The American Union Speaker Part 71

BOOK FOURTH.

STANDARD DIALOGUES.

CCCLXXII.

PRINCE ARTHUR OF BRETAGNE.

PRINCE ARTHUR--HUBERT--ATTENDANTS.

HUB. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand Within the arras; when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground rush forth, And bind the boy which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

1 Att. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to it.

[Exeunt Attendants.]

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. [Enter Arth.]

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having so great a t.i.tle To be more prince) as may be.--You are sad.

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methinks n.o.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 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. 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 a paper.] How now, foolish rheum. [Aside.]

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 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 a crafty love, And call it cunning: do, and if you will: If Heaven be pleased that you should 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 its 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?

An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him; no tongue, but Hubert's.

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps.--Reenter Attendants.]

Do as I bid you.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these b.l.o.o.d.y 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, 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 irons angrily.

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.

1 Att. I am best pleased to be away from such a deed.

[Exeunt Attendants.]

Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart.

Let him come back, that his compa.s.sion 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 meandering 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, s.n.a.t.c.h at his master that does 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 owes.

Yet I am 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.

Shakespeare.

CCCLXXIII.

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND Ca.s.sIUS.

Ca.s.sius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in this: You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment.

Bru. Let me tell you, Ca.s.sius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the G.o.ds, this speech were else your last!

Bru. The name of Ca.s.sius honors this corruption, And chastis.e.m.e.nt doth therefore hide his head.

Cas. Chastis.e.m.e.nt!

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember!

Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?