Arth. As little prince, having so great a title10
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me!
Methinks no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,[412]
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,15
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;[413]
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:20
He is afraid of me and I of him:
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven[414]
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate[415]25
He will awake my mercy which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you:30
I warrant I love you more than you do me.[416]
Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.[417]
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.
[Aside] How now, foolish rheum![418][419]
Turning dispiteous torture out of door![419][420]
I must be brief, lest resolution drop35
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?[421]
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:[422]
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?[423]
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you?