ACT IV. SCENE 1.  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.   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 tide     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, ist 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 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 lyen 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 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?   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 believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's.   HUBERT.  [Stamps]  Come forth.       Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc.      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 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 wince, nor speak a word,     Nor look upon the iron angrily;     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.   EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.                                                   Exeunt EXECUTIONERS   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,     A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,     Any annoyance in that precious sense!     Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,     Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.   HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.   ARTHUR. 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.   HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.   ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,     Being create for comfort, to be us'd     In undeserved 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.   HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.   ARTHUR. An 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.   HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye     For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.     Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,     With this same very iron to burn them out.   ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while     You were disguis'd.   HUBERT. 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.   ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.   HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.     Much danger do I undergo for thee.                         Exeunt     SCENE 2.  England. KING JOHN'S palace  Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS    KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,     And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.   PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd,     Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,     And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off,     The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;     Fresh expectation troubled not the land     With any long'd-for change or better state.   SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,     To guard a title that was rich before,     To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,     To throw a perfume on the violet,     To smooth the ice, or add another hue     Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light     To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,     Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.   PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done,     This act is as an ancient tale new told     And, in the last repeating, troublesome,     Being urged at a time unseasonable.   SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face     Of plain old form is much disfigured;     And like a shifted wind unto a sail     It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,     Startles and frights consideration,     Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,     For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.   PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well,     They do confound their skill in covetousness;     And oftentimes excusing of a fault     Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse,     As patches set upon a little breach     Discredit more in hiding of the fault     Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.   SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,     We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness     To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd,     Since all and every part of what we would     Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.   KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation     I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;     And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,     I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask     What you would have reform'd that is not well,     And well shall you perceive how willingly     I will both hear and grant you your requests.   PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,     To sound the purposes of all their hearts,     Both for myself and them- but, chief of all,     Your safety, for the which myself and them     Bend their best studies, heartily request     Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint     Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent     To break into this dangerous argument:     If what in rest you have in right you hold,     Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend     The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up     Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days     With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth     The rich advantage of good exercise?     That the time's enemies may not have this     To grace occasions, let it be our suit     That you have bid us ask his liberty;     Which for our goods we do no further ask     Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,     Counts it your weal he have his liberty.   KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth     To your direction.                       Enter HUBERT      [Aside]  Hubert, what news with you?   PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed:     He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine;     The image of a wicked heinous fault     Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his     Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,     And I do fearfully believe 'tis done     What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.   SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go     Between his purpose and his conscience,     Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.     His passion is so ripe it needs must break.   PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence     The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.   KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.     Good lords, although my will to give is living,     The suit which you demand is gone and dead:     He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.   SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure.   PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,     Before the child himself felt he was sick.     This must be answer'd either here or hence.   KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?     Think you I bear the shears of destiny?     Have I commandment on the pulse of life?   SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame     That greatness should so grossly offer it.     So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.   PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee     And find th' inheritance of this poor child,     His little kingdom of a forced grave.     That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle     Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while!     This must not be thus borne: this will break out     To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.            Exeunt LORDS   KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent.     There is no sure foundation set on blood,     No certain life achiev'd by others' death.                   Enter a MESSENGER      A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood     That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?     So foul a sky clears not without a storm.     Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France?   MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow'r     For any foreign preparation     Was levied in the body of a land.     The copy of your speed is learn'd by them,     For when you should be told they do prepare,     The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.   KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?     Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,     That such an army could be drawn in France,     And she not hear of it?   MESSENGER. My liege, her ear     Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April died     Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,     The Lady Constance in a frenzy died     Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue     I idly heard-if true or false I know not.   KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!     O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd     My discontented peers! What! mother dead!     How wildly then walks my estate in France!     Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France     That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?   MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin.   KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy     With these in tidings.           Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET      Now! What says the world     To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff     My head with more ill news, for it is fun.   BASTARD. But if you be afear'd to hear the worst,     Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.   KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd     Under the tide; but now I breathe again     Aloft the flood, and can give audience     To any tongue, speak it of what it will.   BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen     The sums I have collected shall express.     But as I travell'd hither through the land,     I find the people strangely fantasied;     Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams.     Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;     And here's a prophet that I brought with me     From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found     With many hundreds treading on his heels;     To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,     That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,     Your Highness should deliver up your crown.   KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?   PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.   KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;     And on that day at noon whereon he says     I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd.     Deliver him to safety; and return,     For I must use thee.                                                Exit HUBERT with PETER     O my gentle cousin,     Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?   BASTARD. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it;     Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,     With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,     And others more, going to seek the grave     Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night     On your suggestion.   KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go     And thrust thyself into their companies.     I have a way to will their loves again;     Bring them before me.   BASTARD. I Will seek them out.   KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.     O, let me have no subject enemies     When adverse foreigners affright my towns     With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!     Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,     And fly like thought from them to me again.   BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.   KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.                                                          Exit BASTARD     Go after him; for he perhaps shall need     Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;     And be thou he.   MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege.                        Exit   KING JOHN. My mother dead!                     Re-enter HUBERT    HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;     Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about     The other four in wondrous motion.   KING JOHN. Five moons!   HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets     Do prophesy upon it dangerously;     Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;     And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,     And whisper one another in the ear;     And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,     Whilst he that hears makes fearful action     With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.     I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,     The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,     With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;     Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,     Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste     Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,     Told of a many thousand warlike French     That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent.     Another lean unwash'd artificer     Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.   KING JOHN. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?     Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?     Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause     To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.   HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?   KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended     By slaves that take their humours for a warrant     To break within the bloody house of life,     And on the winking of authority     To understand a law; to know the meaning     Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns     More upon humour than advis'd respect.   HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.   KING JOHN. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth     Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal     Witness against us to damnation!     How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds     Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,     A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,     Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,     This murder had not come into my mind;     But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,     Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,     Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,     I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;     And thou, to be endeared to a king,     Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.   HUBERT. My lord-   KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,     When I spake darkly what I purposed,     Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,     As bid me tell my tale in express words,     Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,     And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.     But thou didst understand me by my signs,     And didst in signs again parley with sin;     Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,     And consequently thy rude hand to act     The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.     Out of my sight, and never see me more!     My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,     Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs;     Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,     This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,     Hostility and civil tumult reigns     Between my conscience and my cousin's death.   HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies,     I'll make a peace between your soul and you.     Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine     Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,     Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.     Within this bosom never ent'red yet     The dreadful motion of a murderous thought     And you have slander'd nature in my form,     Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,     Is yet the cover of a fairer mind     Than to be butcher of an innocent child.   KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,     Throw this report on their incensed rage     And make them tame to their obedience!     Forgive the comment that my passion made     Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,     And foul imaginary eyes of blood     Presented thee more hideous than thou art.     O, answer not; but to my closet bring     The angry lords with all expedient haste.     I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.                  Exeunt     SCENE 3.  England. Before the castle  Enter ARTHUR, on the walls    ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.     Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!     There's few or none do know me; if they did,     This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.     I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.     If I get down and do not break my limbs,     I'll find a thousand shifts to get away.     As good to die and go, as die and stay.              [Leaps down]     O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.     Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!     [Dies]            Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT    SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;     It is our safety, and we must embrace     This gentle offer of the perilous time.   PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?   SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,     Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love     Is much more general than these lines import.   BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.   SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be     Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet.                   Enter the BASTARD    BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!     The King by me requests your presence straight.   SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us.     We will not line his thin bestained cloak     With our pure honours, nor attend the foot     That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.     Return and tell him so. We know the worst.   BASTARD. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.   SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.   BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief;     Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.   PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.   BASTARD. 'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else.   SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here?   PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!     The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.   SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,     Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.   BIGOT. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,     Found it too precious-princely for a grave.   SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,     Or have you read or heard, or could you think?     Or do you almost think, although you see,     That you do see? Could thought, without this object,     Form such another? This is the very top,     The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,     Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame,     The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,     That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage     Presented to the tears of soft remorse.   PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus'd in this;     And this, so sole and so unmatchable,     Shall give a holiness, a purity,     To the yet unbegotten sin of times,     And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,     Exampled by this heinous spectacle.   BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work;     The graceless action of a heavy hand,     If that it be the work of any hand.   SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand!     We had a kind of light what would ensue.     It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;     The practice and the purpose of the King;     From whose obedience I forbid my soul     Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,     And breathing to his breathless excellence     The incense of a vow, a holy vow,     Never to taste the pleasures of the world,     Never to be infected with delight,     Nor conversant with ease and idleness,     Till I have set a glory to this hand     By giving it the worship of revenge.   PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.                       Enter HUBERT    HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.     Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.   SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death!     Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!   HUBERT. I am no villain.   SALISBURY. Must I rob the law?                  [Drawing his sword]   BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.   SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.   HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;     By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours.     I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,     Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;     Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget     Your worth, your greatness and nobility.   BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar'st thou brave a nobleman?   HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend     My innocent life against an emperor.   SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer.   HUBERT. Do not prove me so.     Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,     Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.   PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces.   BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say.   SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.   BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.     If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,     Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,     I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;     Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron     That you shall think the devil is come from hell.   BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?     Second a villain and a murderer?   HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none.   BIGOT. Who kill'd this prince?   HUBERT. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well.     I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep     My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.   SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,     For villainy is not without such rheum;     And he, long traded in it, makes it seem     Like rivers of remorse and innocency.     Away with me, all you whose souls abhor     Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;     For I am stifled with this smell of sin.   BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!   PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out.                                                          Exeunt LORDS   BASTARD. Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work?     Beyond the infinite and boundless reach     Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,     Art thou damn'd, Hubert.   HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir.   BASTARD. Ha! I'll tell thee what:     Thou'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black-     Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer;     There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell     As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.   HUBERT. Upon my soul-   BASTARD. If thou didst but consent     To this most cruel act, do but despair;     And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread     That ever spider twisted from her womb     Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam     To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,     Put but a little water in a spoon     And it shall be as all the ocean,     Enough to stifle such a villain up     I do suspect thee very grievously.   HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,     Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath     Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,     Let hell want pains enough to torture me!     I left him well.   BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms.     I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way     Among the thorns and dangers of this world.     How easy dost thou take all England up!     From forth this morsel of dead royalty     The life, the right, and truth of all this realm     Is fled to heaven; and England now is left     To tug and scamble, and to part by th' teeth     The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.     Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty     Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest     And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace;     Now powers from home and discontents at home     Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,     As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast,     The imminent decay of wrested pomp.     Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can     Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,     And follow me with speed. I'll to the King;     A thousand businesses are brief in hand,     And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.                Exeunt