Enter Faulconbridge.

Faule. Once more to day well met, diftemper'd lords;
The King by me requests your prefence ftrait.
Sal. The King hath difpoffeft himself of uss
We will not line his thin, bestained 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 best.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
Faulc. But there is little reason in your grief,
Therefore 'twere reason, you had manners now.
Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath its privilege.
Faulc. 'Tis true, to hurt its mafter, no man else.
Sal. This is the prifon: what is he dyes 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 hating what himself hath done, Doth lay 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. Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,
Or have you read, or heard, or could you think,
Or do you almost think, altho' you fee,

1

What you do fee? could thought, without this object,
Form fuch another? 'tis the very top,

The height, the crest, or creft unto the creft
Of murder's Arms; this is the bloodiest fhame,
The wildeft favag'ry, the vileft ftroak,

That ever wall-ey'd wrath or ftaring rage
Prefented to the tears of foft remorie.

Pemb. All murders past do ftand excus'd in this,
And this fo fole, and fo unmatchable,

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet-unbegotten fins of Time;

And

A

And prove a deadly blood-fhed but a jeft,
Exampled by this heinous fpectacle.
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 enfue.
It is the fhameful work of Hubert's hand,
The practice and the purpose of the King:
From whofe obedience I forbid my foul,
Kneeling before this ruin of fweet 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 converfant with ease and idleness,
Till I have fet a glory to this hand,

By giving it the worship of Revenge.

Pemb. Bigot. Our fouls religiously confirm thy words. Enter Hubert.

Hub. Lords, I am hot with hafte, in feeking 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. Muft I rob the law?

[Drawing his Sword. Faulc. Your fword is bright, Sir, put it up again. Sal. Not till I fheath it in a murd'rer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury; ftand back, I fay; By heav'n, I think, my fword's as fharp as yours. I would not have you, lord, forget your self, Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; Left I, by marking of your rage, forget Your Worth, your Greatnefs, and Nobility. Bigot. Out, dunghill! dar'ft thou brave a Nobleman? Hub. Not 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 fo;

Yet, I am none. Whose tongue foe'er fpeaks falfe,
Not truly speaks; who fpeaks not truly, lyes.
Pemb. Cut him to pieces.

Faulc. Keep the peace, I say.

Sal. Stand by, or I fhall gaul you, Faulconbridge. Faulc. Thou wert better gaul the Devil, Salisbury. If thou but frown on me, or ftir thy foot, Or teach thy hafty fpleen to do me fhame, I'll ftrike thee dead. Put up thy fword betime, Or I'll fo maul you, and your tofting-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 fince I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep
My date of life out, for his fweet life's lofs.
Sal. Truft not thofe cunning waters of his eyes,
For villany is not without fuch rheume;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorfe and innocence.
Away with me All You, whofe fouls abhor
Th' uncleanly favour of a flaughter-house,
For I am ftifled 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.
Faulc. Here's a good world; knew you of this fair

work?

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 fo black

nay, nothing is fo black;

Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer.
There is not yet fo ugly a fiend of hell

As thou fhalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hub. Upon my foul

Faulc. If thou didst but confent

To this most cruel act, do but despair,

And if thou want'ft a cord, the smallest thread,
That ever spider twifted from her womb,
Will ftrangle thee; a rush will be a beam

To hang thee on: or would'st thou drown thy felf,
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle fuch a villain up.
I do fufpect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, confent, or fin of thought,
Be guilty of the ftealing that fweet 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 lofe my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
How eafie doft thou take all England up! (23)
From forth this morfel 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 intereft of proud-fwelling State.
Now for the bare-pickt bone of Majefty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry creft;
And fnarleth in the gentle eyes of peace.
Now Pow'rs from home and difcontents at home
Meet in one line: and vaft confufion waits
(As doth a Raven on a fick, fall'n beast)

(23) How eafie deft Thou take all England up,

From forth this Morfel of dead Royalty?] But how did Hubert take England up, from forth the dead Body of young Arthur? Moft fagacious Editors! The ftupid Pointing, which has prevail'd in all the Copies, makes stark Nonsense of the Paffage. My Pointing reftores it to its genuine Purity. Faulconbridge, feeing Hubert take up the Body of the dead Prince, makes two Reflections:- How eafily, fays He, doft thou take up all England in that Burthen! and then, That the Life, Right, and Truth of the Realm was fled to Heaven from out the breathless Coarfe of that flaughter'd Royalty, &c.

The

The imminent Decay of wrefted Pomp.
Now happy he, whofe cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempeft. Bear away that child,
And follow me with fpeed; I'll to the King;
A thousand bufineffes are brief at hand,

And heav'n it self doth frown upon the Land. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE, the Court of ENGLAND.

Enter King John, Pandulph, and Attendants.

T

K. JOHN.

HUS I have yielded up into your hand
The circle of my Glory.

Pand. Take again

[Giving the Crown.

From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,

Your foveraign Greatness and Authority.

K. John. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French,

And from his Holiness use all your power

To stop their Marches, 'fore we are enflam'd.
Our discontented Counties do révolt;

Our people quarrel with obedience,

Swearing allegiance, and the love of foul,
To ftranger blood, to foreign Royalty's
This inundation of miftemper'd humour
Refts by you only to be qualify'd.

Then paufe not; for the prefent time's fo fick,
That prefent medicine must be miniftred,

Or Overthrow incurable infues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempeft up,

Upon your tubborn ufage of the Pope:

But