The whilft his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth fwallowing a taylor's news;
Who, with his fhears and measure in his hand,
Standing on flippers (which his nimble hafte 3
Had falfely thruft upon contrary feet)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent.
Another lean unwafh'd artificer

Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

K. John. Why feek'ft thou to poffefs me with thefe fears?

Why urgeft thou fo oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty caufe
To with him dead, but thou had'ft none to kill him.
Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not pro-
voke me?

K. John. It is the curfe of kings 4, to be attended By flaves, 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 majefty; when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour, than advis'd refpect.

Hub. Here is your hand and feal for what I did.
K. John. Oh, when the laft account 'twixt heaven
and earth

Is to be made, then shall this hand and feal

3

- flippers (which his nimble hafte

Had falfely thrust upon contrary feet)] I know not how the commentators understand this important paffige, which in Dr. Warburton's edition is marked as eminently beautiful, and, on the whole, not without juftice. But Shakespeare feems to have confounded the man's fhoes with his gloves. He that is frighted or hurried may put his hand into the wrong glove, but either fhoe will equally admit either foot. The author feems to be disturbed by the diforder which he defcribes. JOHNSON,

It is the curfe of kings, &c.] This plainly hints at Davifon's cafe, in the affair of Mary queen of Scots, and fo must have been inferted long after the first representation. WARBURTON.

Witness against us to damnation!

How oft the fight of means, to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done? Hadeft not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted, and fign'd, to do a deed of fhame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd afpect,
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,

Mad'ft it no confcience to deftroy a prince.
Hb. My lord-

K. John. Hadft thou but fhook thy head 5, or made a pause,

When I fpake darkly what I purpofed;

Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face;
Or bid me tell my tale in express words ;

Deep fhame had ftruck me dumb, made me break off,
And thole thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
But thou didit understand me by my figns,

And didft in figns again parley with sin;
Yea, without ftop, did'ft let thy heart confent,
And, confequently, thy rude hand to act

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.-
Out of my fight, and never fee me more!

Had thou but fook thy head, &c.] There are many touches. of nature in this conference of John with Hubert. A man engaged in wickednefs would keep the profit to himself, and tranf fer the guilt to his accomplice. Thefe reproaches vented against Hubert are not the words of art or policy, but the eruptions of a mind fwelling with confcioufnefs of a crime, and defirous of difcharging its mifery on another.

This account of the timidity of guilt is drawn ab ipfis receffibus mentis, from the intimate knowledge of mankind, particularly that line in which he fays, that to have bid him tell his tale in express words, would have fruck him dumb; nothing is more certain, than that bad men ufe all the arts of fallacy upan themfelves, palliate their actions to their own minds by gentle terms, and hide themfelves from their own detection in ambiguities and fubterfuges. JOHNSON.

My

My nobles leave me; and my ftate is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land,

This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hoftility and civil tumult reigns,

Between my conscience, and my coufin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your foul 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 bofom never enter'd yet

The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought 6,
And you have flander'd nature in my form;

6

The dreadful motion of a MURD'Rous thought,] Nothing can be falfer than what Hubert here fays in his own vindication; yet it was the poet's purpose that he fhould fpeak truth; for we find, from a preceding fcene, the motion of a murd'vous thought had entered into him, and that very deeply and it was with diffculty that the tears, the intreaties, and the innocence of Arthur had diverted and fuppreffed it. Nor is the expreffion, in this reading, at all exact, it not being the neceffary quality of a murd'rous thought to be dreadful, affrighting, or terrible for it being commonly excited by the flattering views of intereft, pleafure. or revenge, the mind is often too much taken up with thofe ideas to attend, fteadily, to the confequences. We muit conclude therefore that Shakespeare wrote,

a MURDERER's thought.

And this makes Hubert fpeak truth, as the poet intended he fhould. He had not committed the murder, and confequently the motion of a murderer's thought had never entered his bojom. And in this reading, the epithet dreadful is admirably juft, and in nature. For after the perpetration of the fact, the appetites, that hurried their owner to it, lofe their force; and nothing fucceeds to take poffeffion of the mind, but a dreadful confcioufnefs, that torments the murderer without refpite or intermillion. WARBURTON.

I do not fee any thing in this change worth the vehemence with which it is recommended. Read the line either way, the fense is nearly the fame, nor does Hubert tell truth in either reading when he charges John with flandering his form. He that could once intend to burn out the eyes of a captive prince, had a mind not too fair for the rudeft form. JOHNSON.

Which, how foever rude exteriorly,

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind,

Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

K. Jeba. Doth Arthur live? O, hafte thee to the peers,

Throw this report on their incenfed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my paffion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood

Prefented thee more hideous than thou art.
Oh, anfwer not; but to my clofet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient hafte:
I conjure thee but flowly; run more falt 7. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A freet before a prifon.

Enter Arthur on the walls, difguifed.

Arth. 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 fhip-boy's femblance hath difguis'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 fhifts to get away:

As good to die, and go; as die, and itay. [Leaps down.
Oh me! my uncle's fpirit is in thefe ftones:
Heaven take my foul, and England keep my bones!
[Dies.

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at St. Edmund's-bury į It is our fafety; and we muft embrace

This gentle offer of the perilous time.

7 The old play is divided into two parts, the first of which concludes with the king's difpatch of Hubert on this moflage; the fecond begins with Enter Arthur," &c. as it ftands at prefent in the new written copy. STEEVENS.

Pemb

Pemb. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ? Sal. 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. Sal. Or, rather, then fet forward; for 'twill be Two long days journey, lords, or e'er we meet 9. Enter Faulconbridge.

Faulc. Once more to-day well met, diftemper'd lords!

The king, by me, requefts your prefence strait.
Sal. The king hath difpoffefs'd himself of us;
We will not line his thin, beftained cloak

With our pure honours; nor attend the foot,
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks.
Return, and tell him fo; we know the worst.

Faule. What e'er you think, good words, I think, were beft.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reafon now!. Faulc. But there is little reafon in your grief, Therefore 'twere reafon you had manners now. Pemb. Sir! Sir! impatience hath its privilege. Faulc. 'Tis true; to hurt its master, no man elfe. Sal. This is the prison: what is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthur. Pemb. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!

The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

8

Whofe private, &c.] i. e. whofe private account of the dauphin's affection to our caufe, is much more ample than the letters. POPE.

or e'er we meet.] This phrafe, fo frequent in our old writers, is not well understood. Or is here the fame as ere, i. e. before, and fhould be written (as it is till pronounced in Shropfhire) ore. There, the common people ufe it often. Thus, they fay, Ore to-morrow for ere or before to-morrow. The additions of ever or e'er is merely augmentative. PERCY.

To reafon, in Shakespeare, is not fo often to argue, as to talk. JOHNSON.

F 4

Sal.