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Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale, And on my face he turned an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

Wor. I cannot blame him. Was he not pro-
claimed,

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 deposed, and shortly murderéd

Wor. And for whose death, we in the wide world's mouth

Live scandalised and foully spoken of.

Hot. But soft, I pray you: did King Richard, then,

Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?

North.

He did: myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin-king
That wished him on the barren mountains starved.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murderous subornation,-shall it be
That you a world of curses undergo;
Being the agents, or base second means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather
(0, pardon me that I descend so low
To shew the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtle king),—
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days,
Or fill up 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 fooled, discarded, and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye underwent ?
No: yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banished honours, and redeem yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again :
Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt
Of this proud king; who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you,
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore I say,-

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more:
And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
VOL. III.

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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 :-O! 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-faced moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drownéd honour by the locks: So he that doth redeem her thence might wear, Without corrival, all her dignities: But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend.Good cousin, give me audience for awhile. Hot. I cry you mercy. Wor.

Those same noble Scots

That are your prisoners,—

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Nay, I will: that's flat. He said he would not ransom Mortimer; Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer, But I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear I'll holla "Mortimer!" Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but "Mortimer," and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion.

:

Wor. Hear you, cousin a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke. And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of WalesBut that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better tempered to attend. North. Why, what a wasp-tongue 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 whipped and scourged

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 Gloucestershire:
"T was where the madcap duke his uncle kept;

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Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers in Scotland: which, for divers reasons,
Which I shall send you written, be assured
Will easily be granted.-You, my lord,

[To NORTHUMBERLAND.
Your son in Scotland being thus employed,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,
The archbishop.

Hot. Of York, is 't not?

Wor. True: who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation

As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

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Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aimed. Wor. And 't is no little reason bids us speed To save our heads by raising of a head: For, bear ourselves as even as we can, The King will always think him in our debt, And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does. we 'll be revenged on

him.

Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this Than I by letters shall direct your course. When time is ripe (which will be suddenly), I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; Where you and Douglas, and our powers, at once (As I will fashion it) shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

Hot. Uncle, adieu :-O, let the hours be short, Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! [Exeunt.

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1st Car. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose: it was the death of him.

2nd Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.

1st Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.

2nd Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and then we leak in your chimney; and your chamber-lie breeds flees like a loach.

1st Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged, come away.

2nd Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing

cross.

1 Car. 'Od's body! the turkeys in my pannier

SCENE III.-Warkworth. 4 Room in the Castle.

Enter HOTSPUR, reading a letter. -"But for mine own part, my lord, I could be weil contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house."

He could be contented; why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house --he shews in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more: "The purpose you undertake is dangerous." Why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.

"The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition."

Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? is there not, beside, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month; and are they not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this: an infidel! Ha, you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, he will to the King and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared: I will set forward to-night.

Enter LADY PERCY.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these

two hours.

Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone: For what offence have this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is 't that takes from thec Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy checks,

And given my treasures and my rights of thec
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars:
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry, "Courage! to the field!" and thou hast
talked

Of sallies and retires; of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin;
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brew,
Like bubbles in a late disturbéd stream:
And in thy face strange motions have appeared,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents
are these?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What ho! is Gilliams with the packet
gone?

Enter Servant.

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from

the sheriff?

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.

Hot. That roan shall be my throne.Well, I will back him straight.-Esperancé!— Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

[Exit Servant.
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What sayst, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. My horse, my love; my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are tossed with. In faith
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title, and hath sent for you
To line his enterprise: but if you go—

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.
In faith I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away; away, you trifler!-Love? I love

thee not;

I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.

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