SCENE I.England.A castle
Enter HUBERT and Executioners HUBERT 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.First Executioner I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.HUBERT Uncleanly scruples!fear not you:look to't.
Exeunt Executioners Young lad,come forth;I have to say with you.
Enter ARTHUR ARTHUR Good morrow,Hubert.HUBERT Good morrow,little prince.ARTHUR As little prince,having so great a title To be more prince,as may be.You are sad.HUBERT Indeed,I have been merrier.ARTHUR 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 Geffrey's son?
No,indeed,is't not;and I would to heaven I were your son,so you would love me,Hubert.HUBERT [Aside]If I talk to him,with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.ARTHUR 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.HUBERT [Aside]His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here,young Arthur.
Showing a paper Aside 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?ARTHUR Too fairly,Hubert,for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?HUBERT Young boy,I must.ARTHUR And will you?HUBERT And I will.ARTHUR Have you the heart?When your head did but ache,I knit my handercher 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 cheer'd up the heavy time,Saying,'What lack you?'and 'Where lies your grief?'