Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not
K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life: And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect.1
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt hea
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind: But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspéct, Finding thee fit for bloody villany, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hub. My lord,-
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or
When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, As bid me tell my tale in express words; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin;
(1) Deliberate consideration. (2) Observed.
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 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 bosom never enter'd yet The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, And you have slander'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, haste thee to
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, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient2 haste: I cónjure thee but slowly; run more fast.
SCENE III. The same. Before the castle. Enter Arthur, on the walls.
Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not
K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life: And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect.1
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt hea-
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind: But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspéct, Finding thee fit for bloody villany, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hub. My lord,
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or
When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, As bid me tell my tale in express words; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin;
(1) Deliberate consideration. (2) Observed.
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 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 bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, And you have slander'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, haste thee to
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, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient2 haste : I cónjure thee but slowly; run more fast.
SCENE 111.-The same. Before the castle. Enter Arthur, on the walls.
Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down:
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 my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away: As good to die, and go, as die, and stay.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's-
It is our safety, and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time.
Pem. 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 general than these lines import. Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward: for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd2 lords!
'The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honours, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks: Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think,
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now.
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