Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient1 haste:
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.2

SCENE III. The same. Before the Castle.

Enter ARTHUR, on the walls.

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down.3—
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!—
There's few, or none, do know me; if they did,
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite.
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.

If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die, and go, as die, and stay.

[Leaps down.

O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.

[Dies.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's

Bury;

It is our safety, and we must embrace

This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pem. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

1 Expeditious.

2 The old play of The Troublesome Raigne of King John, is divided into two parts; the first of which concludes with the king's despatch of Hubert on this message; the second begins with Enter Arthur, &c., as in the following scene.

3 Shakspeare has followed the old play. In what manner Arthur was deprived of his life is not ascertained. Matthew Paris, relating the event, uses the word evanuit; and it appears to have been conducted with impenetrable secrecy. The French historians say that John, coming in a boat during the night to the castle of Rouen, where the young prince was confined, stabbed him while supplicating for mercy, fastened a stone to the body, and threw it into the Seine, in order to give some color to a report, which he caused to be spread, that the prince, attempting to escape out of a window, fell into the river, and was drowned.

Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ;
Whose private with me,1 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 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er2 we meet.
Enter the Bastard.

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distempered3 lords!
The king, by me, requests your presence straight.
Sal. The king hath dispossessed himself of us;
We will not line his thin, bestained cloak
With our pure honors, 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.

4

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason1 now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. 'Tis 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. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.

Big. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have

held,

Have you be

Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?

1 Private account.

2 The use of or for ere, before, is at least as old as Chaucer's time. Ere ever, or ever, or ere, is, in modern English, sooner than at any time; before ever; and this is the sense in which Shakspeare and our elder writers constantly use the phrase.

3 i. e. ruffled, out of humor.

4 To reason, in Shakspeare, is not so often to argue as to talk.

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 murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pem. All murders past do stand excused in this; And this, so sole, and so unmatchable,

Shall give a holiness, a purity,

To the yet unbegotten sins of time,1

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 head,2
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

1 The old copy reads sin of times. The emendation is Pope's.

2 The old copy reads, "Till I have set a glory to this hand." This is a copy of the vows made in the ages of superstition and chivalry. Pope thought that we should read "a glory to this head," pointing to the head of the dead prince, and using worship in its common acceptation. A glory is a circle of rays, such as is represented surrounding the heads of saints and other holy persons. The solemn confirmation of the other lords seems to require this sense. Gray, the poet (says Dr. Farmer), was much pleased with this correction. The old reading has been explained, "till I have famed and renowned my own hand by giving it the honor of revenge for so foul a deed.".

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 murderer'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 true1 defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget

Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a noble

man ?

Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend

My innocent life against an emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Hub.

Do not prove me so;

Yet I am none :2 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 shall think the devil is come from hell.

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Second a villain, and a murderer?

1 Honest defence, defence in a good cause.

2 i. e. as yet I am none. Hubert means to say, "Do not prove me a murderer, by obliging me to take your life in defending my own.'

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.

Big.

Who killed this prince? Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well.

I honored him, I loved 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 villany 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 savors 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 work?

Beyond the infinite and boundless reach

Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,

Art thou damned, Hubert.

Hub.

Do but hear me, sir.

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;

Thou art damned as black-nay, nothing is so black; Thou art more deep damned 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 would'st thou drown thyself,

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.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath