Enter HUBERT and Two Attendants. 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. 1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hab. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look to 't.[Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter ARTHUR.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub.

Mercy on me!

Good morrow, little prince. 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. Methinks, nobody 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

a Christendom. Arthur prettily asseverates by the baptismal office-by his christening. The word is used in this sense in "All's Well that Ends Well;" and it is found in Gower:

"A light, as though it was a sonne
From heaven, into the place come,
Where that he toke his christendome."
HISTORIES.-VOL. I. E

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.
Huh. If I talk to him. with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.

(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 lain 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 will: If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes?

you

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?

Hub.
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,
I would not have believ'd him. No tongue but
Hubert's-

a Heat, used as a participle, as in our translation of the Bible: " He commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heat."(DANIEL.)

b I would not have believ'd him. So the reading of the original. In some modern editions we have

"I would not have believ'd no tongue but Hubert's." The double negative is quite justifiable here; but the rejection of him weakens the line; and, as usual, may be traced to the ear of Steevens, which regarded what he called a redundant syllable as a foul weed in the garden of poetry. As Shakspere made abundant work for his unsparing hoe. we have pointed the passage, Arthur begins a fresh sentence, which is interrupted by Hubert stamping. He is about to say, "No tongue but Hubert's" would have made me be

lieve it.

a

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.

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my

Hub.

I can heat it, boy. Arth. 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.

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And 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.

Hab. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine

eyes

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.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this
while

You were disguised.

Hub. 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.

Arth. O heaven!--I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with

me.

Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-The same. A Room of State in

the Palace.

Enter KING JOIN, crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other Lords. The King takes his State.

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,

And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pem. 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.

Sal. 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

Tarre. Tooke derives this from a Saxon word, meaning

to exasperate. Others think that it has only reference to the custom of exciting terriers-larriers.

b Guard a title. The guard is the border or edging of a garment-the boundary-the defence against injury. The manner in which Shakspere uses the word in Love's Labour's Lost explains it here:

"Oh, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose." The edgings were generally ornamented, and became smart trimmings. In the passage before us the same meaning is preserved.

"To guard a title that was rich before.'

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.

Pem. 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.

Sul. 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.

Pem. 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.

Sal. To this effect, before you were newcrown'd,

We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your highness

To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd, Since all and every part of what we would, Doth make a stand at what your highness will. K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation

I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;

And more, more strong (when 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.
Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of
these,

To sound the purposes 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
Th' 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,

a When lesser is my fear. The folio reads, "then lesser is my fear."

b If what in rest you have. Steevens would read wrest, -violence. This is pure nonsense. But neither does rest mean quiet, as Malone, Douce, and others agree. The whole scene shews that John did not hold his power in perfect tranquillity. Rest is, we take it, here employed to mean a fixed position. To "set up a rest" is a term with which every reader of our old dramatic poets must be

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.
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 shew'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 shew 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.

and

go,

Sal. The colour of the king doth come
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.

Sul. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past

cure.

Pem. Indeed we heard how near his death

he was,

Before the child himself felt he was sick :
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence.
K. John. Why do you bend such solemn
brows on me?

familiar. Some have thought that the expression was derived from the manner of fixing the harquebuss-a gun so heavy that the soldier, taking up his position, fixed a rest in the ground to enable him to level his piece. But, from a number of examples given by Reed in his edition of Dodsley's Old Plays, we find the same expression constantly used in the game of Primero, in which game, as far as we may judge, the term seems to imply that the player, at a particular point of the game, makes a decided stand upon the chances he fancies he has secured. In a tale told of Henry VIII. (quoted by Reed), we have "The King, 55 eldest hand, sets up all rests, and discarded flush." The king was satisfied with his position, and "threw his 55 on the board open, with great laughter, supposing the game (as it was) in a manner sure." The analogy in the speech of Pembroke is pretty close:

"If what in rest you have in right you hold."

Think you I bear the shears of destiny ?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?

Sul. 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.

Enter a Messenger.

A fearful eye thou hast. Where is that blood,
That I have seen inhabit in those checks?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
Pour down thy weather:-How goes all in
France ?

Mess. From France to England.-Never such a power

For any foreign preparation,

Was levied in the body of a land!

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 oc

casion!

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

men,

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.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst
thou so?

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.

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were
seen to-night:

Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about
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

a

Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me
with these fears?
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

provoke me?

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be

attended

By slaves that take their humours for a warrant

a Contrary feel. In the Two Gentlemen of Verona we have given a short note on the right and left shoe. The fashion of Shakspere's time is now well understood through a similar fashion in our own;-but half a century ago this passage was adjudged to be one of the many proofs of Shakspere's ignorance or carelessness. Johnson says, with ludicrous solemnity, "Shakspere seems to have confounded the man's shoes with his gloves. He that is frighted or hurried may put his hand into the wrong glove, but either shoe will equally admit either foot. The author seems to be disturbed by the disorder which he describes." b None had. The original gives "no had." Rowe's reading is had none. Dyce and White retain no had.