Pem. All murthers past, do stand excus'd in this: And this so sole, and so vnmatcheable, Shall giue a holinesse, a puritie, To the yet vnbegotten sinne of times; And proue a deadly bloodshed, but a iest, Exampled by this heynous spectacle
Bast. It is a damned, and a bloody worke, The gracelesse action of a heauy hand, If that it be the worke of any hand
Sal. If that it be the worke of any hand? We had a kinde of light, what would ensue: It is the shamefull worke of Huberts hand, The practice, and the purpose of the king: From whose obedience I forbid my soule, Kneeling before this ruine of sweete life, And breathing to his breathlesse Excellence The Incense of a Vow, a holy Vow: Neuer to taste the pleasures of the world, Neuer to be infected with delight, Nor conuersant with Ease, and Idlenesse, Till I haue set a glory to this hand, By giuing it the worship of Reuenge
Pem. Big. Our soules religiously confirme thy words. Enter Hubert.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you, Arthur doth liue, the king hath sent for you
Sal. Oh he is bold, and blushes not at death, Auant thou hatefull villain, get thee gone
Hu. I am no villaine
Sal. Must I rob the Law? Bast. Your sword is bright sir, put it vp againe
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherers skin
Hub. Stand backe Lord Salsbury, stand backe I say By heauen, I thinke my sword's as sharpe as yours. I would not haue you (Lord) forget your selfe, Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; Least I, by marking of your rage, forget Your Worth, your Greatnesse, and Nobility
Big. Out dunghill: dar'st thou braue a Nobleman? Hub. Not for my life: But yet I dare defend My innocent life against an Emperor
Sal. Thou art a Murtherer
Hub. Do not proue me so: Yet I am none. Whose tongue so ere speakes false, Not truely speakes: who speakes not truly, Lies
Pem. Cut him to peeces
Bast. Keepe the peace, I say
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you Faulconbridge
Bast. Thou wer't better gaul the diuell Salsbury. If thou but frowne on me, or stirre thy foote, Or teach thy hastie spleene to do me shame, Ile strike thee dead. Put vp thy sword betime, Or Ile so maule you, and your tosting-Iron, That you shall thinke the diuell is come from hell
Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Second a Villaine, and a Murtherer? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none
Big. Who kill'd this Prince? Hub. 'Tis not an houre since I left him well: I honour'd him, I lou'd him, and will weepe My date of life out, for his sweete liues losse
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villanie is not without such rheume, And he, long traded in it, makes it seeme Like Riuers of remorse and innocencie. Away with me, all you whose soules abhorre Th' vncleanly sauours of a Slaughter-house, For I am stifled with this smell of sinne
Big. Away, toward Burie, to the Dolphin there
P. There tel the king, he may inquire vs out.
Ex. Lords.