Conf. Grief fills the room up of my absent child: Lyes 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 reafon to be fond of grief. Fare you well; had you fuch a lofs as I, I could give better comfort than you do. I will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her bead-cloaths.
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair fon!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my forrow's cure!
[Exit. K. Philip. I fear fome outrage, and I'll follow her.
[Exit, Lewis. There's nothing in this world can make me
Life is as tedious as a twice-told Tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowfie man,
A bitter fhame hath spoilt the fweet world's taste,
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Ev'n in the inftant of repair and health,
The Fit is ftrongeft: evils that take leave,
On their departure, moft of all fhew evil.
What have you loft, by lofing of this day?
Lewis. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.
No, no; when fortune means to men moft good,
She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye.
'Tis ftrange to think how much King John hath loft
In this, which he accounts fo clearly won.
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his Prifoner?
Lewis. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me fpeak with a prophetick Spirit;
For ev'n the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each duft, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's Throne: and therefore mark.
John hath feiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be
That whilft warm life plays in that Infant's veins,
The misplac'd John thould entertain an hour,
A minute, nay, one quiet breath, of Reft.
A fcepter, fnatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boift'roufly maintain'd, as gain'd.
And he, that ftands upon a flipp'ry 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 fo.
Lewis. But what fhall I gain by young Arthur's Fall?
Pand. You, in the Right of lady Blanch your Wife,
May then make all the Claim that Arthur did.
Lewis. And lofe it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old
world?
Fohn lays you plots; the times confpire with
For he, that steeps his fafety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody fafety and untrue.
This act, fo evilly born, fhall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That no fo fmall advantage shall step forth
To check his Reign, but they will cherish it.
No nat'ral exhalation in the sky,
No scape of nature, no diftemper'd day,
No common wind, no customed event,
But they will pluck away its nat❜ral cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and figns,
Abortives, and prefages, tongues of heav'n
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lewis. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life;
But hold himself fafe in his prisonment.
Pand. O Sir, when he fhall hear of your approach,
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Ev'n at this news he dies: and then the hearts
Of all his people fhall revolt from him,
And kifs the lips of unacquainted Change;
And pick ftrong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I fee this hurly all on foot;
And O, what better matter breeds for you
Than I have nam'd! The baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the Church,
Offending Charity. If but twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a Call
To train ten thousand English to their fide;
Or, as a little fnow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin;
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their Souls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.
Lewis. Strong reafon makes ftrong actions: let us go; If you fay ay, the King will not say no.
SCENE changes to ENGLAN d.
Enter Hubert and Executioner.
EAT me these irons hot, and, look, thou ftand
Within the Arras; when I ftrike my foot
Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth; And bind the boy, which you fhall find with me, Faft to the chair: be heedful; hence, and watch.
Exe. I hope, your Warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly fcruples! fear not you; look to't.Young lad, come forth; I have to fay with you.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little Prince.
Arth. As little Prince (having fo great a Title To be more Prince) as may be. You are fad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Methinks, no body fhould be fad but I
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young Gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my Christendom,
So were I out of prifon, and kept fheep,
I should be merry as the day is long.
And fo I would be here, but that, I doubt,
My Uncle practifes more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault, that I was Geffrey's fon?
Indeed, it is not; and I would to heav'n,
I were your fon, fo you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent Prate
He will awake my mercy, which lyes dead;
Therefore I will be fudden, and dispatch.
[Afide. Arth. Are you fick, Hubert? you look pale to daýy;
In footh, I wou'd, you were a little fick;
That I might fit all night and watch with you.
Alas, I love you more than you do me.
Hub. His wards do take poffeffion of my bofom.
Read here, young Arthur
How now, foolish rheum,
[Shewing a paper. [Afide.
Turning dif-piteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, left refolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanith tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for fo foul effect.
Muft you with irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I muft.
Arth. And will you?
Hub, And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart? when your head did but
I knit my handkerchief about your brows;
(The best I had, a Princess wrought it me)
And I did never ask it you agains
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon chear'd up the heavy time,
Saying, what lack you? and where lyes your grief?
Or what good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's fon would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your fick fervice had a Prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning. Do, an if you will:
If heav'n be pleas'd that you must ufe me ill,
Why then, you must- Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you.
Hub. I've fworn to do it;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Artb. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it.
The iron of it felf, tho' heat red-hot,
Approaching near thefe eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench its fiery indignation,
Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, confume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more ftubborn hard, than hammer'd iron?
Oh! if an Angel fhould have come to me,
And told me, Hubert fhould put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd him: no tongue, but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth; do, as I bid
you do.
[Stamps, and the men enter.
Arth. O fave me, Hubert, fave me! my eyes are out,
Ev'n with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I fay, and bind him here..
Arth. Alas, what need you be fo boist'rous-rough?
I will not ftruggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heav'n fake, Hubert, let me not be bound.
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