ページの画像
PDF
ePub

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
will:

you

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?

H.

I have sworn to do it,

And with hot irons I must burn them out.

A. 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 my innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm my eye.

Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me

And told me, Hubert should put out thine eyes,

I would not have believed him; no tongue but Hubert's, H. Come forth. (Stamps.)

Enter Attendants with cords and irons.

Do as you are bid.

A. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me; my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

H. Give me the irons, I say, and bind him here.
A. 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, 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 angerly:

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you may put me to.

H. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
Attendant. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
[Exeunt Attendants.

A. 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.

H. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
A. Is there no remedy?
H. None, but to lose your eyes.

A. Oh 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 vile intent must needs seem horrible.

H. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.
A. 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!
Oh, Hubert! if you will, cut out my tongue,
So I may keep mine eyes; oh, spare my eyes;
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me.

H. I can heat it, boy.

A. 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 strew'd repentant ashes on his head.

H. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
A. And if you do, you will 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.

H. 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.

A. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised.

H. Peace, no more.

Adieu.

III.

Hubert. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night: Four fix'd, and the fifth did whirl about

The other four, in wondrous motion.
King John. Five moons?

H. Old men and beldams in the streets

Do prophesy upon it dangerously.

Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;

And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers (which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet),
Told of a many thousand warlike French
That were embattail'd and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer

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 murder'd him: I had mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

H. 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 within the bloody house of life;

And, on the winking of authority,

To understand a law; to know the meaning

Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns

More upon humour than advis'd respect.

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

K. John. O when the last account 'twixt heaven 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

Makes deeds ill done! Had'st thou not been by,—

A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,

Quoted', and sign'd to do a deed of shame,—

This murder 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,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

1 Quoted, marked out.

H. My lord

K.John. Had'st 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,

And 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, didst 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
Even at my gates with ranks of foreign powers;
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,

This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reign

Between my conscience and my cousin's death.
H. 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, however rude exteriorly,

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind

Than to be butcher of an innocent 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 features; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood

Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient haste;
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

IV.

Enter ARTHUR, on the walls.

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.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:

[Leaps down.

Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.

RICHARD II.

A room in Ely House.

John of Gaunt on a couch, the Duke of York and others standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstay'd youth?

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

G. Oh but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony:

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listen'd more

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before;
The setting sun and music at the close,

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;
Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

Y. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
As praises of his state: then there are found
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen;
Report of fashions in proud Italy,

Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after in lax imitation.

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So be it new, there's no respect how vile)
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will' doth mutiny with wit's regard.

1 When the will rebels against the decision of good sense.

« 前へ次へ »