Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand
Within the arras. When I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair. Be heedful. Hence, and watch.
Heat up these irons for me. And you stand behind the wall hanging. When I stomp my foot on the ground, run out and tie the boy you'll find with me firmly to the chair. Be careful. Go now and watch.
Get those irons hot. Hide behind the tapestry. When I stamp my foot on the ground, come out and tie the boy to the chair. Don't mess this up. Now go and keep watch.
heat irons. hide behind curtain. when i stomp come out & tie kid to chair. be careful
The executioner speaks only twice but both times about legitimacy — 'I hope your warrant will bear out the deed' and 'I am best pleased to be from such a deed.' He's a man for whom institutional cover matters. Watch for how his relief at being sent away mirrors the audience's.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
I hope your official authorization will protect me from blame for this deed.
I hope you've got paperwork backing up what we're about to do.
hope u have the paperwork 4 this
Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to’t.
Dirty hesitations! Don't be afraid; just pay attention to what you're doing.
Gross squeamishness! Don't worry; just do your job.
stop being squeamish. just do it
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Young lad, come here; I have something to say to you.
Come on out, boy; I need to talk to you.
hey kid come here i need to talk to you
Good morrow, Hubert.
Good morning, Hubert.
Morning, Hubert.
hey hubert
Good morrow, little prince.
Good morning, young prince.
Morning, your highness.
mornin kid
As little prince, having so great a title
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
You're such a young prince with such a great title, with the potential to be even more of a prince. But you look sad.
You're so small but have such a big title, and you could be so much more. But you look miserable.
ur a little prince w a big title but u look sad
Indeed, I have been merrier.
Yes, I have been happier.
Yeah, I've had better days.
been happier ngl
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.
Oh have mercy on me! I think nobody should be sad except me. Yet I remember when I was in France that young noblemen would be as dark and melancholy as night, but only out of restlessness and wantonness. By my Christian faith, if I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be as happy as the day is long. And I would be that way here too, except I'm worried that my uncle is planning even more harm against me. He fears me, and I fear him. Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son? No, it's not, and I wish to heaven I were your son so that you would love me, Hubert.
Oh my God, have mercy! I'm the only one who should even be upset. But I remember when I was in France—those young nobles could be just as moody, but they did it for fun. Honestly, if I were out of prison herding sheep, I'd be happy the whole day long. I would be here too, except I'm terrified my uncle is planning something worse for me. He's scared of me, and I'm scared of him. Is it my fault I'm Geoffrey's son? No, it's not. I just wish you were my father so you'd actually love me.
god help me. only i should be sad. but guys in france got sad just 4 fun. if i was outta prison herding sheep id be happy. but uncles planning sth worse 4 me. not my fault im geoffrey's son. wish u were my dad
[_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.
If I keep talking to him, his innocent chatter will wake up the mercy I've killed inside me. So I need to be quick and finish the job.
If I keep listening to him talk, his innocent rambling is gonna wake up my compassion—the part of me I've been killing. I gotta be fast and get this done.
his words wake my mercy i need to hurry get it done
Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale today.
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you.
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale today. Truly, I wish you were a little sick so that I could sit all night and stay with you. I swear I love you more than you love me.
Are you sick, Hubert? You look really pale. I wish you were just a little sick so I could stay up all night taking care of you. I honestly love you more than you love me.
u look pale r u sick. wish u were a lil sick so i could take care of u all nite. i love u more than u love me
[_Aside_.] His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur.
His words have taken hold of my heart. Read this, young Arthur.
His words are getting to me, taking over my heart. Go on, read this.
he's in my heart read this
Arthur doesn't argue that he shouldn't die. He doesn't claim innocence, invoke his rank, or appeal to law. Instead he does something more devastating: he makes Hubert remember who they are to each other.
Every speech Arthur gives is specific and physical. The handkerchief embroidered by a princess, never asked back. Holding Hubert's head at midnight with his hands. Asking 'What do you lack? Where does it hurt?' These aren't rhetorical abstractions — they're memories. Particular things that happened between two people.
Shakespeare understood that the most powerful argument against institutional cruelty isn't rights or laws but the weight of the individual relationship. The executioners can carry out an order because they don't know Arthur. Hubert is supposed to be the same — he was supposed to have killed his mercy before this meeting. But Arthur's method is to make it impossible for Hubert to remain abstract.
By the end, it isn't arguments that stop Hubert. It's the accumulated weight of specific remembered acts of kindness. That's both comforting (innocence matters) and terrifying (what if Arthur hadn't been so specific? what if he'd been less lovable?).
[_Aside_.] How now, foolish rheum!
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.—
Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
These foolish tears are making me abandon the cruel task! I must hurry before my resolve comes pouring out as weak, pathetic tears. Can you not read it? Is it not clearly written?
Stop it, stupid tears! You're making me back away from what I gotta do! I gotta move fast before I completely break down and start crying like an idiot. Can't you read it? It's pretty clear.
stop these tears stop backing out can you read this?
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
You read it too beautifully, Hubert, for such a foul purpose. Must you burn out both my eyes with hot irons?
You read that way too nicely for something so horrible. You're actually going to burn out my eyes with hot irons?
u read that too pretty 4 somethin so bad. ur gonna burn my eyes out?
Young boy, I must.
I have no choice, boy.
Yes, I have to.
yeah i gotta
And will you?
And will you do it?
You're really going to do it?
ur rlly gonna do it?
And I will.
And yes, I will.
Yes, I will.
yeah i will
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows,
The best I had, a princess wrought it me,
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer’d up the heavy time,
Saying ’What lack you?” and “Where lies your grief?”
Or “What good love may I perform for you?”
Many a poor man’s son would have lien still
And ne’er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.
If heaven be pleas’d that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did nor never shall
So much as frown on you?
Do you have the courage to do this? When you had just a headache, I wrapped my handkerchief around your forehead—the finest one I had, which a princess gave me—and I never asked for it back. At midnight I held your head in my hand, and like the clock counting the hours, I kept comforting you through that long difficult time, asking what you needed and where it hurt, or what kind act I could do for you. Many a poor man's son would have simply lain still and never spoken a kind word to you, but you had a prince attending to your sickness. Now you may think my love was calculated and cunning—go ahead, call it that if you will. If heaven has decided I must suffer at your hands, then I accept it. But will you really put out my eyes? These eyes that never frowned at you, never have and never will?
How can you do this to me? When you had a simple headache, I wrapped my best handkerchief around your head—a gift from a princess—and never even asked for it back. I held your head in my hands at midnight, and like a clock, I kept lifting your spirits through that whole long night. I asked you what you needed, where it hurt, what I could do for you. Most servants would have just ignored you, but you had a prince taking care of you. You might think I was being calculating, and fine, call it cunning if you want. If God wants me to suffer because of you, okay. But really—you're going to blind me? Me, with these eyes that never gave you a mean look, never have and never will?
how can u do this. i wrapped my best scarf around ur head & never asked 4 it back. i held ur head at nite asking what u needed. i treated u like a prince treats his sick friend. u can think im lying. ur really gonna blind me? w these eyes that never looked mean at u?
I have sworn to do it.
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
I took an oath and I'm bound to it. The hot irons will burn them out.
I've sworn to do this. The irons are going to burn them out.
i swore 2 do it. hot irons gonna burn em out
Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears
And quench his fiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer’d iron?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ’d him. No tongue but Hubert’s.
Ah, only in this harsh, cruel age would anyone do such a thing! The iron itself, though heated red-hot, approaching your eyes would be cooled by your tears and its fierce heat would be quenched because of your innocence. After that, it would rust away completely, unable to contain fire to harm your eyes anymore. Are you more stubbornly hard than hammered iron? If an angel had come to me and told me Hubert would put out my eyes, I would never have believed it. No one but Hubert could do such a thing.
Only in this cold, heartless age would someone actually do this! The iron itself, even heated red-hot, would be cooled by my tears and would rust away from guilt over my innocence. Are you harder than iron? If an angel had told me Hubert would do this, I never would have believed it. Only you, Hubert—only you could do this.
only in this cruel age would u do this. even hot iron would cry from guilt. r u harder than iron? only u hubert could ever do this
[_Stamps_.] Come forth.
Come out here.
Get out here now.
come out
Do as I bid you do.
Do as I command you.
Just do what I say.
just do it
O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Oh save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are already being destroyed just by the fierce, violent looks of these bloody men.
Save me, Hubert, save me! These brutal men are killing me just by looking at me so violently.
save me hubert!! the mens mean looks r destroying me
Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Give me the hot iron, I say, and bind him to the chair here.
Hand me the iron and tie him down.
gimme the iron. tie him down
Alas, what need you be so boist’rous-rough?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly.
Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.
Why must you be so rough and violent? I won't struggle; I'll stand completely still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, don't bind me! Listen, Hubert! Send these men away and I will sit as quiet as a lamb. I won't move, I won't flinch, I won't speak, and I won't even look angrily at the iron. Just send these men away and I'll forgive you for whatever pain you cause me.
Why do you have to be so rough? I won't fight. I'll stand still as stone. Hubert, please don't tie me up! Send these men away and I swear I'll be quiet as a lamb. I won't move, I won't flinch, I won't say anything, and I won't even give you an angry look. Just get rid of them and I'll forgive you for whatever you're about to do to me.
y do u gotta be so rough. i wont fight ill stand still. hubert dont tie me up! send the men away & ill be good. wont move wont flinch. just send them away ill forgive u
Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
Go stand inside over there; let me be alone with him.
Get inside. Leave us alone.
go inside leave us
I am best pleas’d to be from such a deed.
I am most happy to be away from such an act.
I'm glad I don't have to be part of this.
glad im outta this
Arthur's argument that the hot iron would cool and the fire die of grief before harming him is theologically sophisticated for a child. In medieval and Elizabethan thought, nature expressed God's will — natural objects had inherent teleological purposes. Fire was made to warm and light; to use it for cruelty is to pervert its nature.
Arthur's argument is that even inanimate creation refuses to cooperate with injustice. The iron blushes, the fire dies, the coal scatters repentant ashes. Nature itself withdraws its services from unjust ends.
This isn't manipulation. Arthur seems to genuinely believe it. And whether or not the theology is sound, it works: Hubert does look at the cold coal, and something in the concrete reality of the situation breaks his resolve. Arthur's cosmological argument has a practical effect.
The irony the play develops: if nature refuses to collaborate with injustice in Act 4 Scene 1, it abandons Arthur entirely in Act 4 Scene 3. The ground doesn't catch him. The stones are cruel. The protections he believed in don't hold when he tries to use them himself.
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.
Oh no, I've scolded away my friend! He has a stern appearance but a gentle heart. Let him come back so his compassion can move your heart.
Oh no, I chased away my only friend! He looks tough but he's actually kind. Bring him back so his mercy can change your mind.
oh no i pushed away my friend. hes tough but kind. bring him back 2 change ur mind
Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Come, boy, get ready.
Come on. Get ready.
time's up kid
Is there no remedy?
Is there no way out of this?
Isn't there any way to stop this?
theres no way out?
None, but to lose your eyes.
No, except to lose your eyes.
Only if you lose your eyes.
nope. gotta lose ur eyes
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.
Oh heaven, if only there were just a speck, a grain of dust, a gnat, or a wandering hair in your eye—any small irritation in that precious sense! Then, feeling how much pain such small things cause, your evil intention would seem absolutely horrible to you.
If only your eye had even a tiny speck, a grain of dust, a gnat, a hair—anything irritating that precious eye of yours! Then you'd know how painful even tiny things are, and your plan to blind me would seem monstrous.
god wish u had a speck of dust in ur eye. then ud feel how much even tiny things hurt. then ud see how horrible this is
Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.
Is this how you're keeping your promise? Go on now, be quiet.
Is this what you promised? Shut up.
so thats ur promise. shut up
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.
Hubert, one pair of eyes would need the argument of two tongues to plead for it. Let me not be quiet. Don't make me quiet, Hubert. If you want, cut out my tongue instead so I can keep my eyes. Spare my eyes, even if they're only useful for looking at you! By my word, the iron is cold now and wouldn't hurt me.
Hubert, two tongues wouldn't even be enough to argue for saving one pair of eyes. Don't tell me to shut up. Please, don't make me. If you need to, cut out my tongue instead so I can keep my eyes. Save my eyes, even if all I'll ever do with them is look at you! I swear the iron is cold—it wouldn't even hurt.
two tongues couldnt plead 4 my eyes. let me talk. cut my tongue out instead if u want. spare my eyes even if i just look at u w them. irons cold it wont hurt
I can heat it, boy.
I have the means to make it burn again, boy.
I can get it glowing again.
can make it hot
No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us’d
In undeserv’d extremes. See else yourself.
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out
And strew’d repentant ashes on his head.
No, truly; the fire is dead with grief, having been created for comfort but being used for undeserved suffering. Look at it yourself. There is no malice in this burning coal. Heaven's breath has blown out its spirit and scattered repentant ashes on its head.
No, really—the fire is broken with sadness. It was made to comfort, not to cause this kind of undeserved pain. Look at it yourself. There's no cruelty in this coal. Heaven has killed its flames and covered it with repentant ash.
no the fire is dead from sadness. it was made 2 comfort not hurt. look urself. no evil in this coal. heavens killed the flames
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
But with my breath I can bring it back to life, boy.
But I can bring it back to life with just a breath.
but i can bring it back 2 life
An 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 compell’d 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.
If you do, you'll only make it blush and glow with shame at your actions, Hubert. No, it may even shimmer in your eyes with tears. And like a dog forced to fight, it will turn on its master who urges it on. All things you would use to harm me reject this purpose. Only you lack the mercy that even fierce fire and iron have, and those things are famous for lacking mercy.
If you do, you'll just make it glow with shame at what you're doing. It might even shimmer with tears in your eyes. Like a dog forced to fight, it'll turn on you for making it. Everything you need to harm me is refusing to do it. Only you're missing the mercy that even cruel iron and fire have, and those things are famous for having no mercy.
itll glow w shame at what ur doing. like a dog forced 2 fight itll turn on u. everything ur using 2 hurt me is refusing. only u lack mercy that even fire & iron have
Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.
Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Well then, live; I will not touch your eye for all the wealth your uncle possesses. Yet I am bound by an oath, and I did intend, boy, to burn them out with these very irons.
You'll live. I won't touch your eyes for all the gold your uncle has. But I was sworn to do it, and I meant to burn them out with these irons.
ull live. i wont touch ur eyes. i swore an oath 2 burn em out but i wont
O, now you look like Hubert! All this while
You were disguised.
Oh, now you look like yourself again, Hubert! You've been hiding your true self this whole time.
There's the real Hubert! You were hiding who you really are this whole time.
theres the real hubert. u were hiding
Peace; no more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead.
I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
Peace; that's enough. Goodbye. Your uncle must believe you're dead. I'll fill those persistent spies with false stories. And, pretty child, sleep without doubt and rest assured that Hubert, for all the riches in the world, will not harm you.
Quiet. That's enough. Goodbye. Your uncle needs to think you're dead. I'll feed those stubborn spies lie after lie. Sweet boy, sleep soundly knowing that Hubert, for all the treasure in the world, would never hurt you.
peace bye. uncle thinks ur dead. ill lie 2 the spies. sleep knowing i'd never hurt u ever
O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
Oh God! Thank you, Hubert.
God bless you! I owe you everything.
omg thx hubert
Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.
Much danger do I undergo for thee.
Be quiet now; say no more. Come close and go inside with me. I'm risking much for you.
Shut up. Don't say another word. Come with me inside. I'm risking everything for you.
shh. come w me inside. im risking everything 4 u
The Reckoning
This is one of Shakespeare's most devastating two-hander scenes — a child who cannot survive by force using nothing but tenderness and memory to dismantle a grown man's resolve. Arthur doesn't plead for his life; he asks Hubert to remember how much care he once showed him. Each appeal is specific, physical, and completely without manipulation — and that's precisely what makes it unbearable. When Hubert finally breaks, the audience feels it as a physical release. But Arthur is still a prisoner, still in danger, and Hubert must now lie to the king to protect him.
If this happened today…
A corporate security officer arrives to escorted a junior employee out of the building — there's a warrant, the order came from the top, and he's done this dozens of times. But then the kid looks up and says: 'You remember when you had that flu and I covered for you that Tuesday? And I brought you soup and didn't tell anyone?' The security officer has a warrant. He has orders. He's supposed to be professional. And he finds he simply cannot do it.