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K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost
belie him ; He never did encounter with Glendower ; I tell thee, He durst as well have met the devil alone, As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, Or you shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you.— My lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your son: Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them :- I will after straight, And tell him so; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and
pause awhile; Here comes your
Re-enter WORCESTER. Hot.
Speak of Mortimer? Yes, I will speak of him; and let my
mercy, if I do not join with him : Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer As high i’the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.
[T. WORCESTER. Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; And on my face he turn’d an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim’d, By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ?
North. He was; I heard the proclamation : And then it was, when the unhappy king (Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth Upon his Irish expedition ; From whence he, intercepted, did return To be depos'd, and shortly, murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide
mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard
He did ; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. But shall it be, that
- that set the crown
you range under this subtle king. Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, Or fill
chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power, Did
gage them both in an unjust behalf,As both of you, God pardon it! have done, To put
down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, That
you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off By him, for whom these shames
underwent ? No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves
Peace, cousin, say no more:
Hot. If he fall in, good night: or sink or swim : Send danger from the east unto the west, So honour cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple ;-0! the blood more stirs, To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.
North. Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, Without corrival, all her dignities: But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Those same noble Scots,
I'll keep them all; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them: No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : I'll keep them, by this hand.
You start away,
Nay, I will ; that's flat :-
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy,
Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood; Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd
with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time,- What do you call the place ?A plague upon't!-- it is in Glostershire;'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; His uncle York;— where I first bow'd my
knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, When
and he came back from Ravenspurg.
You say true:
Look, -when his infant fortune came to age,
Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ;
I have done, i'faith.
[To NORTHUMBERLAND. Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop:
Hot. Of York, is't not?
Wor. True; who bears hard
Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well.
slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:And then the power of Scotland, and of York, To join with Mortimer, ha ? Wor.
And so they shall. Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And ’tis no little reason bids us speed, To save our heads by raising of a head 3 :
3 A body of forces.