All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…

  • Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN,
    and Lords

  • To QUEEN ELINOR So shall it be; your grace shall
    stay behind
    So strongly guarded.
    Cousin, look not sad:
    Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
    As dear be to thee as thy father was.

  • O, this will make my mother die with grief!

  • 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.

  • Farewell, gentle cousin.

  • Exit the BASTARD

  • Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

  • 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.

  • I am much bounden to your majesty.

  • 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.

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

  • He shall not live.

  • 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.

  • My blessing go with thee!

  • For England, cousin, go:
    Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
    With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!