King John (The Unabridged Play) + The Classic Biography: The Life of William Shakespeare (eBook)

SCENE 1. Northampton. A Room in the Castle.

[Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.]

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 ATTENDANT.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
HUBERT.
Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to’t.—
[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.]

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 tide
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 despatch.
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 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 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 pleas’d 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 believ’d him,—no tongue but Hubert’s.
HUBERT.
[Stamps.] Come forth.
[Re-enter Attendants, with cords, 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 boist’rous 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 ATTENDANT.
I am best pleas’d to be from such a deed.
[Exeunt Attendants.]

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 troth, 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 us’d
In undeserv’d extremes: see else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strew’d repentant 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 I am 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 2.The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

[Enter KING JOHN, crowned, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS.
The KING takes his State.]
KING JOHN.
Here once again we sit, once again crown’d,
And look’d upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
PEMBROKE.
This once again, but that your highness pleas’d,
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,
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...