Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

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,

  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 sorrows’ cure!

  Exit

  King Philip

  I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her.

  Exit

  Lewis

  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 spoil’d the sweet world’s taste

  That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.

  Cardinal Pandulph

  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?

  Lewis

  All days of glory, joy and happiness.

  Cardinal Pandulph

  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?

  Lewis

  As heartily as he is glad he hath him.

  Cardinal Pandulph

  Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.

  Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;

  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 snatch’d with an unruly hand

  Must be as boisterously maintain’d as gain’d;

  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.

  Lewis

  But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall?

  Cardinal Pandulph

  You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,

  May then make all the claim that Arthur did.

  Lewis

  And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.

  Cardinal Pandulph

  How green you are 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 cheque his reign, but they will cherish it;

  No natural exhalation in the sky,

  No scope of nature, no distemper’d 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.

  Lewis

  May be he will not touch young Arthur’s life,

  But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

  Cardinal Pandulph

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

  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

  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 topful of offence.

  For England go: I will whet on the king.

  Lewis

  Strong reasons make strong actions: let us go:

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

  Exeunt

  ACT IV

  SCENE I. A ROOM IN A CASTLE.

  Enter Hubert and Executioners

  Hubert

  Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand

  Within the arras: 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.

  First Executioner

  I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

  Hubert

  Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to’t.

  Exeunt Executioners

  Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

  Enter Arthur

  Arthur

  Good morrow, Hubert.

  Hubert

  Good morrow, little prince.

  Arthur

  As little prince, having so great a title

  To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.

  Hubert

  Indeed, I have been merrier.

  Arthur

  Mercy on me!

  Methinks no body 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:

  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.

  Hubert

  [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

  He will awake my mercy which lies dead:

  Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.

  Arthur

  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.

  Hubert

  [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.

  Read here, young Arthur.

  Showing a paper

  Aside

  How now, foolish rheum!

  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
?

  Arthur

  Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:

  Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?

  Hubert

  Young boy, I must.

  Arthur

  And will you?

  Hubert

  And I will.

  Arthur

  Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,

  I knit my handercher 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 cheer’d 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 lien 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.

  Hubert

  I have sworn to do it;

  And with hot irons must I burn them out.

  Arthur

  Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!

  The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,

  Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears

  And quench his fiery indignation

  Even in the matter of mine innocence;

  Nay, after that, consume away in rust

  But for containing fire to harm mine eye.

  Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer’d iron?

  An if an angel should have come to me

  And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,

  I would not have believed him,— no tongue but Hubert’s.

  Hubert

  Come forth.

  Stamps

  Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, & c

  Do as I bid you do.

  Arthur

  O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out

  Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

  Hubert

  Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

  Arthur

  Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?

  I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.

  For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!

  Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,

  And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;

  I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,

  Nor look upon the iron angerly:

  Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you,

  Whatever torment you do put me to.

  Hubert

  Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

  First Executioner

  I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

  Exeunt Executioners

  Arthur

  Alas, I then have chid away my friend!

  He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:

  Let him come back, that his compassion may

  Give life to yours.

  Hubert

  Come, boy, prepare yourself.

  Arthur

  Is there no remedy?

  Hubert

  None, but to lose your eyes.

  Arthur

  O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,

  A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,

  Any annoyance in that precious sense!

  Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,

  Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

  Hubert

  Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

  Arthur

  Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues

  Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:

  Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;

  Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,

  So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes.

  Though to no use but still to look on you!

  Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold

  And would not harm me.

  Hubert

  I can heat it, boy.

  Arthur

  No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief,

  Being create for comfort, to be used

  In undeserved extremes: see else yourself;

  There is no malice in this burning coal;

  The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out

  And strew’d repentent ashes on his head.

  Hubert

  But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

  Arthur

  An if you do, you will but make it blush

  And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert:

  Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes;

  And like a dog that is compell’d to fight,

  Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.

  All things that you should use to do me wrong

  Deny their office: only you do lack

  That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,

  Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

  Hubert

  Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye

  For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:

  Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy,

  With this same very iron to burn them out.

  Arthur

  O, now you look like Hubert! all this while

  You were disguised.

  Hubert

  Peace; no more. Adieu.

  Your uncle must not know but you are dead;

  I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports:

  And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,

  That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,

  Will not offend thee.

  Arthur

  O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

  Hubert

  Silence; no more: go closely in with me:

  Much danger do I undergo for thee.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. KING JOHN’S PALACE.

  Enter King John, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lords

  King John

  Here once again we sit, once again crown’d,

  And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

  Pembroke

  This ‘once again,’ but that your highness pleased,

  Was once superfluous: you were crown’d before,

  And that high royalty was ne’er pluck’d off,

  The faiths of men ne’er stained with revolt;

  Fresh expectation troubled not the land

  With any long’d-for change or better state.

  Salisbury

  Therefore, to be possess’d with double pomp,

  To guard a title that was rich before,

  To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,

  To throw a perfume on the violet,

  To smooth the ice, or add another hue

  Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light

  To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,

  Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

  Pembroke

  But that your royal pleasure must be done,

  This act is as an ancient tale new told,

  And in the last repeating troublesome,

  Being urged at a time unseasonable.

  Salisbury

  In this the antique and well noted face

  Of plain old form is much disfigured;

  And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,

  It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,

  Startles and frights consideration,

  Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected,

&
nbsp; For putting on so new a fashion’d robe.

  Pembroke

  When workmen strive to do better than well,

  They do confound their skill in covetousness;

  And oftentimes excusing of a fault

  Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,

  As patches set upon a little breach

  Discredit more in hiding of the fault

  Than did the fault before it was so patch’d.

  Salisbury

  To this effect, before you were new crown’d,

  We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness

  To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,

  Since all and every part of what we would

  Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

  King John

  Some reasons of this double coronation

  I have possess’d you with and think them strong;

  And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear,

  I shall indue you with: meantime but ask

  What you would have reform’d that is not well,

  And well shall you perceive how willingly

  I will both hear and grant you your requests.

  Pembroke

  Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,

  To sound the purpose of all their hearts,

  Both for myself and them, but, chief of all,

  Your safety, for the which myself and them

  Bend their best studies, heartily request

  The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint

  Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent

  To break into this dangerous argument,—

  If what in rest you have in right you hold,

  Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend

  The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up

  Your tender kinsman and to choke his days

  With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth

  The rich advantage of good exercise?

  That the time’s enemies may not have this

  To grace occasions, let it be our suit

  That you have bid us ask his liberty;

  Which for our goods we do no further ask

  Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,

  Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

  Enter Hubert

  King John

  Let it be so: I do commit his youth

  To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?

  Taking him apart

  Pembroke

  This is the man should do the bloody deed;

  He show’d his warrant to a friend of mine:

  The image of a wicked heinous fault

  Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his

  Does show the mood of a much troubled breast;

  And I do fearfully believe ’tis done,

  What we so fear’d he had a charge to do.

  Salisbury

  The colour of the king doth come and go

  Between his purpose and his conscience,

  Like heralds ’twixt two dreadful battles set: