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Bigot. Who kill'd this Prince?
Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without such rheume;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocence.
Away with me All You, whose souls abhor
Th’uncleanly favour of a flaugħter-house,
For I am stilled with the smell of fin.
Bigot. Away tow'rd Bury, to the Dauphin there.
Pemb. There, tell the King, he may enquire us out.
[Exeunt Lords. Faulo. Here's a good world; knew you of this fair
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, (if thou didst this deed of death)
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.
Hub. Do but hear me, Sir.
Faulc. Ha? I'll tell thee what,
Thou'rt damn'd so black-nay, nothing is so black,
Thou art' more deep damnd than Prince Lucifer.
There is not yet fo ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Hub. Upon my soul
Faulc. If thou did it but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread,
That ever spider twisted from her womb,
Will ftrangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on: or would'st thou drown thy self,
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.
Hub. "If I in act, consent, or fin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath,
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.
Faulc. Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amaz’d, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How easie dost thou take all England up! (23)
From forth this morsel of dead Royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this Realm
Is fled to heav'n; and England now is left
To tug and scramble, and to part by th' teeth
The un-owed interest of proud-swelling State.
Now for the bare-pickt bone of Majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest;
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace.
Now Pow'rs from home and discontents at home
Meet in one line: and vast confusion waits
(As doth a Raven on a sick, fall’n beast)
(23) How easie doft Thou take all England up,
From forth this Morsel of dead Royalty ?] But how did Hubert take England up, from forth the dead Body of young Arthur? Most fagacious Editors! The stupid Pointing, which has prevail'd in all the Copies, makes stark Nonsense of the Passage. My Pointing reftores it to its genuine Purity. Faulconbridge, seeing Hubert take up the Body of the dead Prince, makes two Reflections: How easily, says He, doft thou take up all England in that Burthen! and then, That the Life, Right, aņd Truth of the Realm was fled to Heaven from out the breathless Coarse of that slaughter'd Royalty, &c.
The imminent Decay of wrested Pomp.
Now happy he, whole cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed; I'll to the King;
A thousand businesses are brief at hand,
And hear'n it self doth frown upon the Land. (Exeunt.
SCENE, the Court of ENGLAND.
Enter King John, Pandulph, and attendents.
HUS I have yielded up into your hand
The circle of my Glory. (Giving the Croren
Pand. Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,
Your soveraign Greatness and Authority.
K. John. Now keep your holy word; go meet the
And from his Holiness use all your power
To stop their Marchés, 'fore we are cndam'd.
Our discontented Counties do révolt;
Our people quarrel with obediences
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul,
To ftranger blood, to foreign Royaltys
This inundation of mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualify'd.
Then pause not; for the present time's fo lick,
That present medicine must be miniftred,
Or Overthrow incurable inlues.
Pandi Iti was my breath that blew this tempeft up, Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope :*****