_K. John._ 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’m almost asham’d To say what good respect I have of thee. _Hubert._ I am much bounden to your Majesty. _K. John._ 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 heav’n, 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 into the drowsy 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 idiot Laughter keep men’s 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 sounds of words; Then, in despight of broad-ey’d 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. _Hubert._ So well, that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By Heav’n, I’d do’t. _K. John._ 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. _King John, act 3. sc. 5._