Arthur.
The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.
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 disguis'd 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.
Oh me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:
Heav'n take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Essex.

Sal.
Lords, I will meet him at St. Edmondsbur
It is our safety; and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pemb.
Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

Sal.
Chatillion, a noble lord of France,
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love,
Is much more gen'ral than these lines import.

Essex.
To-morrow morning let us meet him, then.

Sal.
Or rather then set forward, for 'twill be
Two long days journey, lords, or ere we meet. Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc.
Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords;
The King by me requests your presence strait.

Sal.
The King hath dispossest himself of us;
We will not attend the foot,
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks.
Return, and tell him so: we know the worst.

Faulc.
Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.

Sal.
Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

Faulc.
But there is little reason in your grief,
Therefore 'twere reason, you had manners now.

Pemb.
Sir, Sir, impatience hath its privilege.

Faulc.
'Tis true, to hurt its master, no man else.

Sal.
This is the prison: what is he lies here? [Seeing Arthur.

Pemb.
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.

Essex.
Or, when he doom'd this beauty to the grave,
Found it too precious princely for a grave.

Sal.
'Tis the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pemb.
All murders past do stand excus'd in this;
And this so sole, and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet unbegotten sins of time;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Faulc.
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 this 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 hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pemb. Essex.
Our souls religiously confirm thy words. Enter Hubert.

Hub.
Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you:
Arthur doth live, the king hath sent for you.

Sal.
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Hub.
I am no villain.

Sal.
Must I rob the law? [Drawing his Sword.

Faulc.
Your sword is bright, Sir; put it up again.

Sal.
Not till I sheath it in a murd'rer's skin.

Hub.
Put up, lord Salisbury, put up, I say;
By heav'n, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours.
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Essex.
Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a Nobleman?

Hub.
Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an Emperor.

Sal.
Thou art a murd'rer.

Hub.
Do not prove me so;
Yet, I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks: who speaks not truly, lies.

Pemb.
Cut him to pieces.

Faulc.
Keep the peace, I say.

Sal.
Stand by, or I shall gaul you, Faulconbridge.

Faulc.
Thou were better gaul 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.

Essex.
What will you do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer?

Hub.
Lord Essex, I am none.

Essex.
Who kill'd this Prince?

Hub.
'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd 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 villainy is not without such rheum;
Away with me all you whose souls abhor
Th' uncleanly savour of a slaughter-house,
For I am stifled with the smell of sin.

Essex.
Away tow'rd Bury, to the Dauphin there.

Pemb.
There, tell the king, he may enquire us out. [Exeunt Lords.

Faulc.
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 damn'd, Hubert.

Hub.
Do but hear me, Sir.

Faulc.
Ha? I'll tell thee what,
Thou'rt damn'd so black—nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn'd 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—

Faulc.
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 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,
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Faulc.
Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way,
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.
Now pow'rs from home, and discontents at home,
Meet in one line: and vast confusion waits
(As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed; I'll to the King;
A thousand businesses are brief at hand,
And heav'n itself doth frown upon the land. [Exeunt* ^note.

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