King John | Act 5.6

An open place in the
neighbourhood of
Swinstead Abbey.

[Enter the BASTARD
and HUBERT, severally]

HUBERT
Who’s there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD    A friend. What art thou?

HUBERT    Of the part of England.

BASTARD     Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT    What’s that to thee? why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD    Hubert, I think?

HUBERT     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?

BASTARD     Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT    Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should ‘scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD
    Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT    Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

BASTARD     Brief, then; and what’s the news?

HUBERT     O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.

BASTARD     Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman, I’ll not swoon at it.

HUBERT      The king, I fear, is poison’d by a monk:
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.

BASTARD     How did he take it? who did taste to him?

HUBERT      A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.

BASTARD       Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?

HUBERT
   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.

BASTARD
   Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I’ll tell tree, 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 escaped.
Away before: conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

 

[Exeunt]

Act 5.5 | Act 5.7


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Updated: April 24, 2021 — 9:11 am