Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend;
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart.-
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

Hub.

Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy?

Hub.

None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O Heaven!-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,

Any annoyance in that precious sense!

Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,

Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes. Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes, Though to no use, but still to look on you! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me.

Hub.

I can heat it, boy.

Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used

In undeserved extremes. See else yourself;

There is no malice in this burning coal;

The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush,
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes;
And, like a dog that is compelled to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things, that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office; only you do lack

That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes

For all the treasure that thine uncle owes;

Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,

With this same very iron to burn them out.

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised.

Hub.

Peace; no more. Adieu; Your uncle must not know but you are dead: