It might be the Bastard speaking, so hardy-reckless are the words. When this Arthur pleads for his eyesight, he does it in this way:
“I speake not only for eyes priviledge,
The chiefe exterior that I would enjoy:
But for thy perill, farre beyond my paine,
Thy sweete soules losse more than my eyes vaine lack.”
Again at the end he says:
“Delay not, Hubert, my orisons are ended,
Begin I pray thee, reave me of my sight.”
And when Hubert relents because his “conscience bids him desist,” Arthur says:
“Hubert, if ever Arthur be in state
Looke for amends of this received gift.”
In all this there is neither realization of character nor even sincere emotion. But Shakespeare's Arthur is a masterpiece of soul-revealing, and moves us to pity at every word:
“Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?”
And then the child's imaginative horror of being bound:
“For heaven's 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.”