(Prince Arthur comes in.
Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.
Arth. You look sad, good Hubert.
Hub. To say truth, I am not very happy.
Arth. Heaven take pity on me! I think nobody should be sad but I. Were I but out of prison, and a shepherd's boy, I could be cheerful all day long; nay, even here I could be happy, were I not afraid my uncle intends me harm. I fear him, and he fears me. Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son? Oh! that I were but your son, so you would but love me, Hubert.
Hub. If I listen to his innocent prattle, I shall awaken that compassion I have taken so much pains to stifle; therefore I will lose no time.
(Aside.
Arth. Are you ill, Hubert? you look very pale; if you were ill, I would attend you night and day, would watch by you, and show how much I love you.
Hub. How his words affect me! he shakes my resolution, but I will be firm, and smother these womanish feelings. Arthur, read that paper.