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.

K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth
Enter Hubert.

To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you?
Pem. 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, 't is done
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go,
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
Pem. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence,
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong
hand :-

Good lords, although my will to give is living,
The suit which you demand is gone and dead :
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night.

Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure. Pem. Indeed we heard how near his death he Before the child himself felt he was sick : [was, This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. [me? K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on

Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play; and 't is shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it :
So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.

Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee,
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.

That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold. Bad world the while! This must not be thus borne: this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.

[Exeunt Lords. K. John. They burn in indignation. I repent. There is no sure foundation set on blood; No certain life achiev'd by others' death.

The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
For, when you should be told they do prepare,
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd.

K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?

Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care?
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it? Mess. My liege, her ear
Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died
Your noble mother: And, as I hear, my lord,
The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not.

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
My discontented peers !-What! mother dead?
How wildly then walks my estate in France !-
Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?
Mess. Under the Dauphin.

Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. K. John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings.--Now, what says the world To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff My head with more ill news, for it is full.

Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst, Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.

K. John. Bear with me, cousin; for I was amaz'd Under the tide : but now I breathe again Aloft the flood; and can give audience To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, The sums I have collected shall express. But, as I travelled hither through the land, I find the people strangely fantasied; Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams; Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear: And here's a prophet, that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found With many hundreds treading on his heels; To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, Your highness should deliver up your crown. [so? K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

K. John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; And on that day at noon, whereon, he says,

I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd :
Deliver him to safety, and return,
For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin,
[Exit Hubert, with Peter.
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?
Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths are
full of it:

Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury,
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night
On your suggestion.

K. John.

Gentle kinsman, go, And thrust thyself into their companies : I have a way to win their loves again; Bring them before me.

Bast.

I will seek them out.

K. John. Nay, but make haste: the better foot O, let me have no subject enemies,

[before.

When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels;
And fly, like thought, from them to me again.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
[Exit.

K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentleman.
Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.
Mess.

With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. K. John, My mother dead!

Re-enter Hubert.

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen toFour fixed; and the fifth did whirl about [night : The other four, in wondrous motion. K. John. Five moons? Hub.

Old men, and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously :
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths.
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;

And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste'
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent :
Another lean unwash'd artificer

Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. [fears?
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
Hub. None had, my lord! why, did you not pro-

voke me?

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.

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth

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 ill deeds done! Hadst thou not 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 aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,
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 made When I spake darkly what I purposed,

[a pause,

Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
As bid me tell my tale in express words,
[off,
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;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.
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.

[peers,

K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the 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 expedient haste :

I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The same. Before the Castle.
Enter Arthur, on the Walls.

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund'sIt is our safety, and we must embrace [Bury; 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 't will be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. Enter the Bastard.

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd 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, were best.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 't were reason you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. 'T is true; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here? [Seeing Arthur. Pem. O death, made proud with pure and princely

beauty!

The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murther, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? You have beheld.

Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murther's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pem. All murthers past do stand excus'd in this :
And this so sole, and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be the work of any hand.

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?-
We had a kind of light what would ensue :
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
The practice, and the purpose, of the king
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,

Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

Enter Hubert.

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death :Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! Hub. I am no villain. Sal.

Must I rob the law?

[Drawing his sword. Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;

By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman?
Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murtherer.
Hub.
Do not prove me so;
Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pem. Cut him to pieces.
Bast.
Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury :
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you should think the devil is come from hell.
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain and a murderer ?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big.

Who kill'd this prince? Hub. 'T is not an hour since I left him well: I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villainy is not without such rheum; And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house; For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. [Exeunt Lords.

Bast. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this fair Beyond the infinite and boundless reach [work? Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Art thou damn'd, Hubert. Hub.

Do but hear me, sir.
Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;
Thou 'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell

As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Hub. Upon my soul,-

Bast.

If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be

A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown
Put but a little water in a spoon,

And it shall be, as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.—

I do suspect thee very grievously.

[thyself,

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, Let hell want pains enough to torture me! I left him well. Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.— I am amaz'd, methinks; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world.— How easy dost thou take all England up! From forth this morsel of dead royalty, The life, the right, and truth of all this realm Is fled to heaven; and England now is left To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: Now powers from home, and discontents at home, Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits, As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast, The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, And follow me with speed; I'll to the king: A thousand businesses are brief in hand, And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exe.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King John, Pandulph with the Crown, and Attendants.

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory.

Pand. Take again

[Giving John the Crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the And from his holiness use all your power [French; To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt; Our people quarrel with obedience; Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of mistemper'd humour

Rests by you only to be qualified.

Then pause not; for the present time's so sick,
That present medicine must be minister'd,

Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope :

But, since you are a gentle convertite,

My tongue shall hush again this storm of war,
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Ex.
K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the pro-
Say, that before Ascension-day at noon,
My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
I did suppose it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

[phet

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive?

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the An empty casket, where the jewel of life [streets; By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? Be great in act, as you have been in thought; Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, Govern the motion of a kingly eye: Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviours from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away; and glister like the god of war, When he intendeth to become the field:

Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shail they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said!-Forage, and run
To meet displeasure further from the doors;
And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh.

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with
And I have made a happy peace with him; [me,
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.

Bast.
O inglorious league !
Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms: