ACT FOURTH.

Scene I.

A room in a castle.

Enter Hubert and Executioners.

Hub. 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 Exec. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to 't.

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

Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Good morrow, little prince.

ΙΟ

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.

Arth.

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:

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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. Hub. [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.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,

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That I might sit all night and watch with you: I warrant I love you more than you do me. Hub. [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?

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.

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Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache
I knit my handkercher 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?'

Hub.

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.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. 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,

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I would not have believed him,-no tongue but

Hubert's.

Hub. Come forth.

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[Stamps.

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

Do as I bid you do.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.