With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arthur. O, now you look like Hubert. All this while
You were disguised.
Hubert. Peace; no more. Adieu,
Your uncle must not know but you are dead.
I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports:
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
Arthur. O heav’n! I thank you, Hubert.