Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
Many a poor man's son would have lien 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 crafty love And call it cunning:do,an if you will:
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.HUBERT I have sworn to do it;And with hot irons must I burn them out.ARTHUR 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 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 believed him,--no tongue but Hubert's.HUBERT Come forth.
Stamps Re-enter Executioners,with a cord,irons,&c Do as I bid you do.ARTHUR O,save me,Hubert,save me!my eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.HUBERT Give me the iron,I say,and bind him here.ARTHUR Alas,what need you be so boisterous-rough?
I will not struggle,I will stand stone-still.
For heaven 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 do put me to.HUBERT Go,stand within;let me alone with him.First Executioner I am best pleased to be from such a deed.