Northampton. A Room in the Castle. |
|
Enter HUBERT and Two Attendants. |
Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand |
Within the arras: when I strike my foot |
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, |
And bind the boy which you shall find with me |
Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. |
First Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. |
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to't. [Exeunt Attendants. |
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. |
|
Enter ARTHUR. |
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. |
Hub. Good morrow, little prince. |
Arth. As little prince,—having so great a title |
To be more prince,—as may be. You are sad. |
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. |
Arth. Mercy on me! |
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 |
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. |
Hub. [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. |
Arth. 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. |
Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my bosom. |
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. |
[Aside.] 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? |
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. |
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? |
Hub. Young boy, I must. |
Arth. And will you? |
Hub. And I will. |
Arth. 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, |
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. |
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use 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 have sworn to do it; |
And with hot irons must I burn them out. |
Arth. 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 |
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, |
I would not have believ'd him; no tongue but Hubert's. |
Hub. [Stamps.] Come forth. |
|
Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. |
Do as I bid you do. |
Arth. O! save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out |
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. |
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. |
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough? |
I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still. |
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! |
Nay, hear me, Hubert: drive these men away, |
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; |
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, |
Nor look upon the iron angerly. |
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, |
Whatever torment you do put me to. |
Hub. Go, stand within: let me alone with him. |
First Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. |
Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: |
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart. |
Let him come back, that his compassion may |
Give life to yours. |
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. |
Arth. Is there no remedy? |
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. |
Arth. O heaven! that there were but a mote in yours, |
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, |
Any annoyance in that precious sense; |
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there, |
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. |
Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. |
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues |
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: |
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert: |
Or Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, |
So I may keep mine eyes: O! spare mine eyes, |
Though to no use but still to look on you: |
Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold |
And would not harm me. |
Hub. I can heat it, boy. |
Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, |
Being create for comfort, to be us'd |
In undeserv'd extremes: see else yourself; |
There is no malice in this burning coal; |
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out |
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. |
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. |
Arth. An if you do you will but make it blush |
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: |
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes; |
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight, |
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. |
All things that you should use to do me wrong |
Deny their office: only you do lack |
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, |
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. |
Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes |
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: |
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy, |
With this same very iron to burn them out. |
Arth. O! now you look like Hubert, all this while |
You were disguised. |
Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu. |
Your uncle must not know but you are dead; |
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports: |
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, |
That Hubert for the wealth of all the world |
Will not offend thee. |
Arth. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. |
Hub. Silence! no more, go closely in with me: |
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. |
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