Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought', Is yet the cover of a fairer mind, Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, hate thee to the Throw this report on their incenfed rage, The dreadful motion of a MURD'ROUS thought,] Nothing can be falfer than what Hubert here fays in his own vindication (yet it was the poet's purpofe that he fhould fpeak truth); for we find, from a preceding fcene, the motion of a murd rous thought bad entred into him, and that, very deeply and it was with difficulty that the tears, the intreaties, and the innocence of Arthur had diverted and fuppreffed it. Nor is the expreffion, in this reading, at all exact, it not being the neceffary quality of a murdrous thought to be dreadful, affrighting, or terrible: For it being commonly excited by the flattering views of intereft, pleafure, or revenge, the mind is often too much taken up with thofe ideas to attend, fteadily, to the confequences. We must conclude therefore that Shakespeare wrote, a MURDERER's thought. And this makes Hubert Speak And foul imaginary eyes of blood SCENE V. A Street before a Prifon. Enter Arthur on the Walls, difguis'd. Arıb. T [Exeunt. HE wall is high, and yet I will leap down. Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not! There's few or none do know me: if they did, This fhip-boy's femblance hath difguis'd me quite. I am afraid, and yet I'll venture it. - If I get down, and do not break my limbs, As good to die, and go; as die, and ftay. [Leaps down. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at St. Edmondsbury; It is our fafety; and we muft 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 of the Dauphin's love Is much more gen'ral than thefe lines import. Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or rather then fet forward, for 'twill be Two long days' journey, Lords, or ere we meet. РОРЕ. Whofe private, &c.- -] i, e. is much more ample than the whose private account, of the letters. Dauphin's affection to our caufe, Enter Enter Faulconbridge. Faule. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd The King by me requefts your prefence ftrait. Faulc. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were beft. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reafon now '. Faulc. But there is little reafon in your grief, Therefore 'twere reafon, you had manners now. Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath it privilege. Faulc. 'Tis true, to hurt its 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 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. Bigot. Or when he doom'd this beauty to the 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, altho' you fee, What you do fee? could thought, without this object, The height, the creft, or creft unto the creft, 7 To reason, in Shakespeare, is not so often to argue, as tɑ talk. Presented Prefented to the tears of foft remorse. Pemb. All murders paft do ftand excus'd in this s And this fo fole, and fo unmatchable, Shall give a holiness, a purity, To the yet-unbegotten fins of time; Faulc. It is a damned and a bloody work, Sal. If that it be the work of any hand? Bigot. }Our fouls religiously confirm thy words. Hub. Lords, I am hot with hafte, in feeking you; Artbur doth live, the King hath fent for you. Sal. Oh, 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 bis Sword. Faule. Your fword is bright, Sir, put it up again. Sal. Not till I fheath it in a murd'rer's fkin. Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury; stand back, I fay; By heav'n, I think, my fword's as fharp 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 greatnefs, and nobility. Bigot. Out, dunghill! dar'ft thou brave a Nobleman? Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend My innocent life againft an Emperor. Sal. Thou art a murd'rer. Hub. Do not prove me fo2; Yet, I am none. Whose tongue foe'er speaks falfe, Not truly speaks; who fpeaks not truly, lies. Faulc. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I fhall gaul you, Faulconbridge. Faulc. Thou wert better gaul the devil, Salisbury. If thou but frown on me, or ftir thy foot, Or teach thy hafty spleen to do me fhame, I'll ftrike thee dead. Put up thy fword betime, Or I'll fo maul you, and your tosting-iron, That you fhall think, the devil is come from hell. Bigot. What will you do, renowned Falconbridge? Second a villain, and a murderer ? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Bigot. 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 true defence ;] Honeft defence; defence in a good caufe. 2 Do not prove me fo; Yet, I am none.--] Do not make me a murderer by com. pelling me to kill you; I am bitherto not a murderer. My |