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King John Scenes

Scene 1

Northampton. A room in the castle.

(Hubert; Executioners; Arthur)

Hubert is about to keep his promise to John by burning out Arthur’s eyes. However, he has become fond of the boy, who loves him dearly, and Arthur’s pleas leave him unable to go through with his plan. He resolves to tell the King that the boy has died. (145 lines)

Enter Hubert and Executioners.


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.


I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.


Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to’t.

Exeunt Executioners.

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter Arthur.


Good morrow, Hubert.


Good morrow, little prince.


As little prince, having so great a title

To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.


Indeed I have been merrier.


Mercy on me!

Methinks nobody 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 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.



If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;

Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.


Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale today.

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.



His words do take possession of my bosom.—

Read here, young Arthur.

Showing a paper.


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?


Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?


Young boy, I must.


And will you?


And I will.


Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,

I knit my handkercher 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?”

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, and if you will;

If heaven be pleas’d 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?


I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.


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?

And 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.


Come forth.


Enter Executioners with a cord, irons, etc.

Do as I bid you do.


O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.


Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.


Alas, what need you be so boist’rous-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 winch, nor speak a word,

Nor look upon the iron angerly.

Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you,

What ever torment you do put me to.


Go stand within; let me alone with him.


I am best pleas’d to be from such a deed.

Exeunt Executioners.


Alas, I then have chid away my friend!

He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart.

Let him come back, that his compassion may

Give life to yours.


Come, boy, prepare yourself.


Is there no remedy?


None, but to lose your eyes.


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 boisterous there,

Your vild intent must needs seem horrible.


Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.


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.


I can heat it, boy.


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.


But with my breath I can revive it, boy.


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 extends,

Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.


Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye

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.


O now you look like Hubert! All this while

You were disguis’d.


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.


O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.


Silence, no more. Go closely in with me;

Much danger do I undergo for thee.



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