Baft. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd lords!
The king, by me, requests your prefence ftraight.
Sal. The king hath difpoffefs'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin beftain'd 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.
Baft. But there is little reafon in your grief;
Therefore, 'twere reafon, you had manners now.
Pem. Sir, fir, impatience hath his privilege.
Baft. 'Tis true; to hurt his mafter, no man elfe.
Sal. This is the prifon: What is he lies here?
[Seeing ARTHUR. Pemb. O death, made proud with pure and princely
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 almoft 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 bloodieft fhame,
The wildeft favag'ry, the vileft ftroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Prefented to the tears of foft remorse.
Pemb. All murders past do stand excus'd in this : And this, fo fole, and fo unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet-unbegotten fin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous fpectacle.
Baft. 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 purpose, of the king:-
From whofe obedience I forbid my foul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incenfe of a vow, a holy vow;
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor converfant with eafe and idleness,
Till I have fet a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pem. Big. Our fouls religiously confirm thy words.
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.
Baft. Your fword is bright, fir; put it up again.
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 sword's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Left I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.
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.
Yet, I am none: Whofe tongue foe'er speaks false,
Not truly fpeaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Keep the peace, I say.
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 spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll fo maul you and your toasting-iron,
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.
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.
Şal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without fuch rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorfe and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whofe fouls abhor
The uncleanly favours of a slaughter-house ;
For I am stifled with this fiell of fin.
Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!
Pemb. There, tell the king, he may enquire us out.
[Exeunt Lords. Baft. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this fair
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.
Baft. Ha! I'll tell thee what;
Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing, is fo black; Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer:
There is not yet fo ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
If thou didst but confent
To this most cruel act, do but defpair,
And, if thou want'ft a cord, the fmalleft thread
That ever fpider twifted from her womb
Will ferve to ftrangle thee; a rush will be
A beam to hang thee on; or, would'st thou drown thyself, Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle fuch a villain up.-
I do fufpect thee very grievously.
Hub. If I in act, confent, or fin of thought,
Be guilty of the ftealing that fweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.
Go, bear him in thine arms.-
I am amaz'd, methinks; and lofe my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.-
How easy doft thou take all England up!
From forth this morfel 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 unowed interest of proud-swelling state,
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And fnarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home, and discontents at home,
Meet in one line: and vaft confufion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempeft. 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.
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