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Nor I, my lord. Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother

Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow.

Var., Clau. It shall be done, my lord.

Wishlook thou stand mese irons hot; and


That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good

night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake

thee: If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instru.

ment: I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good

night. Let me see, let me see:-is not the leaf

turned down, .Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

The Ghost of Cæsar enters. How ill this taper burns !-Ha! who comes

here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes . That shapes this monstrous apparition.. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some ángel, or some

devil, That makest my blood cold, and my hair

to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Bru. Why comest thou?
Ghost. To tell the thou shalt see me at

Bru. Well; then I shall see thee again?

Ay, at Philippi. Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.

[Ghost vanishes. Now I have taken heart thou vanishest: Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with

thee. Boy, Lucius! - Varro! Claudius! sirs,

awake!-Claudius! Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. Bru. He thinks he is still at his instru.

ment. Lucius, awake!

Luc. My lord ?
Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that

thou so criedst out?
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did

cry. Bru. Yes, that thou didst: didst thou

see anything?
Luc. Nothing, my lord.
Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah-

Fellow thou, awake!

My lord?

My lord?
Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in

your sleep?
Var., Clau. Did we, my lord?

Ay: saw you anything?
Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.

HUBERT AND ARTHUR. Northampton. A room in the Castle.

Enter Hubert and two Attendants. Hubert. Heat me these irons hot; and 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. I Attendant. I hope your warrant will

bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you:

look to't. ' (Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with

Enter Arthur.
Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great

a title To be more prince) as may be. -You are

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Mercy on me! 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 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,

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.

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In sooth, I would you were a little sick, | Are you more stubborn-hard than ham. That I might sit all night, and watch with mered iron ?

An if an angel should have come to me, I warrant, I love you more than you do And told me Hubert should put out mine me.

eyes, Hub. (aside). His words do take pos- I would not have believed him,--no tongue session of my bosom.

but Hubert's. Read here, young Arthur.

Hub. (stamps). Come forth ! [Showing a paper. (Aside). How now, foolish rheum !

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. Turning dispiteous torture out of door! Do as I bid you do. I must be brief, lest resolution drop

Arth. Oh! save me, Hubert, save me! Out of mine eyes in tender womanish tears. my eyes are out

men. Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Even with the fierce looks of these bloody Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind effect:

him here. Must you with hot irons burn out both Arth. Alas! what need you be so boismine eyes ?

terous-rough? Hub. Young boy, I must,

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. Arth.

And will you ? | For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be Hub.

And I will. bound! Arth. Have you the heart? When Nay, hear me, Hubert !-drive these men your head did but ache,

away, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; (The best I had, a princess wrought it me) I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, And I did never ask it you again;

Nor look upon the iron angerly: And with my hand at midnight held your Thrust but these men away, and I'll forhead:

give you, And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, | Whatever torment you do put me to. Still and anon cheered up the heavy time, Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone Saying, “What lack you ?" and, "Where with him. lies your grief ?"

1 Attend. I am best pleased to be from Or, “What good love may I perform for such a deed. (Exeunt Attendants.

Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my Many a poor man's son would have lain friend: still,

He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: And ne'er have spokea loving word to you; Let him come back, that his compassion But you at your sick service had a prince. may Nay, you may think my love was crafty Give life to yours. love,

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. And call it cunning:--do, an if you will: Arth. Is there no remedy? If Heaven be pleased that you must use Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. me ill,

Arth. O Heaven !--that there were but Why, then you must. Will you put out a mote in yours, mine eyes ?

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, These eyes that never did, nor never shall Any anoyance in that precious sense! So much as frown on you?

Then, feeling what small things are bois. I have sworn to do it; terous there, And with hot irons must I burn them out. Your vile attempt must needs seem horrible. Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age Hub. Is this your promise? go to hold would do it!

your tongue. The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace Approaching near these eyes, would drink of tongues my tears,

Must needs want pleading for a pair of And quench this fiery indignation,

eyes: Even in the matter of mine innocence; Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Nay, after that, consume away in rust,

Hubert! But for containing fire to harm mine eye. l Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,

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So I may keep mine eyes. Oh, spare mine

eyes, Though to no use but still to look on

you! Lol by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub.

I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is

dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes: see else your

self; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of Heaven hath blown his

spirit out, And strewed 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 proceed

ings, Hubert: Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your

eyes, And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him


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. Hub. 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. Oh, now you look like Hubert!

all this while You were disguised.

Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu. You uncle must not know but you are

dead; I'll fill these doggéd spies with false re.

ports: And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and se

cure, 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.



The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Henry. It is too late ; the life of all his

blood Is touched corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwell.

ing-house) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke.
Pembroke. His highness yet doth speak,

and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.

[Exit Bigot. Doth he still rage? Pem.

He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he

sung. P. Hen. Oh, vanity of sickness ! fierce

extremes In their continuance will not feel themselves, Death, having preyed upon the outward

parts, Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is

now Against the mind, the which he pricks and

wounds With many legions of strange fantasies, Which in their throng and press to that last

hold Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that

death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own

death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you

are born To set a form upon that indigest, Which he hath left so shapeless and so

rude. Re-enter Bigot, and Attendants who bring

in King John in a chair. K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath

elbow-room ; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust; I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen

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