Hub.
My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night:
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four, in wond'rous motion.

K. John.
Five moons?

Hub.
Old men and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesie upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths,
&plquo;And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
&plquo;And whisper one another in the ear.
&plquo;And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
&plquo;Whilst he that hears makes fearful action
&plquo;With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
&plquo;I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
&plquo;The whilst his iron did on th' anvil cool,
&plquo;With open mouth swallowing a taylor's news;
&plquo;Who with his shears and measure in his hand,
&plquo;Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
&plquo;Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
&plquo;Told of a many thousand warlike French,
&plquo;That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent.
&plquo;Another lean, unwash'd artificer,
&plquo;Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

K. John.
Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murther'd him: I had a cause
To wish him dead, but thou had'st none to kill him.

Hub.
Had none, my lord? why, did you not provoke me?

K. John.
It is the curse of Kings, to be attended
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant,
To break into the bloody house of life:
And on the winking of authority
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dang'rous majesty, when perchance it frowns
More upon humour, than advis'd respect.

Hub.
Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

K. John.
Oh, when the last account 'twixt heav'n and earth

Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Make deeds ill done? for hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
This murther had not come into my mind.
But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death.
And thou, to be endeared to a King,
Mad'st it no conscience to destroy a Prince.

Hub.
My lord—

K. John.
Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause
When I spake darkly what I purposed:
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
Or bid me tell my tale in express words;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
But thou didst understand me by my signs,
And didst in signs again parley with sin;
Yea, without stop did'st let thy heart consent,
And consequently thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name—
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me, and my state is brav'd
Ev'n at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs;
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns,
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.

Hub.
Arm you against your other enemies,

I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
Is yet a maiden, and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought.
And you have slander'd nature in my form,
Which howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind,
Than to be butcher of a guiltless child.

K. John.
Doth Arthur live? O haste thee to the peers,
Throw this report on their incensed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience.
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
Oh, answer not, but to my closet bring
The angry lords with all expedient haste.
I conjure thee but slowly: run more fast. [Exeunt.

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