And kifs the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick ftrong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I fee this hurly all on foot;
And O, what better matter breeds for

you

Than I have nam'd!- -The baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the church,
Offending charity. If but twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their fide;
*Or, as a little fnow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin;
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful,
What may be wrought out of their difcontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.

Lewis. Strong reafon makes strong actions: let us
Ifyou fay ay, the King will not fay no.

go;

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Changes to ENGLAND.

A PRISON.

Enter Hubert and Executioners.

HUBERT.

EAT me thefe irons hot, and, look, thou

HE

stand

Within the arras; when I ftrike my foot
Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth;

Or, as a little Snow.] Bacon, in his hiftory of Henry VII. fpeaking of Perkin's march, ob

ferves, that their fnow-ball did not gather as it rolled.

And

And bind the boy, which you fhall find with me, Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch. Exec. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly fcruples! fear not you ; look to't. Young lad, come forth; I have to fay with you.

Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having fo great a title
To be more Prince) as may be.-You are fad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks, no body should be fad but Ì;
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my christendom,
So were I out of prifon, and kept fheep,
I should be merry as the day is long :
And fo I would be here, but that, I doubt,
My uncle practifes more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.

Is it my fault, that I was Geffrey's fon?
Indeed, it is not; and I would to heav'n,

I were your fon, fo you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
Therefore I will be fudden, and dispatch.

[Afide.

Arth. Are you fick, Hubert? you look pale to day;

In footh, I would, you were a little fick;

That I might fit all night and watch with you.

Alas, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take poffeffion of my bofom.

Read here, young Arthur

How now, foolish rheum,

[Shewing a paper.

[Afide.

Tufa

Turning difpiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, left refolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for fo foul effect.
Muft you with irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I muft.

Arth. And will you?
Hub. And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? when your head did but ake,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me).
And I did never afk it you again;

And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon chear'd up the heavy time,
Saying, what lack you? and where lies your grief?
Or what good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's fon would have lain ftill,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your fick fervice had a Prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning. Do, an if you will:
If heav'n be pleas'd that you must must use me ill,
Why then, you muft-Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never fhall,

So much as frown on you.

Hub. I've fworn to do it;

And with hot irons muft I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it. The iron of itself, tho' heat red-hot,

Approaching near thefe eyes, would drink my tears, And quench its fiery indignation,

[s Turning difpiteous torture out of door!] For torture Sir T. Hanmer reads nature, and is

VOL. III.

followed, I think, without neceffity, by Dr. Warburton.

Hh

Even

Even in the matter of mine innocence :
Nay, after that, confume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more ftubborn-hard, than hammer'd iron?
Oh! if an Angel fhould have come to me,

And told me, Hubert fhould put out mine eyes,

6

"I would not have believ'd a tongue, but Hubert's. [Hubert ftamps, and the men enter. Hub. Come forth; do, as I bid you.

Arth. O fave me, Hubert, fave me! my eyes are out, Ev'n with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

Hub. Give me the iron, I fay, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be fo boift'rous-rough? I will not struggle, I will ftand ftone-still.

For heav'n's fake, Hubert, let me not be bound.
Nay, hear me, Hubert-drive these men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb.

I will not ftir, nor wince, nor fpeak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angrily;

Thruft but thefe men away, and I'll forgive you,

61 would not have believed a

tongue BUT HUBERT'S.] Thus Mr. Pope found the line in the old editions. According to this reading, it is fuppofed that Hubert had told him, he would not put out his eyes; for the angel who fays he would, is brought in as contradicting Hubert. Mr. Theobald, by what authority I don't know, reads,

I would not have believ'd kim:

no tongue, bus Hubert's. which is spoiling the meafure, without much mending the fenfe. Shakespeare, I am perfuaded, wrote, I would not have believ'd a

tongue BATE HUBERT; i. e. abate, difparage. The blunder feems to have arifen thus, bate fignifies except, saving; fo

Whatever torment you do put me to.

Hub. Go, ftand within; let me alone with him.
Exec. I am beft pleas'd to be from fuch a deed.

[Exeunt. Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart; Let him come back, that his compaffion may Give life to yours.

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub. None, but to lofe your eyes.

Arth. O heav'n! that there were but a moth in

A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wandring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious fenfe ;

yours,

Then, feeling what small things are boiftrous there, Your vile intent muft needs feem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promife? go to, hold your

tongue.

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Muft needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue : let me not, Hubert; Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,

7

So I may keep mine eyes. O fpare mine eyes!
Though to no use, but still to look on you.
Lo, by my troth, the inftrument is cold,
And would not harm me.

Hub. I can heat it, boy.

Arth. No, in good footh, the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd

In undeferv'd extreams; fee elfe yourself,

There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heav'n hath blown its fpirit out,

7 This is according to nature. We imagine no evil so great as that which is near us.

No, in good footh, &c.] The fenfe is: The fire, being created

not to hurt but to comfort, is dead with grief for finding itself ufed in acts of cruelty, which, being innocent, I have not deferved.

Hh2

And