Mort.
These Promises are fair, the Parties sure,
And our Induction full of prosperous hope.

Hot.
Lord Mortimer, and Cousin Glendower,
Will you sit down?
And Uncle Worcester—A plague upon it,
I have forgot the Map,

Glend.
No, here it is;
Sit Cousin Percy, sit good Cousin Hotspur:
For by that Name, as oft as Lancaster doth speak of you,
His Cheeks look pale, and with a rising sigh,
He wisheth you in Heav'n.

Hot.

And you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend.
I cannot blame him; at my Nativity,
The front of Heav'n was full of fiery Shapes,
Of burning Cressets; and at my Birth,
The frame and foundation of the Earth
Shak'd like a Coward.

Hot.

Why so it would have done at the same Season, if your Mother's Cat had but kitten'd, though your self had never been born.

Glend.
I say the Earth did shake when I was born.

Hot.
And I say the Earth was not of my Mind:
If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook.

Glend.
The Heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.

Hot.
Oh, then the Earth shook
To see the Heavens on fire,
And not in fear of your Nativity.
Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange Eruptions; and the teeming Earth
Is with a kind of Cholick pinch'd and vext,
By the imprisoning of unruly Wind
Within her Womb; which for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old Beldam Earth, and tumbles down

Steeples, and moss-grown Towers. At your Birth,
Our Grandam Earth, having this Distemperature,
In passion shook.

Glend.
Cousin; of many Men
I do not bear these Crossings: Give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my Birth
The front of Heav'n was full of fiery Shapes,
The Goats ran from the Mountains, and the Herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted Fields:
These Signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the Courses of my Life do shew,
I am not in the Roll of common Men.
Where is the Living, clipt in with the Sea,
That chides the Banks of England, Scotland and Wales,
Which calls me Pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but Woman's Son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of Art,
And hold me pace in deep Experiments.

Hot.
I think there's no Man speaks better Welsh.
I'll to dinner.

Mort.
Peace, Cousin Percy, you will make him mad.

Glend.
I can call Spirits from the vasty Deep.

Hot.
Why, so can I, or so can any Man:
But will they come, when you do call for them?

Glend.

Why, I can teach thee, Cousin, to command the Devil.

Hot.
And I can teach thee, Cousin, to shame the Devil,
By telling Truth. Tell Truth, and shame the Devil.
If thou have Power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn, I have Power to shame him hence.
Oh, while you live, tell Truth, and shame the Devil.

Mort.
Come, come, no more of this unprofitable Chat.

Glend.
Three times hath Henry Bullingbroke made head
Against my Power; thrice from the Banks of Wye,
And Sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him,
Bootless home, and Weather-beaten back.

Hot.
Home, without Boots,
And in foul Weather too,
How scapes he Agues in the Devil's Name?

Glend.
Come, here's the Map:
Shall we divide our Right,

According to our threefold order ta'en?

Mort.
The Arch-Deacon hath divided it
Into three Limits, very equally:
England, from Trent, and Severn hitherto,
By South and East, is to my part assign'd:
All Westward, Wales, beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile Land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower; and dear Cousin to you
The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.
And our Indentures Tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed enterchangeably,
A Business that this Night may execute,
To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,
And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your Father, and the Scottish Power,
As is appointed us at Shrewsbury.
My Father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen Days:
Within that space, you may have drawn together
Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen.

Glend.
A shorter time shall send me to you, Lords:
And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave,
For there will be a World of Water shed,
Upon the parting of your Wives and you.

Hot.
Methinks my Moity, North from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See, how this River comes me cranking in,
And cuts me from the best of all my Land,
A huge half Moon, a monstrous Cantle out.
I'll have the Current in this place damn'd up:
And here the smug, and Silver Trent shall run
In a new Channel, fair and evenly:
It shall not wind with such a deep Indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend.
Not wind? It shall, it must, you see it doth.

Mort.
Yea, but mark how he bends his Course,
And runs me up, with like advantage on the other side,
Gelding the opposing Continent as much,
As on the other side it takes from you.

Wor.
Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,
And on this North-side win this Cape of Land,
And then he runs straight and even.

Hot.
I'll have it so, a little Charge will do it.

Glend.
I'll not have it alter'd.

Hot.
Will not you?

Glend.
No, nor you shall not.

Hot.
Who shall say me nay?

Glend.
Why, that will I.

Hot.
Let me not understand you then, speak it in Welsh.

Glend.
I can speak English, Lord, as well as you.
For I was train'd up in the English Court:
Where, being but young, I framed to the Harp
Many an English Ditty, lovely well,
And gave the Tongue a helpful Ornament;
A Virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot.
Marry, and I am glad of it with all my Heart.
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,
Than one of these same Meeter-ballad-mongers,
I had rather hear a Brazen Candlestick tun'd,
Or a dry Wheel grate on the Axel-tree,
And that would set my Teeth on Edge,
Nothing so much as mincing Poetry;
'Tis like the forc'd Gate of a shuffling Nag.

Glend.
Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

Hot.
I do not care; I'll give thrice so much Land
To any well-deserving Friend;
But in the way of Bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a Hair.
Are the Indentures drawn? Shall we be gone?

Glend.
The Moon shines fair,
You may away by Night:
I'll haste the Writer; and withal,
Break with your Wives, of your departure hence:
I am afraid my Daughter will run mad.
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit.

Mort.
Fie, Cousin Percy, how you cross my Father.

Hot.
I cannot chuse; sometime he angers me,
With telling me of the Moldwarp and the Ant,
Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies;
And of a Dragon, and a finless Fish,

A clip-wing'd Griffin, and a moulten Raven,
A couching Lion, and a ramping Cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble Stuff,
As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what,
He hold me last Night, at least nine Hours,
In reck'ning up the several Devils Names,
That were his Lackeys:
I cry'd hum, and well, go too,
But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
As a tired Horse, a railing Wife,
Worse than a smoaky House. I had rather live
With Cheese and Garlick in a Windmil far,
Than feed on Cates, and have him talk to me,
In any Summer-house in Christendom.

Mort.
In faith he was a worthy Gentleman;
Exceeding well read, and profited,
In strange Concealments:
Valiant as a Lion, and wondrous affable,
And as bountiful as Mines of India.
Shall I tell you, Cousin,
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself, even of his natural Scope,
When you do cross his Humour; 'faith he does.
I warrant you, that Man is not alive,
Might so have tempted him, as you have done,
Without the taste of danger, and reproof:
But do not use it oft, let me intreat you.

Wor.
In faith, my Lord, you are too wilful blame,
And since your coming hither, have done enough,
To put him quite besides his Patience:
You must needs learn, Lord, to amend this fault;
Though sometimes it shew Greatness, Courage, Blood,
And that's the dearest grace it renders you;
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh Rage,
Defect of Manners, want of Government,
Pride, Haughtiness, Opinion, and Disdain:
The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,
Loseth Mens Hearts, and leaves behind a Stain
Upon the Beauty of all parts besides,
Beguiling them of Commendation.

Hot.
Well, I am school'd:
Good-manners be your speed;
Here come our Wives, and let us take our leave. Enter Glendower, with the Ladies.

Mort.
This is the deadly spight that angers me,
My Wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend.
My Daughter weeps, she'll not part with you,
She'll be a Soldier too, she'll to the Wars.

Mort.
Good Father tell her, that she and my Aunt Percy
Shall follow in your Conduct speedily, [Glendower speaks to her Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Glend.
She is desperate here:
A peevish self-will'd Harlotry,
One that Perswasion can do no good upon. [The Lady speaks in Welsh.

Mort.
I understand thy Looks; that pretty Welsh,
Which thou powr'st down from these swelling Heav'ns,
I am too perfect in: And but for shame,
In such a Parly should I answer thee. [The Lady again in Welsh.

Mort.
I understand thy Kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeble Disputation:
But I will never be a Truant, Love,
'Till I have learn'd thy Language: For thy Tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as Ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair Queen in a Summer's Bower,
With ravishing Division to her Lute.

Glend.
Nay, if thou melt, then will she run mad. [The Lady speaks again in Welsh.

Mort.
O, I am ignorance it self in this.

Glend.
She bids you,
On the wanton Rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle Head upon her Lap,
And she will sing the Song that pleaseth you,
And on your Eye-Lids Crown the God of Sleep,
Charming your Blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference betwixt Wake and Sleep,
As is the difference betwixt Day and Night,
The Hour before the Heav'nly harness'd Teem
Begins his golden Progress in the East.

Mort.
With all my Heart I'll sit, and hear her sing:
By that time will our Book, I think, be drawn.

Glend.
Do so:
And those Musitians that shall play to you,
Hang in the Air a thousand Leagues from hence;
Yet straight they shall be here: Sit, and attend.

Hot.
Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:
Come, quick, quick, that I may lay my Head in thy Lap.

Lady.
Go, ye giddy Goose. [The Musick plays.

Hot.
Now I perceive the Devil understands Welsh,
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous:
By'rlady he's a good Musician.

Lady.
Then would you be nothing but Musical,
For you are all together governed by Humors:
Lie still ye Thief, and hear the Lady sing in Welsh.

Hot.
I had rather hear, Lady my Brach, howl in Irish.

Lady.
Would'st have thy Head broken?

Hot.
No.

Lady.
Then be still.

Hot.
Neither, 'tis a Woman's Fault.

Lady.
Now God help thee.

Hot.
To the Welsh Lady's Bed.

Lady.
What's that?

Hot.
Peace, she sings. [Here the Lady sings a Welsh Song.
Come, I'll have your Song too.

Lady.
Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot.
Not yours, in good sooth!
You swear like a Comfit-maker's Wife,
Not you, in good sooth; and, as true as I live;
And, as God shall mend me; and as sure as Day:
And givest such Sarcenet surety for thy Oaths,
As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury.
Swear me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,
A good mouth-filling Oath, and leave Insooth,
And such protest of Pepper-Ginger-Bread,
To Velvet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens.
Come, sing.

Lady.
I will not sing.

Hot.

'Tis the next way to turn Tailor, or be Red-breast Teacher: And the Indentures be drawn, I'll away

within these two Hours: And so come in, when ye will.

Glend.
Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow,
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go,
By this our Book is drawn: We'll but seal,
And then to Horse immedianely.

Mort.
With all my Heart. [Exeunt.

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