Cousin, away for England!
King John, to Bastard
Cousin, away for England! Haste before,
And ere our coining 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.