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 title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
HUBERT.
Indeed, I have been merrier.
ARTHUR.
Mercy on me!
Methinks nobody 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 Geoffrey’s son?
No, indeed, is’t 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.