« ZurückWeiter »
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
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
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
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,
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.
Pemb. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?
Sal. The Count Melun, a noble Lord of France,
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.
is much more ample than the whose private account, of the letters.
РОРЕ. , Dauphin's affection to our cause,
Sal. The King hath disposieft himself of us;
were best. Sal. Cur griefs, and not our manners, reason now'.
Faulc. But there is little reason in your grief,
Pemb. Sir, Sir, impatience hath it privilege.
[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 ;
Faulc. It is a damned and a bloody work,
Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?
} Our souls religiously confirm thy words.
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.
Hub. Stand back, Lord Salisbury ; stand back, I say;
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 ';
Pemb. Cut him to pieces.
gaul the devil, Salisbury.
Bigot. What will you do, renowned Falconbridge 3 Second a villain, and a murderer?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well :
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