Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
_Enter Arthur._
ARTH. Good morrow, Hubert.
HUB. Good morrow, little prince.
ARTH. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince), as may be.--You are sad.
HUB. Indeed, I have been merrier.
ARTH. 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 Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is 't not; And I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
HUB. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [_Aside._
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;
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
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