8. Beyond the wild, dark-heaving sea,
And ocean's stormy vastness o'er,
There is a better home for me;

A welcomer and dearer shore:

There hands, and hearts, and souls are twined,
And free the man, and free the mind.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

148. FROM THE TRAGEDY' OF KING JOHN.

[King John instigates Hubert to assassinate Arthur Plantagenet, nephew of the king, and rightful heir of the crown of England, usurped by John.]

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,

We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh2

There is a soul counts thee her creditor,

And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yět: But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,

Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.

I had a thing to say,-But, let it go:

The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,

Is all too wanton, and too full of gauds,

To give me audience :—

If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night:

'Tråg' e dy, a poem prepared for the stage, representing some action having a fatal end; an event in which human lives are lost by human violence.—2 Wall of flesh, the body.—3 Vål' un ta ry, willing.—a Wanton (won' tun), sportive; frolicsome. Gauds, showy things to attract attention; ornaments.- Aud' i ence, act of hearing; a hearing.

6

If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessèd with a thousand wrongs;
Or, if that surly spirit, melancholy,'

Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick,—
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle měrriment
(A passion hateful to my purposes);

Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:-
But ah, I will not:-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

2

Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ?—
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;

And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,

He lies before me :-Dost thou understand me?—

I could be merry, now :-Hubert, I love thee

Well. I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember!

'Melancholy (mêl' an kôl f), gloom of mind; depression of spirits.Troth, truth; belief.-3 Ad' junct, joined to, or united with.

149. FROM THE TRAGEDY OF KING JOHN-CONTINUED.

[Interview of Hubert with Arthur, in which Hubert purposes to fulfill the murderous commission described in the preceding exercise, on which he was sent by King John.]

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 förth,

And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Hubert. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to't.

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

Enter Arthur.

Good-morrow, little prince.

Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert.

Hubert.

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.

Mercy on me!

Arthur.
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 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.

Hubert. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:

1 Ar' ras, tapestry; hangings of tapestry, made first at Arras, in France.

Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.

[Aside.

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. His words do take possession of my bosom.

Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, fool

ish 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 bōth mine eyes?
Hubert. Young boy, I must.

Arthur.

Hubert.

And will you?

And I will.

[Aside.

Arthur. 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 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 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 crafty love,
And call it cunning: do, an 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?

Hubert.

I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

1 1 Rheum (rom), tears.- Dis plt' e ous, malicious; furious.

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 its fiery indignation,

Even in the matter of mine innocence:

Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eyes.
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 believed no' tongue but Hubert's.
Hubert. Come forth.

Reenter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c.

Do as I bid you do.

[Stamps

Arthur. Oh, 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'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 angerly;

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torments you do put me to.

Hubert. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
1 Atten. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
[Attendants retire.

Arthur. 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.

Hubert.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arthur. Is there no remedy?

Hubert. None, but to lose your eyes.

Arthur. O heaven! that there were but a mote in yours,

'The two negatives in this line are a poetic license.