The Life and Death of King John Read Online

By my christendom,

So I were out of prison and kept sheep,

I should be as 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 was Geffrey's son?

No indeed is't not; and I would to heaven

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

HUB [Aside.]

If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;

Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.

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 do me.

HUB [Aside.]

His words do take possession of my bosom. –

Read here, young Arthur.

[Showing a paper.]

[Aside.]

How now, foolish rheum?

Turning dispiteous 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 hot 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 ache,

I knit my handkercher 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 cheer'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 son would have lien 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 heaven be pleas'd that you must 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 [his] 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 hammer'd iron?

And if an angel should have come to me

And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,

I would not have believ'd him – no tongue but Hubert's.

HUB.

Come forth.

[Stamps.]

[Enter Executioners with a cord, irons, etc.]

Do as I bid you do.

ARTH.

O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out

Even 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 heaven 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 winch, nor speak a word,

Nor look upon the iron angerly.

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

What ever torment you do put me to.

HUB.

Go stand within; let me alone with him.

[1.] EXEC.

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

[Exeunt Executioners.]

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.

O 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 vild 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. 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 extremes. See else yourself,

There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,

And strew'd 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 compell'd to fight,

Snatch at his master that doth 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 eye

For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.

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 disguis'd.

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 heaven! I thank you, Hubert.

HUB.

Silence, no more. Go closely in with me;

Much danger do I undergo for thee.

Exeunt.

Scene II

Enter [King] John, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lords.

K. JOHN.

Here once again we sit; once [again] crown'd,

And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

PEM.

This ›once again‹ (but that your Highness pleas'd)

Was once superfluous. You were crown'd before,

And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off;

The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;

Fresh expectation troubled not the land

With any long'd-for change or better state.

SAL.

Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,

To guard a title that was rich before,

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,

To throw a perfume on the violet,

To smooth the ice, or add another hue

Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,

Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

PEM.

But that your royal pleasure must be done,

This act is as an ancient tale new told,

And, in the last repeating, troublesome,

Being urged at a time unseasonable.

SAL.

In this the antique and well-noted face

Of plain old form is much disfigured,

And like a shifted wind unto a sail,

It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,

Startles and frights consideration,

Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,

For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

PEM.

When workmen strive to do better than well,

They do confound their skill in covetousness,

And oftentimes excusing of a fault

Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse:

As patches set upon a little breach

Discredit more in hiding of the fault

Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

SAL.

To this effect, before you were new crown'd,

We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness

To overbear it, and we are all well pleas'd,

Since all and every part of what we would

Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.

K. JOHN.

Some reasons of this double coronation

I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;

And more, more strong than lesser is my fear,

I shall indue you with. Mean time but ask

What you would have reform'd that is not well,

And well shall you perceive how willingly

I will both hear and grant you your requests.

PEM.

Then I, as one that am the tongue of these

To sound the purposes of all their hearts,

Both for myself and them – but, chief of all,

Your safety, for the which myself and them

Bend their best studies – heartily request

Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint

Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent

To break into this dangerous argument:

If what in rest you have in right you hold,

Why then your fears, which (as they say) attend

The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up

Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days

With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth

The rich advantage of good exercise.

That the time's enemies may not have this

To grace occasions, let it be our suit

That you have bid us ask his liberty,

Which for our goods we do no further ask

Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,

Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

Enter Hubert.

K. JOHN.

Let it be so; I do commit his youth

To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?

[Taking him aside.]

PEM.

This is the man should do the bloody deed;

He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine.

The image of a wicked heinous fault

Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his

[Doth] show the mood of a much troubled breast,

And I do fearfully believe 'tis done,

What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

SAL.

The color of the King doth come and go

Between his purpose and his conscience,

Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set:

His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.

PEM.

And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence

The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

K. JOHN.

We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.

Good lords, although my will to give is living,

The suit which you demand is gone and dead.

He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.

SAL.

Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure.

PEM.

Indeed we heard how near his death he was

Before the child himself felt he was sick.

This must be answer'd either here or hence.

K. JOHN.

Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?

Think you I bear the shears of destiny?

Have I commandement on the pulse of life?

SAL.

It is apparent foul play, and 'tis shame

That greatness should so grossly offer it.

So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.

PEM.

Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee,

And find th' inheritance of this poor child,

His little kingdom of a forced grave.

That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle,

Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while!

This must not be thus borne. This will break out

To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.

Exeunt [Lords].

K. JOHN.

They burn in indignation. I repent.

Enter Messenger.

There is no sure foundation set on blood;

No certain life achiev'd by others' death.

A fearful eye thou hast. Where is that blood

That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?

So foul a sky clears not without a storm,

Pour down thy weather. How goes all in France?

MESS.

From France to England. Never such a pow'r

For any foreign preparation

Was levied in the body of a land.

The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;

For when you should be told they do prepare,

The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.

K.