K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well; had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.I will not keep this form upon my head,

[Tearing off her head-dress.

When there is such disorder in my wit.
O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!

My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure!

[Exit.

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.

Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me joy; Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;

And bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet world's1 taste,
That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,
Even in the instant of repair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil.
What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.
No, no; when fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange, to think how much king John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won.
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit;

1 The old copy reads word's. The alteration was made by Pope. Malone thinks that it is unnecessary; and that by the sweet word, life is meant. Steevens prefers Pope's emendation.

For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead

Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark.
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A sceptre, snatched with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintained as gained;
And he that stands upon a slippery place,
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch, your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old world! John lays you plots; the times conspire with you; For he that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ; That none so small advantage shall step forth, To check his reign, but they will cherish it; No natural exhalation in the sky, No scape of nature, no distempered day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, presages, and tongues of Heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,

1 "John lays you plots." A similar phrase occurs in the First Part of King Henry VI.:

"He writes, me here."

2 The old copy reads scope. The emendation is Pope's.

If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks I see this hurly' all on foot;
And, O, what better matter breeds for you,
Than I have named!-The bastard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity. If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call 2
To train ten thousand English to their side;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,

Anon becomes a mountain. O, noble dauphin,
Go with me to the king. 'Tis wonderful,
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their souls are topfull of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the king.

If

3

Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions. Let

us go;

you say, ay, the king will not say, no.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Northampton. A Room in the Castle.

Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.

Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand

1 Hurly is tumult.

2 The image is taken from the manner in which birds are sometimes caught; one being placed for the purpose of drawing others to the net by his note or call.

3 The first folio reads strange; the second folio strong.

4 There is no circumstance, either in the original play or in this of

Within the arras.1 When I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair. Be heedful: hence, and watch. 1 Atten. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

to't.

Hub, Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look [Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter ARTHUr.

Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Mercy on me!

Arth.
Methinks nobody should be sad but I;
Yet I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him.

2

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to Heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Shakspeare, to point out the particular castle in which Arthur is supposed to be confined. The castle of Northampton has been mentioned, merely because, in the first act, king John seems to have been in that town. It has already been stated that Arthur was in fact confined at Falaise, and afterwards at Rouen, where he was put to death.

1 Tapestry.

2 i. e. by my baptism. The use of this word for christening or baptism is not peculiar to Shakspeare; it was common in his time. Hearne has published a Prone from a MS. of Henry the Seventh's time, in the glossary to Robert of Gloucester, in a note on the word midewinter, by which it appears that it was the ancient orthography. "The childer ryzt schape & chrystyndome." It is also used by Lyly, Fanshaw, Harington, and Fairfaxe.

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead. Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.

[Aside.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day:

In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night, and watch with you.

I warrant I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum! [Aside.

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes, in tender, womanish tears
Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth.

Hub

And will you?

And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did

but ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,

(The best I had; a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again;

And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered 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 son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But
you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning; do, an if you will;

If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,

So much as frown on you?

Hub.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.