Arth. O this will make my mother die with griefe

Iohn. Cosen away for England, haste before,

And ere our comming see thou shake the bags

Of hoording Abbots, imprisoned angells

Set at libertie: the fat ribs of peace

Must by the hungry now be fed vpon:

Vse our Commission in his vtmost force

Bast. Bell, Booke, & Candle, shall not driue me back,

When gold and siluer becks me to come on.

I leaue your highnesse: Grandame, I will pray

(If euer I remember to be holy)

For your faire safety: so I kisse your hand

King John(#2249) · 第 58 / 125 题