SAL. So do I, Dame Bruce;
But stir no coals: the man is well belov'd,
And merits more than so.
LADY B. But I will answer.
Hubert, thou fatal keeper of poor babes,
That are appointed hostages for John,[323]
Had I a son here, as I have not one,
(For yesterday I sent him into Wales),
Think'st thou I would be so degenerate,
So far from kind, to give him unto thee?
I would not, I protest: thou know'st my mind.
SAL. Lady, you fear more than you need to do;
Indeed you do—in very deed you do.
Hubert is wrong'd about the thing you mean—
About young Arthur: O, I thought 'twas so:
Indeed the honest, good, kind gentleman
Did all he might for safeguard of the child.
QUEEN. Believe me, Madam Bruce, the man is wrong'd.
LADY B. But he wrongs me to keep my castle thus,
Disarming my true servants, arming his.
Now more of outrage comes! what shall I do?
Enter the KING, MOWBRAY, WINCHESTER, CHESTER.
KING. O, this is well! Hubert, where's Bruce's son?
LADY B. Where thou shalt never see him, John.
KING. Lady, we will have talk with you anon.
Where is he, Hubert?
HUB. Hid or fled, my lord:
We can by no means get her to confess.