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And bind the boy, which

you

shall find with me, Fast to the chair : be heedful: hence, and watch.

First Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to it.-

(Exeunt Attendants.) Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you.

(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 sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. 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 merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practices more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ?
No indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead :
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. (Aside.)

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day.
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
· That I might sit all night, and watch with you.
I warrant I love you more than you

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now

foolish rheum! (Aside.)
Turning dispiteous torture out the door!
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? Is it not ir 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.

And will you ? Huba And I will.

do me.

at

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache, I knit

my

handkerchief 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 cheered 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 your

sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning : do, an

if
you

wili:
If heaven be pleased that you should 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 ?

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 its 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 hammered iron?
An if an angel should have come to me,
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.)

(Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, fc.) Do as I bid you.

Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of the 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.
For heaven's 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 irons angrily;

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.
First Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.

(Exeunt Attendants.)
Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend :
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :-
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. Oh heaven! that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to, hold your tongue.

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert !
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes; Oh, spare mine eyes,
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, 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 yourself :
There is no malice in this burning coal ;
The breath of heaven hath blown its 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 proceedings, Hubert;
Nay it perchance, will sparkle in your eyes,
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that does 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.

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owns;

Yet I am 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 !
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. Oh heaven !-I thank

you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence: no more. Go closely in with me:
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

SELECTION XXV.

KING EDWARD-WARWICK-SUFFOLK.

- Franklin.

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King Edward. Good Suffolk, for awhile
I would be private ; therefore, wait without;
Let me have no intruders; above all,
Keep Warwick from my sight. (Exit Suffolk. Enter Warwick.)

Warwick. Behold him here;-
No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask
My lord of Suffolk's leave : there was a time
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain
Admission here.

K. Edw. There was a time, perhaps,
When Warwick more desired and more deserved it..

War. Never: I've been a foolish faithful slave :
All my best years, the morning of my life,
Have been devoted to your service: what
Are now the fruits ? disgrace and infamy:
My spotless name, which never yet the breath
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock
For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit
Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded.

K. Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaidi
Your services with honors, wealth, and power
Unlimited: thy all-directing hand
Guided in secret every latent wheel
Of government, and moved the whole machine:
Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward
Stood like a cipher in the great account.

War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee
On England's throne? Thy undistinguished name
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprung,
And moldered in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore,
And stamped it with a diadem. Thou knowest,
This wretched country, doomed, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own self-destroying hand,
Tossed for so many years in the rough sea
Of civil discord, but for me had perished.
In that distressful hour I seized the helm,
Bade the rough wave subside in peace; and steered
Your shattered vessel safe into the harbor.
You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid
Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth,
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe.

K. Edw. Know too, reproach for benefits received
Pays every debt, and cancels obligation.

War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty,
A thrifty saving knowledge; when the debt
Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharged,
A sponge will wipe out all and cost you nothing.

K. Edw. When you have counted o'er the numerous train
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavished on me,
You may remember next the injuries
Which I have done you ; let me know them all,
And I will make you ample satisfaction.

War. Thou canst not; thou hast robbed me of a jewel It is not in thy power to restore : I was the first, shall future annals say, That broke the sacred bonds of public trust And mutual confidence: embassadors, In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name To witness that they want not an example, And plead my guilt to sanctify their own. Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, To be the shameless herald of a lie?

K. Edw. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me? If I have broke my faith, and stained the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels, That urged me to it, and extorted from me A cold consent to what my heart abhorred.

War. I've been abused, insulted, and betrayed ;

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