Hubert, what news with you?
[Taking him apart.]
PEMBROKE.
This is the man should do the bloody deed.
He show’d his warrant to a friend of mine.
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast;
And I do fearfully believe ’tis done
What we so fear’d he had a charge to do.
SALISBURY.
The colour of the King doth come and go
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds ’twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
PEMBROKE.
And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child’s death.
KING JOHN.
We cannot hold mortality’s strong hand.
Good lords, although my will to give is living,
The suit which you demand is gone and dead.
He tells us Arthur is deceas’d tonight.
SALISBURY.
Indeed, we fear’d his sickness was past cure.
PEMBROKE.
Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was sick.
This must be answer’d either here or hence.
KING JOHN.
Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?
SALISBURY.
It is apparent foul-play; and ’tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it.
So thrive it in your game, and so, farewell.