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And kifs the lips of unacquainted changes
And pick ftrong matter of revolt and wrath,
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I fee this hurly all on foot;
And Q, what better matter breeds for you
Than I have nam'd!- The baftard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ranfacking the church,
Offending charity. If but twelve French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thoufand English to their fide;
* Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. Noble Dauphin
Go with me to the King: 'tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their fouls are top-full of offence,
For England go; I will whet on the King.


Lewis. Strong reafon makes ftrong actions: let us go; you fay ay, the King will not fay no.


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EAT me these irons hot, and, look, thou



Within the arras; when I ftrike my foot
Upon the bofom of the ground, rush forth

4 Or, as a little fnow.] Bacon, in his hiftory of Henry VII. Speaking of Perkin's march, ob

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ferves, that their fnow-ball did not gather as it rolled.


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And bind the boy, which you fhall find with me,
Faft to the chair: Be heedful; hence, and watch.
Exec. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly fcruples! fear not you ; look to't. ̈ ̈
Young lad, come forth; I have to fay with you.

Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having fo great å title To be more Prince) as may be.-You are fad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks, no body should be fad but I
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as fad as night,
Only for wantonnefs. By my christendom,
So were I out of prison, and kept sheep,
I fhould be merry as the day is long:
And fo 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 fón?
Indeed, it is not; and I would to heav'n,
I were your fon, fo 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 fudden, and dispatch.


Arth. Are you fick, Hubert? you look pale to day;.

In footh, I would, you were a little fick
That I might fit all night and watch with you..
Alas, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take poffeffion of my bosom.

Read here, young Arthur

How now, foolish rheum,

[Shewing a paper.



5 Turning difpiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, left refolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for fo foul effect.
Muft you with irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth. And will you?
Hub. And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? when your head did
but ake,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me)
And I did never afk it you again;

And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon chear'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 fon would have lain ftill, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your fick fervice had a Prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, And call it cunning. Do, an if you will: If heav'n be pleas'd that you must muft ufe 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've fworn to do it;

And with hot irons muft I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it. The iron of itself, tho' heat red-hot,

Approaching near thefe eyes, would drink my tears, And quench its fiery indignation,

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Even in the matter of mine innocence :
Nay, after that, confume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.

Are you more stubborn-hard, than hammer'd iron ?
Oh! if an Angel fhould have come to me,

And told me, Hubert fhould put out mine eyes, "I would not have believ'd a tongue, but Hubert's. [Hubert ftamps, and the men enter. Hub. Come forth; do, as I bid you.

Arth. O fave me, Hubert, fave me! my eyes are out, Ev'n with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

Hub. Give me the iron, I fay, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be fo boilt'rous-rough? I will not ftruggle, I will ftand ftone-still.

For heav'n's fake, Hubert, let me not be bound.
Nay, hear me, Hubert-drive these men away,
And I will fit as quiet as a lamb.

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angrily;

Thruft' but these men away, and I'll forgive you,

61 would not have believed a

tongue BUT HUBERT'S.] Thus Mr. Pope found the line in the old editions. According to this reading, it is fuppofed that Hubert had told him, he would not put out his eyes; for the angel who fays he would, is brought in as contradicting Hubert. Mr. Theobald, by what authority I don't know, reads,

I would not have believ'd him:

no tongue, but Hubert's. which is fpoiling the measure, without much mending the fenfe. Shakespeare, I am perfuaded, wrote, I would not have believ'd a

tongue BATE HUBERT; e. abate, difparage. The blunder feems to have arifen thus, bate fignifies except, faving; fo


the tranfcribers, taking it in this fenfe, fubftituted the more ufual word but in its place. My alteration greatly improves the fenfe, as implying a tenderness of affection for Hubert; the common reading, only an opinion of Hu bert's veracity; whereas the point here was to win upon Hubert's paffions, which could not be better done than by fhewing af fection towards him.


I do not fee why the old reading may not ftand, Mr, Theobald's alteration, as we find, injures the measure, and Dr. Warburton's corrupts the language, and neither can be faid much to mend the fenfe.


Whatever torment you do put me to.

Hub. Go, ftand within; let me alone with him.
Exec. I am beft pleas'd to be from such a deed.

Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend;
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart;
Let him come back, that his compaffion may
Give life to yours.

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O heav'n! that there were but a moth in

A grain, a duft, a gnat, a wandring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious fenfe ;


Then, feeling what small things are boiftrous there, Your vile intent must needs feem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promife? go to, hold your tongue.

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Muft 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. O fpare mine eyes! Though to no use, but still to look on you. Lo, by my troth, the inftrument is cold, And would not harm me.

Hub. I can heat it, boy.

Arth. No, in good footh, the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd

In undeferv'd extreams; fee elfe yourself,
There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heav'n hath blown its spirit out,

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