SCENE VI.
An open Place in the Neighbourhood of Swinstead-Abbey.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, severally.
Hub.
Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.
Bast.
A friend.—What art thou?
Hub.
Of the part of England.
Bast.
Whither dost thou go?
Hub.
What's that to thee? Why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Bast.
Hubert, I think.
Hub.
Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will, upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?
Bast.
Who thou wilt: and, if thou please,
Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub.
Unkind remembrance! thou, and endless night1 note,
Have done me shame:—brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast.
Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
-- 96 --
Hub.
Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.
Bast.
Brief, then; and what's the news?
Hub.
O! my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bast.
Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman; I'll not swoon at it.
Hub.
The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk2 note:
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.
Bast.
How did he take it? who did taste to him?
Hub.
A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.
Bast.
Whom didst thou leave to tend his majesty?
Hub.
Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.
Bast.
Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power.
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln washes have devoured them:
Myself well-mounted hardly have escap'd.
Away, before: conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead or ere I come.
[Exeunt.
-- 97 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
