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 as 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 Geoffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not: And I would to heaven,
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 lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch.

[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:

I warrant, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.Read here, young Arthur. [Showing the paper.] 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.

[Aside.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, 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 cheered 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 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, an if you will:

If heaven be pleased 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 hammered iron?
And if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth. Do, as I bid you do.

[Stamps.

Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.

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 boisterous rough?

I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, here 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 angerly;

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.
I At. I am best pleased 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 compassion may
Give life to yours.

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.

[Exeunt.

Arth. O heaven!—that there were but a mote in yours,

A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile 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 used

In undeserved extremes: See else yourself;

There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed 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 compelled 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 eyes

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 heaven !—I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me;
Much danger do I undergo for thee.

[Exeunt.

I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. I hope you act in this bloody business, by some higher authority than your own cruelty or selfishness. It is necessary that poor men in the service of arbitrary princes, should act their wicked wills. If you do as you are commanded, you are not so guilty as if you devised of your own heart such horrible deeds; but if you do this without some such justification—dread the punishment due to your cruelty. All this is implied in this passage.

Heat.—Heated is the modern participle. "The participle heat, though now obsolete, was in use in our author's time. So in the sacred writings: 'He commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heal.' Dan. iii. 19."

Tarre. To stimulate, to set on.

Scene III. Arthur on the castle wall.

Arth. 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 disguised 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.

Oh me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :—
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigod.

Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthur.

Pem. 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.

Big. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave,

Found it too precious princely for a grave.

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,

Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?

Or do you almost think, although you see,

That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is 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-eyed wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pem. All murders past do stand excused in this.-
It is 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 his 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 head,

By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

Revenge, to a certain extent, is the love of justice. It has been shown in the brief sketch which was given of the origin and principal objects of Chivalry, that its purpose was not only to defend innocence, but to punish those who should injure the weak and unprotected. The knights of that age not only made a vow to serve God and the interests of humanity, when they were initiated, but, on setting out upon a special enterprise, solemnly devoted themselves to the work before them.—In conformity to this practice, Salisbury kneels beside the dead body of Arthur, and vows never to take pleasure or rest till he has punished the wretches who wrought his death.

HENRY IV.

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, surnamed Bolingbroke, was son of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward III., king of England. Richard II. was the predecessor of Henry IV. Richard was the rightful king, but he had no talent for government, and during his reign all England was in a state of confusion and civil warfare. In consequence of his mis-government,