Hubert.
Heat me these irons hot, and look you 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.

Exe.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hub.
Uncleanly scruples! fear not you; look to't.—
Young lad come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur.

Arth.
Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub.
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 no body 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 practises more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
Indeed it is not, and I would to heav'n
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 lyes dead;
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. [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.
Alas, I love you more than you do me.

Hub.
His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur— [Shewing a paper.
How now, foolish rheum, [Aside.
Turning dis-piteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.—
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arth.
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must 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 ask 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 lyes 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, and if you will:
If heav'n be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why then you must—Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, and never shall
So much as frown on you?

Hub.
I've sworn to do it;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.* ^note

Arth.
Oh if an angel should have come to me,
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd a tongue but Hubert's.

Hub.
Come forth; do as I bid you do. [Stamps, and the men enter.

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

Hub.
Give me the iron I say, and bind him here.

Arth.
Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heav'n 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 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.

Exe.
I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exit.

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 your self.

Arth.
Is there no remedy?

Hub.
None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth.
O heav'n! that there were but a moth in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense:
Then feeling what small things are boist'rous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub.
Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.* ^note

Arth.
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 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 us'd
In undeserv'd extreams; see else your self,
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heav'n hath blown its spirit out,
And strew'd repentant ashes on its head.

Hub.
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.* ^note

Arth.
All things that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office; only You do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extend,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub.
Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owns:
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 heav'n! I thank you, Hubert.

Hub.
Silence, no more; go closely in with me.
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.

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