SAL.  Further, my lord—­

KING.  What, shall we further wade? 
I fear I shall be tired with this jade.

SAL.  The commonwealth will flourish and increase.

KING.  Good Salisbury,[300] of those things now hold your peace,
And take the pains to fetch in Isabel. 
I have strange tidings sent me out of France,
Which she will take, I know, in as good part,
As I accept her praise.  Fetch her, I say.
                           [Exit SALISBURY. 
What, is the old fool gone? now go thy way. 
What think’st thou of him, Hubert? tell me, man.

HUB.  As of a good old gentleman, my lord,
That speaks but what he thinks, and thinks you think
As he doth; and, I warrant you,
Will not conceal those praises from the queen
Which, as he deems, you utter’d in her praise.

KING.  I would have them believe it so, indeed;
But I protest ’tis no part of my creed. [Aside.

HUB.  I’faith, your grace did Salisbury’s years great wrong,
To curtail his good work, that seem’d so long: 
He, peradventure, would have brought in more,
After his preface, to rich plenty’s store. 
Perchance he would have show’d Dame Vanity,
That in your court is suffered hourly;
And bade you punish ruffians with long hair,
New fashions, and such toys.  A special care
Has that good man:  he turns the statute-book;
About his hall and chambers if you look,
The moral virtues in fair effigy
Are lively painted:  moral philosophy
Has not a sentence, be it great or small,
But it is painted on his honour’s wall.

    Enter QUEEN and SALISBURY.

KING.  Peace, peace! he comes:  now let’s be silent all.

SAL.  I tell you, I was proud of his good words.

QUEEN.  God hold them, Salisbury, for it’s often seen,
A reconciled foe small good affords.

SAL.  O, forbear! trust me. 
I gage my honour he doth hold you dear.

KING.  How cheer you, Isabel?  The earl your spouse
Hath sent defiance to the king your husband,
And, like a tried tall soldier, fled his holds
In Marchland, where he knows, despite of him
And all the men that he therein can raise,
King John could have sent dogs enou’ to tear
Their ill-arm’d bodies piecemeal, ere his bands
Should with base blood have stain’d their noble hands. 
And whither is this worshipful good earl
(This first love, old love, new love, if you will)
Gone, thinks your ladyship? forsooth, good man,
To Normandy; and there he stirs up coals,
And urgeth strong aid for confederates
Who, as he says, are treacherously disposed.

QUEEN.  If he do so, the greater is his sin. 
Poor man.  I have no interest in him.