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Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
Is yet a maiden, and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood,
Within this bofom never enter'd

The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought',
And you have lander'd nature in my form ;
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind,
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haite thee to the

Throw this report on their incensed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience.
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature, for my rage was blind;

5 The dreadful motion of a truth, as the poet intended he MURD'rous theaghı,] Nothing should. He had not committed can be falser than what Hubert the murther, and consequently the here says in his own vindication motion of a murtherer's thought bad (yet it was the poet's purpose nezer enter'd his bofom. And in that he should speak truth); for this reading, the epithet drradwe find, from a preceding scene, ful is admirably just, and in na. the motion of a murd'rous thought ture. For aster the perpretation bad entred into him, and that, very of the fact, the appetites, that deeply: and it was with difficul. hurried their owner to it, lose ty that the tears, the intreaties, their force ; and nothing sucand the innocence of Arthur had ceeds to take possession of the diverted and suppressed it. Nor mind, but a dreadful consciousis the expression, in this reading, ness, that torments the murderer at all exact, it not being the ne. without respite or intermiflion. ceffary quality of a murd'rous

WARBURTON. thought to be dreadful, affright- I do not see any thing in this ing, or terrible : For it being change worth the vehemence with commonly excited by the flatter. which it is recommended. Read ing views of intereft, pleasure, the line either way, the sense is or revenge, the mind is often nearly the same; nor does Hubert too much taken up with those tell truth in either reading when ideas to attend, steadily, to the he charges John with fandering consequences. We must con- bis form. He that could once clude therefore that Shakespeare intend to burn out the eyes of wrote,

a captive prince, had a mind not MURDERER's thought. too fair for the rudeft form. And this makes Hulert speak


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And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
Oh, answer not, but to my closet bring
The angry Lords with all expedient haste,
I conjure thee but Nowly: run more fast.



A Street before a Prison.

Enter Arthur on the Walls, disguis’d.

HE wall is high, and yet I will leap down.

Arib. T Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not !

There's few or none do know me: if they did,
This ship-boy’s semblance hath disguis’d me quite.
I am afraid, and yet I'll venture it.
- If I get down, and do not break


limbs, l'll find a thousand shifts to get away: As good to die, and go; as die, and stay. [Leaps down. Oh me! my Uncle's spirit is in these stones: Heav'n take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and Bigot.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at St. Edmondsbury;
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,
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
Is much more gen’ral than these lines import.

Bigot. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

Sal. Or rather then set forward, for 'cwill be Two long days' journey, Lords, or ere we meet.



Whose priva!e, &c.

-] i.e.

is much more ample than the whose private account, of the letters.

РОРЕ. , Dauphin's affection to our cause,



Enter Faulconbridge.
Faulo. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd

The King by me requests your presence strait.

Sal. The King hath disposieft himself of us;
We will not line his thin, befiained cioak
With our pure honours: nor attend the foot,
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks.
Return, and tell him 10 ; we know the worst.
Faulo. Whate'er you think, good words, I think,

were best. Sal. Cur griefs, and not our manners, reason now'.

Faulc. But there is little reason in your grief,
Therefore 'were reason, you had manners now.

Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath it privilege.
Faulc. 'Tis true, to hurt its master, no man else.
Sal. This is the prison : 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 Richerd, what think you have you beheld, Or have you read, or heard, or could you think, Or do you almost think, altho' you see, What you do fee? could thought, without this object, Form such another? 'tis the very top, The height, the crest, or creft unto the crest, Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savag'ry, the vileft stroke, That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, ? To reason, in Shakespeare, is not so osten to argue, as to talk.

Presented Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pemb. All murders past do stand excus'd in this ;
And this so sole, and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet-unbegotten fins of time;
And prove a deadly blood-lhed but, a jest,
Exampled by this heinous fpe&tacle.

Faulc. 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 wol d ensue.
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand,
The practice and the purpose of the King:
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to this breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow 8!
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have fet a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.


} Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

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Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you ; Arthur doth live, the King hath sent for you. Sal. Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death. a vow,

1- ibe worship of revenge:] Never to taste the pleasures of the The worship is the dignity, the

world,] This is a copy of benour. We still say worshipful the vows made in the ages of fu- of magiftrates. perstition and chivalry. VOL. III.



-Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Hub. I am no villain.
Sal, Must I rob the law ? [Drawing bis Sword.
Fault. Your sword is bright, Sir, put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murd'rer's skin.

Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury ; stand back, I say;
By heav'n, 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 1, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Bigot. Out, dunghill! dar'lt thou brave a Nobleman?

Hub. Not for my life ; but yet I dare defend My innocent life against an Emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murd'rer.

Hub. Do not prove me so ';
Yet, I am none. Whose tongue foe'er speaks falfe,
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies.

Pemb. Cut him to pieces.
Faule. Keep the peace, I say:
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you, Faulconbridge.
Faulc. Thou wert better

gaul the devil, Salisbury.
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hafty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime,
Or l'll fo maul you, and your tosting.iron,
That you shall think, the devil is come from hell.

Bigot. What will you do, renowned Falconbridge 3 Second a villain, and a murderer?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Bigot. Who kill'd this Prince?

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well :
I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep

true defence ;) Honeft make me a murderer by com. defence ; defence in a good cause. pelling me to kill you; I am

2 Do not prove me fo; birberto not a murderer. Yet, I am none. -] Do not


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