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Throw this report on their incenfed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my paffion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood

Prefented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient hafte :
I conjure thee but flowly; run more fast,

SCENE III.

The fame. Before the Cafile.

Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.

[Exeunt

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down : 4-
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!-
There's few, or none, do know me; if they did,
This fhipboy's femblance 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..
O me! my uncle's fpirit is in these stones:

[Leaps down.

Heaven take my foul, and England keep my bones! [Dies. Enter

4 Our author has here followed the old play. In what manner Arthur was deprived of his life, is not afcertained. Matthew Paris, relating. the event, ufes the word evanuit; and indeed as King Philip afterwards publickly accufed King John of putting his nephew to death, without mentioning either the manner of it or his accomplices, we may conclude that it was conducted with impenetrable fecrecy. The French hiftorians however fay, that John coming in a boat, during the night-time, to the caftle of Rouen, where the young prince was confined, ordered him to be brought forth, and having stabbed him, while fupplicating for mercy, the King faftened a stone to the dead body, and threw it into the Seine, in order to give fome colour to a report, which he afterwards caused to be fpread, that the prince attempting to escape out of a window of the tower of the castle, fell into the river, and was drowned. MALONE.

Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at faint Edmund's-Bury; It is our fafety, and we must embrace

This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pemb. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France;
Whofe private with me,5 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 fet forward: for 'twill be
Two long day's' journey, lords, or e'er we meet."

Enter the Baftard.

Baft. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd' lords!
The king, by me, requests your prefence straight.
Sal. The king hath difpoffefs'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin beftained 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.

Baft. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners,

reafon now.8

Baft.

1

5. e. whofe private account of the Dauphin's affection to our cause, is much more ample than the letters.

POPE.

This phrafe, fo frequent in our old writers, is not well understood. Or is here the fame as ere, i. e. before, and fhould be written (as it is still pronounced in Shropshire) ore. There the common people use it often. Thus, they fay, Ore to-morrow, for ere or before to-morrow. The addition of ever, or e'er, is merely augmentative.

That er has the full fenfe of before, and that e'er when joined with it is merely augmentative, is proved from innumerable paffages in our ancient writers, wherein or occurs fimply without e'er, and must bear that fignification. PERCY.

That or hould be written ore, I am by no means convinced. The vul gar pronunciation of a particular county ought not to be received as a ge neral guide. Ere is nearer the Saxon primitive æɲ. STEEVENS. 7 i. e. ruffled, out of humour. STEEVENS.

To reafon, in Shakspeare, is not fo often to argue, as to talk.

XBut the wigh housing, the not contiguous nating county of Shalsespiar, wherein he was bund. In

Baft. Put there is little reafon in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reafon, you had manners now. Pemb. Sir, fir, impatience hath his privilege. Baft. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man elfe. Sal. This is the prifon: What is he lies here?

[Seeing ARTHUR. Pemb. 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 fee,

That you do fee? could thought, without this object,
Form fuch another? This is the very top,
The height, the creft, or creft unto the creft,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vileft ftroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or ftaring rage,
Prefented to the tears of foft remorse.

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

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet-unbegotten fin of times; 9
And prove a deadly bloodfhed but a jeft,
Exampled by this heinous fpectacle,

Bajt. 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 purpofe of the king :-
From whofe obedience I forbid my foul,
Kneeling before this ruin of fweet life,
And breathing to his breathlefs excellence

9 That is, of all future times. MALONE.

The

The incenfe of a vow, a holy vow;
Never to taste the pleafures 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 worthip of revenge.'

Pemb. Big. 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. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death :—
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!
Hub. I am no villain.

Sal.

Muft I rob the law?

[Drawing his fword. Baft. Your fword is bright, fir; put it up again.4 Sal. Not till I fheath it in a murderer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, ftand back, I fay; By heaven, I think, my fword's as sharp as yours:

I would

2 This is a copy of the vows made in the ages of fuperftition and chivalry. JOHNSON.

3 The worship is the dignity, the honour. We ftill fay worshipful of magiftrates. JOHNSON.

think it should be a glory to this bead; -pointing to the dead prince, and ufing the word worship in its common acceptation. A glory is a frequent term:

"Round a quaker's beaver caft a glory,"

fays Mr. Pope the folemn confirmation of the other lords feems to require this fenfe. The late Mr. Gray was much pleafed with this correction. FARMER.

The old reading feems right to me, and means,-till I have famed and renowned my own band by giving it the bonour of revenge for fo foul a deed. Glory means fplendor and magnificence in St. Matthew, vi. 29. So, in Markham's Hufbandry, 1631, p. 353: "But if it be where the tide is fcant, and doth no more but bring the river to a glory," i. e. fills the banks without overflowing. ToLLET.

1 believe, at repeating the fe lines, Salisbury fhould take hold of the band of Arthur, to which he promises to pay the worship of revenge.

MALONE.

I think the old reading the true one.
4 i. e. left it lofe its brightnefs. MALONE.

M. MASON.

I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,

Nor tempt the danger of true defence;
my
Left I, by marking of your rage, forget

Your worth, your greatnefs, and nobility.

5

Big. 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 murderer.

Hub.

Do not prove me fo;

Yet, I am none : 6 Whose tongue foe'er fpeaks false,
Not truly speaks; who fpeaks not truly, lies.

Pemb. Cut him to pieces.

Baft.
Keep the peace, I fay.
Sal. Stand by, or I fhall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Baft. Thou wert better gall 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 sword betime;
Or I'll fo maul you and your toafting-iron,7
That you fhall 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 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 villainy is not without fuch rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it feem
Like rivers of remorfe 8 and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whofe fouls abhor
The uncleanly favours of a flaughter-house;

5 Honeft defence; defence in a good caufe. JOHNSON.

For

Do not make me a murderer, by compelling me to kill you; I am

bitberto not a murderer. JOHNSON.

7 The fame thought is found in King Henry V: "I dare not fight, but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a fimple one, but what though it will toaft cheese." STEEVENS.

8 Remorfe here, as almost every where in these plays, and the contemporary books, fignifies pity. MALONE.

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