A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering 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.
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 extend,

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 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 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.

SCENE III.-JOHN and HUBERT.

[Exeunt.

Hub. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night; Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about

The other four in wondrous motion.

K. John. Five moons?

Hub.

Old men, and beldames, 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;
While 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 embattled 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 murther'd him : I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou had'st none to kill him.

Hub. None had, 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.

Hub. 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 ill deeds done! Hadst thou not 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 villainy,
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.

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,

As 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.

*

LL

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 fleshy 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 murtherous 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 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 feature; 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.

SCENE IV. Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.

[Exeunt.

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 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.

[Leaps down.

O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones :-
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies.

Shakspere's Arthur.

From the "National Shakspere."

C. KNIGHT.

It is unquestionably to be deplored that the greatest writers of imagination have sometimes embodied events not only unsupported by the facts of history, but utterly opposed to them. We are not speaking of those deviations from the actual succession of events, those omissions of minor particulars,-those groupings of characters who were really never brought together,—which the poet knowingly abandons himself to, that he may accomplish the great purposes of his art, the first of which, in a drama especially, is unity of action. Such a license has Shakspere taken in "King John;" and who can doubt that, poetically, he was right? But there is a limit even to the mastery of the poet, when he is dealing with the broad truths of history; for the poetical truth would be destroyed if the historical truth were utterly disregarded. For example, if the grand scenes between Arthur and Hubert, and between Hubert and John, were entirely contradicted by the truth of history, there would be an abatement even of the irresistible power of these matchless scenes. Had the proper historians led us to believe that no attempt was made to deprive Arthur of his sight-that his death was not the result of the dark suspicions and cowardly fears of his uncle-that the manner of his death was so clear that he who held him captive was absolved from all suspicion of treachery, then the poet would indeed have left an impression on the mind which even the historical truth could with difficulty have