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? Arth. Hub. And will you? And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my hand-kercher 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; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief you will: If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, Why, then you must,-Will you put out mine eyes? 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! Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 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 ? An 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- Re-enter Attendants, with Cords, Irons, &c. 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. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, [Stamps. Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; Give life to yours. Hub. [Exeunt Attendants. Come, boy, prepare yourself. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. 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 boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes; 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. 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 : And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 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. 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? Old men, and beldames, in the streets Do prophesy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist; 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 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 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Exeunt. Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 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: And didst in signs again parley with sin; Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 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, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Between my conscience and my cousin's death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, The dreadful motion of a murtherous thought; 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 ! SCENE IV.-Enter Arthur, on the Walls. 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, Exeunt. 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 overcome; but he would not have left that complete and overwhelming impression of the reality of his scenes, he could not have produced our implicit belief in the sad story, as he tells it, of Arthur of Brittany, -he could not have rendered it impossible for any one to recur to that story, who has read this Act of 'King John,' and not think of the dark prison where the iron was hot and the executioner ready, but where nature, speaking in words such as none but the greatest poet of nature could have furnished, made the fire and the iron "deny their office," and the executioner leave the poor boy, for a while, to "sleep doubtless and secure." Fortunate is it that we have no records to hold up which should say that Shakspere built this immortal scene upon a rotten foundation. The story, as told by Holinshed, is deeply interesting; and we cannot read it without feeling how skilfully the poet has followed it : "It is said that King John caused his nephew Arthur to be brought before him at Falaise, and there went about to persuade him all that he could to forsake his friendship and alliance with the French king, and to lean and stick to him his natural uncle. But Arthur, like one that wanted good counsel, and abounding too much in his own wilful opinion, made a presumptuous answer, not only denying so to do, but also commanding King John to restore unto him the realms of England, with all those other lands and possessions which King Richard had in his hand at the hour of his death. For sith the same appertaineth to him by right of inheritance, he assured him, except restitution were made the sooner, he should not long continue quiet. King John, being sore moved by such words thus uttered by his nephew, appointed (as before is said) that he should be strictly kept in prison, as first in Falaise, and after at Roan, within the new castle there. |