« ÖncekiDevam »
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, So strongly guarded.--Cousin, look not sad:
[TO ARTHUR. Against mine uncle.
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will Const.
0! upon my knee, [Kneeling." As dear be to thee as thy father was. Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Arth. O! this will make my mother die with grief. Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for EngFore-thought by heaven.
land : haste before ;
Of hoarding abbots; theirt imprison'd angels
Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, Use our commission in his utmost force.
Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. When gold and silver becks me to come on. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need.--England, I'll fall I leave your highness.-Grandam, I will pray Const. O, fair return of banish'd majesty! (from thee. (If ever I remember to be holy,) Eli. O, foul revolt of French inconstancy!
For your fair safety: so I kiss your hand. K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within Eli. Farewell, gentle co this hour.
Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.
[She talks apart with ARTHUR.5 Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : fair day, K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O! my gentle Hubert, Which is the side that I inust go withal ? [adieu! We owe thee much : within this wall of flesh I am with both : each army hath a hand,
There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And in their rage, I having hold of both,
And with advantage means to pay thy love: They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Husband, I cannot pray that thou may’st win; Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may’st lose; Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
But I will fit it with some better time. Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive;
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ;
To say what good respect I have of thee. Assured loss, before the match be play'd.
Hub, I am much bounden to your majesty. [yet; Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life But thou shalt have: and creep time ne'er so slow, dies.
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.— I had a thing to say,--but let it go.
[Exit Bastard. The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; Attended with the pleasures of the world, A rage, whose heat hath this condition,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
To give me audience :-if the midnight bell The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt Sound on into the drowsy ear of night: To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire. (turn If this same were a churchyard where we stand, Look to thyself: thou art in jeopardy.
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; K. John. No more than he that threats.--To arms Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, let's hie !
[Exeunt. Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick,
(Which, else, runs tingling up and down the veins, SCENE II.-The Same Plains near Angiers.
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
A passion hateful to my purposes,)
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words,
But ah! I will not:—yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
Though that my death were adjunct to my act, But on, my liege ; for very little pains
By heaven, I would do it. Will bring this labour to an happy end.
[Exeunt. K. John.
Do not I know, thou wouldst?
Good Hubert! Hubert-Hubert, throw thine eye SCENE III.-The Same.
On yond young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend, Alarums; Excursions ; Retreat. Enter King JOHN, He is a very serpent in my way; ELINOR, Arthur, the Bastard, HUBERT, and Lords. And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, K. John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay He lies before me. Dost thou understand me? behind,
[TO ELINOR. Thou art his keeper.
1 2 Not in f. e. 3 airy: in f. e. 4 This word not in f. e. 8 This word is not in f. e. 9 brooded: in f. e.
She takes ARTHUR aside: in f. e.
6 race: in f. e.
7 tickling: in f. e.
And I'll keep him so,
For then, 't is like I should forget myself: That he shall not offend your majesty.
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, Hub.
He shall not live. My reasonable part produces reason K. John.
Enough. How I may be deliver'd of these woes, I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee;
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
If I were mad, I should forget my son, Remember.-Madam, fare you well:
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
! am not mad : too well, too well I feel Eli. My blessing go with thee!
The different plague of each calamity. K. John.
For England, cousin: go. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O! what love I note Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
In the fair multitude of those her hairs !
Even to that drop'ten thousand wiry friends
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, Sticking together in calamity. A whole armado of convented' sail
Const. To England, if you will. Is scatter'd, and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Bind up your hairs. Pand. Courage and comfort all shall yet go well. Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will I do it?
K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill? I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud, Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost?
"O, that these hands could so redeem my son, Arthur ta’en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain ? As they have given these hairs their liberty And bloody England into England gone,
But now, I envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds,
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek, Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost, In the vile prison of afflicted breath.
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit,
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. Death, death.--0, amiable lovely death!
K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Arise from forth the couch of lasting night,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Thou hate and terror to prosperity,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, And I will kiss thy detestable bones;
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form:
I could give better comfort than you do.--
[Tearing her hair. O, come to me!
When there is such disorder in my wit. K. Phi. 0, fair affliction, peace !
O lord ! my boy, my. Arthur, my fair son ! Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.- My life, my joy, my food, my all the world, 0! that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth; My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure ! [Exit. Then with what? passion I would shake the world, K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
[Exit. Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me Which scorns a widow'ss invocation.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
[joy: Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so.
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine;
That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness. My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost !
Even in the instant of repair and health, I am not mad :-I would to heaven, I were;
The fit is strongest : evils that take leave,
1 convicted : in f. e.
2 a: in f. e.
3 modern : in f. e.
4 Not in f. e.
On their departure most of all show evil.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts What have you lost by losing of this day?
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal,
That none so small advantage shall step forth
No scape of nature, no distemper'd day,
But they will pluck away his natural cause, Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner ? And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, For even the breath of what I mean to speak
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot:
Than I have nam'd. The bastard Faulconbridge Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up:
Is now in England ransacking the church, That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall; Offending charity: if but a dozen French So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Were there in arms, they would be as a call Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? To train ten thousand English to their side;
Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, Or as a little snow, tumbled about, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Anon becomes a mountain. 0, noble Dauphin! Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Go with me to the king. T is wonderful, Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old What may be wrought out of their discontent. world!
Now that their souls are topfull of offence, John lays you plots; the times conspire with you, For England go; I will whet on the king. For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions. Let us go : Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
If you say, ay, the king will not say, [Esceunt.
ACT IV .
SCENE I.—Northampton. A Room in the Castle. (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
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day. And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, In sooth, I would you were a little sick; Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. Uncleanly scruples: fear not you: look to 't. Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my
bosom.Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] Enter ARTHUR,
[Aside.] How now, foolish rheum! Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ?
Good morrow, little prince. I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Mercy on me! Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? Methinks, no body should be sad but I:
Hub. Young boy, I must. Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
And will you ? Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
And I will. Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, And so I would be here, but that I doubt
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) My uncle practises more harm to me:
And I did never ask it you again : He is afraid of me, and I of him.
And with my hand at midnight held your head, Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
scope : in f. e.
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
In undeserv'd extremes : see else yourself; Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief? There is no malice in this burning coal; Or, What good love may I perform for you?
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. But you at your sick service had a prince.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: And call it cunning: do, an if you will.
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ;
And like a dog that is compellid to fight,
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office : only you do lack Hub.
I have sworn to do it, That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extend, And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Arth. Ah! none but in this iron age would do it. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
For all the treasures that thine uncle owes : Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, And quench this fiery indignation,
With this same very iron to burn them out. Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Arth. 0! now you look like Hubert: all this while Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
You were disguised.
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports; And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, I would not have believ'd him; no tongue but Hubert's. That Hubert for the wealth of all the world Hub. Come forth.
(Stamps. Will not offend thee. Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, &c.
O heaven ! I thank you, Hubert. Do as I bid you do.
Hub. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me; Arth. O! save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Much danger do I undergo for thee. Esceunt. Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
SCENE II.The Same. A Room of State in the Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
[Taking it. Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough?
Enter King JOHN, crowned ; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still.
and other Lords. The King takes his State. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound.
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, Nay, hear me, Hubert: drive these men away, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
Pem. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, Nor look upon the iron angerly.
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off ; Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; Whatever torment you do put me to.
Fresh expectation troubled not the land, Hub. Go, stand within: let me alone with him. With any long’d-for change, or better state. 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
[Exeunt Attendants. To guard* a title that was rich before, Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart,
To throw a perfume on the violet, Let him come back, that his compassion may
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be done, Arth, 0 heaven !—that there were but à mote in This act is as an ancient tale new told, yours,
And in the last repeating troublesome, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.
Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Startles and frights consideration,
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well,
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold,
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse :
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Discredit more in hiding of the fault,
Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,
1 So the folio; most eds, read : his.
2 Not in f. e.