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ARTHUR If heaven be pleased 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.
HUBERT I have sworn to do it,
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
ARTHUR Ah, none but in this iron age would do it.
King John, Act 4 Scene 1
© 2008 Mark Brierley