The Same. Before the Castle. |
|
Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls. |
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 semblance 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. |
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones: |
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies. |
|
Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. |
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury. |
It is our safety, and we must embrace |
This gentle offer of the perilous time. |
Pem. 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 these lines import. |
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. |
Sal. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be |
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. |
|
Enter the BASTARD. |
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords! |
The king by me requests your presence straight. |
Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us: |
We will not line his thin bestained cloak |
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot |
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. |
Return and tell him so: we know the worst. |
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. |
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. |
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; |
Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. |
Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. |
Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. |
Sal. This is the prison. [Seeing ARTHUR. |
What is he lies here? |
Pem. 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. |
Big. Or when he doom'd this beauty to a 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, although you see, |
That you do see? could thought, without this object, |
Form such another? This is the very top, |
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, |
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, |
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, |
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage |
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. |
Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in this: |
And this, so sole and so unmatchable, |
Shall give a holiness, a purity, |
To the yet unbegotten sin of times; |
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, |
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. |
Bast. 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 his 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. |
Pem. & Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. |
|
Enter HUBERT. |
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: |
Arthur doth live: the king hath sent for you. |
Sal. O! he is bold and blushes not at death. |
Avaunt, thou hateful villain! get thee gone. |
Hub. I am no villain. |
Sal. [Drawing his sword.] Must I rob the law? |
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. |
Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. |
Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say: |
By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours. |
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, |
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; |
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget |
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. |
Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman? |
Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend |
My innocent life against an emperor. |
Sal. Thou art a murderer. |
Hub. Do not prove me so; |
Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, |
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. |
Pem. Cut him to pieces. |
Bast. Keep the peace, I say. |
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. |
Bast. Thou wert better gall 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 so maul you and your toasting-iron, |
That you shall think the devil is come from hell. |
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? |
Second a villain and a murderer? |
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. |
Big. 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 rheum; |
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem |
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. |
Away with me, all you whose souls abhor |
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house; |
For I am stifled with this smell of sin. |
Big. Away toward Bury; to the Dauphin there! |
Pem. There tell the king he may inquire us out. [Exeunt Lords. |
Bast. 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. |
Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what; |
Thou art damn'd as black—nay, nothing is so black; |
Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer: |
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell |
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. |
Hub. Upon my soul,— |
Bast. If thou didst 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 serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam |
To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, |
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 sin 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. |
Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. |
I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way |
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. |
How easy dost thou take all England up! |
From forth this morsel of dead royalty, |
The life, the right and truth of all this realm |
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left |
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth |
The unow'd interest of proud swelling state. |
Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty |
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, |
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: |
Now powers from home and discontents at home |
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,— |
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,— |
The imminent decay of wrested pomp. |
Now happy he whose cloak and ceinture can |
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child |
And follow me with speed: I'll to the king: |
A thousand businesses are brief in hand, |
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exeunt. |
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