Page 200 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

[Aside.]
How now, foolish rheum!
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop [35]

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. [40]

ARTHUR
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, [45]
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 [50]
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, [55]

Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?