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Arth. Then Arthur yeeld, death frowneth in thy face,
What meaneth this? good Hubert pleade the cafe.

Hubert. Patience yong lord, and liften words of woe,
Harmefull and harsh, hells horror to be heard:
A difmall tale fit for a furies tongue.

I faint to tell, deepe forrow is the found.
Arthur. What, muft I die?

Hubert. No newes of death, but tidings of more hate,
A wrathfull doome, and moft vnluckie fate:

Deaths difh were daintie at so fell a feast,

Be deafe, heare not, its hell to tell the reft.

Arthur. Alas, thou wrongst my youth with words of feare, Tis hell, tis horror, not for one to heare: What is it man if it must needes be done,

Act it, and end it, that the paine were gone.

Hubert. I will not chaunt fuch dolour with my tongue,

Yet muft I act the outrage with my hand.

My heart, my head, and all my powers befide,

To aide the office haue at once denide.

Peruse this letter, lines of trebble woe,

Reade ore my charge, and pardon when you know.

Hubert, these are to commaund thee, as thou tendreft our quiet in minde, and the cftate of our perfon, that presently vpon the receipt of our commaund, thou put out the eies of Arthur Plantaginet.

Arthur. Ah monftrous damned man! his very breath in-
fects the elements.

Contagious venome dwelleth in his heart,
Effecting meanes to poyfon all the world.
Vnreuerent may I be to blame the heauens
Of great iniuftice, that the mifcreant

Liues to oppreffe the innocents with wrong.
Ah Hubert! makes he thee his inftrument,
To found the trump that caufeth hell triumph?
Heauen weepes, the faints do fhed celestiall teares,
They feare thy fall, and cite thee with remorse,
They knocke thy confcience, mouing pitie there,
Willing to fence thee from the rage of hell;
Hell Hubert, truft me all the plagues of hell
Hangs on performance of this damned deed.
This feale, the warrant of the bodies bliffe,
Enfureth fatan chieftaine of thy foule :
Subfcribe not Hubert, giue not Gods part away.
I speake not only for eies priuiledge,

The chiefe exterior that I would enioy :
But for thy perill, farre beyond my paine,

Thy fweete foules loffe, more than my eies vaine lacke:

A cause internall, and eternall too.

Aduife thee Hubert, for the cafe is hard,

To loose faluation for a kings reward.

Hubert. My lord, a fubiect dwelling in the land

Is tied to execute the kings commaund.

Arthur. Yet God commaunds whose power reacheth further, That no command should stand in force to murther. Hubert. But that fame effence hath ordaind a law,

A death for guilt, to keepe the world in awe.

Arthur. I pleade, not guilty, treasonlesse and free.
Hubert. But that appeale my lord concernes not me.
Arthur. Why thou art he that maist omit the perill.
Hubert. I, if my foueraigne would omit his quarrell.
Arthur. His quarrell is vnhallowed falfe and wrong.
Hubert. Then be the blame to whom it doth belong.
Arthur. Why thats to thee if thou as they proceede,

Conclude their judgement with fo vile a deede.

Hubert.

Hubert. Why then no execution can be lawfull, If judges doomes must be reputed doubtfull.

Arthur. Yes where in forme of law in place and time,
The offender is conuicted of the crime.

Hubert. My lord, my lord, this long expoftulation,
Heapes vp more griefe, than promise of redreffe;
For this I know, and fo refolude I end,
That fubiects liues on kings commands depend.

I must got reason why he is your foe,

But do his charge fince he commaunds it fo.

Arthur. Then do thy charge, and charged be thy foule
With wrongfull perfecution done this day.
You rowling eyes, whofe fuperficies yet

I de behold with eies that nature lent :
Send foorth the terror of your moouers frowne,
To wreake my wrong vpon the murtherers
That rob me of your faire reflecting view :
Let hell to them (as earth they wish to me)
Be darke and direfull guerdon for their guilt,
And let the blacke tormenters of deepe Tartary
Vpbraide them with this damned enterprise,
Inflicting change of tortures on their foules.
Delay not Hubert, my orifons are ended,
Begin I pray thee, reaue me of my fight:
But to performe a tragedie indeede,
Conclude the period with a mortall ftab.
Conftance farewell, tormenter come away,
Make my dispatch the tyrants feafting day.

Hubert. I faint, I feare, my confcience bids defift:
Faint did I fay? feare was it that I named :
My king commaunds, that warrant fets me free:
But God forbids, and he commaundeth kings,

That great commaunder countercheckes my charge,

He

He ftayes my hand, he maketh foft my heart.
Goe curfed tooles, your office is exempt,

Cheere thee yong lord, thou fhalt not loose an eie,
Though I should purchase it with loffe of life.
Ile to the king, and fay his will is done,
And of the langor tell him thou art dead,
Goe in with me, for Hubert was not borne
To blinde thofe lampes that nature pollisht fo.
Arthur. Hubert, if euer Arthur be in ftate,
Looke for amends of this received gift,
I took my eiefight by thy curtefie,
Thou lentft them me, I will not be ingrate.
But now procraftination may offend
The iffue that thy kindneffe vndertakes:
Depart we Hubert to preuent the worst.

Enter K. Iohn, Effex, Salisbury, Penbrooke.

Ichn. Now warlike followers, refteth aught vndone

That may impeach vs of fond ouerfight?

The French haue felt the temper of our fwords,

Cold terror keepes poffeffion in their foules,
Checking their ouerdaring arrogance
For buckling with fo great an ouermatch,
The arch prowd titled priest of Italy,
That calls himfelfe grand vicar under God,
Is bufied now with trentall obfequies,

Male and months mind, dirge and I know not what,
To eafe their foules in painefull purgatorie,
That haue mifcarried in thefe bloody warres.
Heard you not lords when firft his holinesse
Had tidings of our fmall account of him,
How with a taunt vaunting upon his toes,
He vrgde a reason why the English asse
Difdaind the bleffed ordinance of Rome ?

Exeunt.

The

The title (reuerently might I inferre)

Became the kings that earft haue borne the load,
The flauifh weight of that controlling priest:
Who at his pleasure temperd them like waxe
To carrie armes on danger of his curfe,
Banding their foules with warrants of his hand.
I grieue to thinke how kings in ages past
(Simply deuoted to the fea of Rome)
Haue run into a thousand acts of shame.

But now for confirmation of our state,

Sith we haue proind the more than needfull braunch
That did oppreffe the true well-growing stocke,
It refteth we throughout our territories

Be reproclaimed and inuefted king.

Pemb. My liege, that were to bufie men with doubts,
Once were you crownd, proclaimd, and with applause
Your citie streets haue ecchoed to the eare,

God faue the king, God faue our foueraigne Iobn,
Pardon my feare, my cenfure doth inferre

Your highnesse not depofde from regall state,
Would breed a mutinie in peoples mindes,

What it should meane to haue you crownd againe.

Iohn. Pembrooke, performe what I haue bid thee do,

Thou knowst not what induceth me to this.

Effex goe in, and lordings all be gone

About this tafke, I will be crownd anone.

Enter the Baftard.

Philip what newes, how do the abbots chefts?
Are friers fatter than the nunnes are faire ?

What cheere with church-men, had they gold or no?
Tell me, how hath thy office took effect?

Phil. My lord, I haue performd your highnes charge:
The ease-bred abbots, and the bare-foote friers,

The

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