Joh.
So shall it be; [to Eli.] your grace shall stay behind,
So strongly guarded.—Cousin, look not sad:
Thy grandame loves thee; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.

Art.
O, this will make my mother die with grief.

Joh.
Cousin, away for England; haste before:
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; their imprison'd angels
Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry14Q0552 now be fed upon:
Use our commission in his utmost force.

Bas.
Bell book and candle shall not drive me back,
When gold and silver becks ^note me to come on.
I leave your highness:—Grandame, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.

Eli.
Farewel, my gentle cousin.

Joh.
Coz, farewel. [Exit Bastard.

Eli.
Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [to Arthur, drawing him aside.

Joh.
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 ^note.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hub.
I am much bounden to your majesty.

Joh.
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, for 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 one unto ^note14Q0553 the drouzy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick;
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins;
Making that ideot, laughter, keep mens' ^note eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes)

Or if that thou could'st 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 despight of broad-ey'd ^note 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 lov'st me well.

Hub.
So well, that, what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it. ^note

Joh.
Do not I know, thou would'st?
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, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub.
And I'll keep him so,
That he shall not offend your majesty.

Joh.
Death.

Hub.
My lord?

Joh.
A grave.

Hub.
He shall not live.

Joh.
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.

Eli.
My blessing go with thee!

Joh.
For England, cousin, go:
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you

With all true duty.—On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt.

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