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If Heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
So much as frown on you?
HUBERT. I have sworn to do it;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
ARTHUR. 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,
Even in the matter of mine innocence :
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes.
ARTHUR. O heaven!-that there were but a mote
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boist❜rous there,
HUBERT. Is this your promise? go to, hold your
ARTHUR. 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!
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.
ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with
(Being create for comfort) to be us'd
In undeserv'd extremes: See else yourself;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
ARTHUR. O now you look like Hubert! all this while
You were disguised.
HUBERT. Peace: no more. Adieu;
Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee.
Perfection needs no Addition.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured: And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about: Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
The Countenance of an Assassin.
This is the man should do the bloody deed; He showed his warrant to a friend of mine; The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much troubled breast. A struggling Conscience.
The colour of the king doth come and
Old men and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths :
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
The wicked commands of Kings too promptly executed.
It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
And, on the winking of authority,
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when perchance, it frowns
A Murderer's look and readiness to execute a bad deed.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
This murder had not come into my mind.
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. Hypocrisy.
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.
If thou didst but consent,
To this most cruel act, do but despair,
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be
A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Faulconbridge's Appeal to King John on the Invasion of
But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad? Be great in act, as you have been in thought;