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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