William Shakespeare: King John, Act III, Scene III
Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords
To Queen Elinor
So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind So strongly guarded. [To Arthur] Cousin, look not sad: Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was.
To the Bastard
Cousin, away for England! haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon: Use our commission in his utmost force.
Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray, If ever I remember to be holy, For your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.
Exit the Bastard
Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much! within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor And with advantage means to pay thy love: And my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed To say what good respect I have of thee.
Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet, But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come from me to do thee good. I had a thing to say, but let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton and too full of gawds To give me audience: if the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound on into the drowsy race of night; If this same were a churchyard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs, Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had baked thy blood and made it heavy-thick, Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes, Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of words; Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think thou lovest me well.
So well, that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By heaven, I would do it.
Do not I know thou wouldst? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way; And whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: dost thou understand me? Thou art his keeper.
Enough. I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee: Remember. Madam, fare you well: I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
For England, cousin, go: Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!