Westmorland, and others.
&wlquo;King Henry.
&wlquo;So shaken as we are, so wan with Care,
&wlquo;Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
&wlquo;And breathe short-winded accents of new Broils
&wlquo;To be commenc'd in stronds a-far remote.
&wlquo;No more the thirsty entrance of this Soil
&wlquo;1 noteShall trempe her lips with her own children's blood:
&wlquo;No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
-- 98 --
&wlquo;Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
&wlquo;Of hostile paces. 2 noteThose opposed files,
&wlquo;Which, like the meteors of a troubled heav'n,
&wlquo;All of one nature, of one substance bred,
&wlquo;Did lately meet in the intestine shock
&wlquo;And furious close of civil butchery,
&wlquo;Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming, ranks
&wlquo;March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
&wlquo;Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
&wlquo;The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
&wlquo;No more shall cut his master.&wrquo; Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed Cross
We are impressed, and engag'd to fight)
Forthwith a Power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chase these Pagans, in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter Cross.
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
Therefore, we meet not now: Then let me hear,
Of you my gentle Cousin Westmorland,
What yesternight our Council did decree,
In forwarding 3 notethis dear expedience.
-- 99 --
West.
My Liege, this haste was hot in question,
4 noteAnd many limits of the Charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A Post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against th' irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken;
A thousand of his people butchered,
Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.
K. Henry.
It seems then, that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the holy Land.
West.
5 note
This, matcht with other, did, my gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the North, and thus it did import.
On holy-rood day, the gallant Hot-spur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon spent a sad and bloody hour:
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he, that brought it, in the very heat
And pride of their contention, did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.
-- 100 --
K. Henry.
Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Dowglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, three and twenty Knights,
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hot-spur took
Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Dowglas, and the Earls of Athol,
Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West.
In faith, a conquest for a Prince to boast of.
K. Henry.
Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
In Envy, that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:
A son, who is the theam of Honour's tongue:
Amongst a grove, the very streightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's Minion, and her Pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O could it be prov'd,
That some night-tripping Fairy had exchang'd,
In cradle-cloaths, our children where they lay,
And call mine Percy, his Plantagenet;
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts.—What think you, Cousin,
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,
To his own use he keeps, and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
West.
This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects;
-- 101 --
6 noteWhich makes him plume himself, and bristle up
The Crest of youth against your Dignity.
K. Henry.
But I have sent for him to answer this;
And for this cause a while we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:
But come your self with speed to us again;
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West.
I will, my Liege.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An Apartment of the Prince's.
Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff.
Fal.
Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
P. Henry.
Thou art so fat-witted with
drinking old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper,
and sleeping upon benches in the afternoon, that thou
hast forgotten to demand That truly, which thou
would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do
with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of
sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of
bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the
blessed Sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd
taffata; I see no reason why thou should'st be so
superfluous, to demand the time of the day.
Fal.
Indeed, you come near me now, Hal. For we,
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars, and
not by Phœbus 7 notehe, that wandring knight so fair.
And I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art King—
-- 102 --
as God save thy Grace, (Majesty, I should say; for
grace thou wilt have none.)—
P. Henry.
What! none?
Fal.
No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
be prologue to an egg and butter.
P. Henry.
Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly—
Fal.
Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art King,
let not us that are squires of the night's body, be call'd
thieves of the day's booty. Let us be Diana's foresters,
gentlemen of the shade, minions of the Moon; and
let men say, we be men of good government, being
governed as the Sea is, by our noble and chast mistress
the Moon, under whose countenance we—steal.
P. Henry.
Thou say'st well, and it holds well too;
for the fortune of us, that are the Moon's men, doth
ebb and flow like the Sea; being govern'd as the Sea
is, by the Moon. As for proof, now: a purse of
gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and
most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; 8 notegot
with swearing, lay by; and spent with crying, bring
in: now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder;
and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the
gallows.
Fal.
By the lord, thou say'st true, lad: and is not
mine Hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
P. Henry.
As the honey of Hybla, 9 notemy old lad of
-- 103 --
the castle; and is not a buff-jerkin a most sweet robe
of durance?
Fal.
How now, how now, mad wag; what, in thy
quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do
with a buff-jerkin?
P. Henry.
Why, what a pox have I to do with my
Hostess of the tavern?
Fal.
Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many
a time and oft.
P. Henry.
Did I ever call thee to pay thy part?
Fal.
No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all
there.
P. Henry.
Yea and elsewhere, so far as my coin
would stretch; and where it would not, I have us'd
my credit.
Fal.
Yea, and so us'd it, that were it not here apparent,
that thou art heir apparent—But, I pr'ythee,
sweet wag, shall there be Gallows standing in
England, when thou art King? and resolution thus
fobb'd as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick,
the law? Do not thou, when thou art a King, hang
a thief.
P. Henry.
No: thou shalt.
Fal.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave
judge.
-- 104 --
P. Henry.
Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become
a rare hangman.
Fal.
Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps
with my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I
can tell you.
P. Henry.
For obtaining of suits?—
Fal.
Yea, for obtaining of suits; whereof the hangman
hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
as a gib-cat, or a lugg'd bear.
P. Henry.
Or an old Lion, or a lover's lute.
Fal.
Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou to a Hare, or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch?
Fal.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and
art, indeed, the most (a) note incomparative, rascalliest,
sweet young Prince—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble
me no more with vanity; I would to God, thou and
I knew where a commodity of good names were to
be bought: an old lord of the Council rated me the
other day in the street about you, Sir; but I mark'd
him not, and yet he talk'd very wisely, and in the
street too.
P. Henry.
Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out
in the streets, and no man regards it.
Fal.
O, thou hast damnable (b) noteattraction, and art,
indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much
harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee for it! Before
I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now
am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than
one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and
I will give it over; by the lord, an I do not, I am a
villain. I'll be damn'd for never a King's son in christendom.
-- 105 --
P. Henry.
Where shall we take a purse to morrow,
Jack?
Fal.
Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do
not, call me villain, and baffle me.
P. Henry.
I see a good amendment of life in thee,
from praying to purse-taking.
Fal.
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no
sin for a Man to labour in his vocation. Poins!—
Now shall we know, if Gads-hill have set a match. O,
if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell
were hot enough for him!
SCENE III.
Enter Poins.
This is the most omnipotent Villain, that ever cry'd,
Stand, to a true Man.—
P. Henry.
Good morrow, Ned.
Poins.
Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur
Remorse? what says Sir John Sack and Sugar?
Jack! how agree the devil and thou about thy soul,
that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of
Madera, and a cold capon's leg?
P. Henry.
Sir John stands to his word; the devil
shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker
of proverbs; He will give the devil his due.
Poins.
Then thou art damn'd for keeping thy word
with the devil.
P. Henry.
Else he had been damn'd for cozening the
devil.
Poins.
But, my lads, my lads, to morrow morning,
by four o'clock, early at Gads-hill; there are pilgrims
going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for you
all; you have horses for your selves: Gads-hill lies to
night in Rochester, I have bespoke supper to morrow
night in East-cheap; we may do it, as secure as sleep:
-- 106 --
if you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns;
if you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd.
Fal.
Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and
go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins.
You will, chops?
Fal.
Hal, wilt thou make one?
P. Henry.
Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my
faith.
Fal.
There is neither honesty, manhood, nor good
fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood
royal, if thou dar'st not cry, stand, for ten shillings.
P. Henry.
Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
Fal.
Why, that's well said.
P. Henry.
Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal.
By the lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou
art King.
P. Henry.
I care not.
Poins.
Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the Prince and me
alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure,
that he shall go.
Fal.
Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion,
and he the ears of profiting, that what thou
speak'st may move, and what he hears may be believ'd;
that the true Prince may (for recreation-sake,)
prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time
want countenance. Farewel, you shall find me in
East-cheap.
P. Henry.
Farewel, thou latter spring! Farewel, all-hallown
summer!
[Exit Fal.
Poins.
Now, my good sweet hony lord, ride with
us to morrow. I have a jest to execute, that I cannot
manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads-hill,
shall rob those men that we have already waylaid;
your self and I will not be there; and when they
have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut
this head from off my shoulders.
-- 107 --
P. Henry.
But how shall we part with them in setting
forth?
Poins.
Why, we will set forth before or after them;
and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at
our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon
the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner
atchiev'd, but we'll set upon them.
P. Henry.
Ay; but, 'tis like, they will know us by
our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment,
to be our selves.
Poins.
Tut, our horses they shall not see, I'll tye
them in the wood; our vizors we will change after we
leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for
the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
P. Henry.
But, I doubt, they will be too hard for
us.
Poins.
Well, for two of them, I know them to be
as true-bred cowards as ever turn'd Back; and for the
third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear
arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible
lies that this same fat rogue will tell us
when we meet at supper; how thirty at least he fought
with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he
endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest.
P. Henry.
Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to morrow night in
East-cheap, there I'll sup. Farewel.
Poins.
Farewel, my lord.
[Exit Poins.
P. Henry.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness;
Yet herein will I imitate the Sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world;
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
-- 108 --
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wisht-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare Accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised;
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much 1 noteshall I falsifie men's fears;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My Reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than That which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
Changes to an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hot-spur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
K. Henry.
My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities;
And you have found me; for accordingly
You tread upon my patience: but be sure,
2 note
I will from henceforth rather be my self,
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my Condition;
-- 109 --
Which hath been smooth as oyl, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of Respect,
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud.
Wor.
Our House, my sovereign Liege, little deserves
The scourge of Greatness to be used on it;
And that same Greatness too, which our own hands
Have help'd to make so portly.
North.
My good lord,—
K. Henry.
Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
Danger and disobedience in thine eye.
O Sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory;
And Majesty might never yet endure
3 noteThe moody frontlet of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us. When we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
[Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak.
[To Northumberland.
North.
Yes, my good lord.
Those prisoners, in your Highness' name demanded,
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength deny'd
As was deliver'd to your Majesty.
Or Envy therefore, or Misprision,
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot.
My Liege, I did deny no prisoners;
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extream toil,
Breathless, and faint, leaning upon my sword;
&plquo;Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd;
-- 110 --
&plquo;Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new-reap'd,
&plquo;Shew'd like a stubble land at harvest-home.
&plquo;He was perfumed like a milliner;
&plquo;And 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held
&plquo;4 noteA pouncet-box, which ever and anon
&plquo;He gave his nose:&prquo; [5 noteand took't away again;
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff.]—&plquo;And still he smil'd, and talk'd;
&plquo;And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,
&plquo;He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
&plquo;To bring a slovenly, unhandsome coarse
&plquo;Betwixt the wind, and his Nobility.
&plquo;With many holiday and lady terms
&plquo;He question'd me: amongst the rest, demanded
&plquo;My prisoners, in your Majesty's behalf.
&plquo;6 note
I, then all smarting with my wounds; being gal'd
&plquo;To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
&plquo;Out of my Grief, and my impatience,
&plquo;Answer'd, neglectingly, I know not what;
&plquo;He should, or should not; for he made me mad,
&plquo;To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
&plquo;And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
&plquo;Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark!)
&plquo;And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
-- 111 --
&plquo;Was Parmacity, for an inward bruise;
&plquo;And that it was great pity, so it was,
&plquo;This villainous salt petre should be digg'd
&plquo;Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
&plquo;Which many a good, tall fellow had destroy'd
&plquo;So cowardly: And but for these vile guns,
&plquo;He would himself have been a soldier.—&prquo;
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
7 noteI answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And I beseech you, 8 notelet not his report
Come currant for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high Majesty.
Blunt.
The circumstance consider'd, good my lord,
Whatever Harry Percy then had said,
To such a person, and, in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die; and never rise
9 note
To do him wrong, or any way impeach.
What then he said, see, he unsays it now.
K. Henry.
Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
But with proviso and exception,
-- 112 --
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those, that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower;
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately marry'd. Shall our coffers then
Be empty'd, to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? 1 noteand indent with fears,
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No; on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend,
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot.
Revolted Mortimer?
He never did fall off, my sovereign Liege,
2 note
But by the chance of war; to prove That true,
Needs no more but one tongue, for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgie bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,
-- 113 --
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower:
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp'd head in the hollow bank,
Blood-stained with these valiant Combatants.
Never did base and rotten Policy
Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor ever could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly.
Then let him not be slander'd with Revolt.
K. Henry.
Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou beliest him;
He never did encounter with Glendower;
He durst as well have met the Devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art not asham'd? 3 notebut, sirrah, from this hour
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 licence your departure with your son.
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
[Exit K. Henry.
Hot.
And if the Devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after strait,
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 a while;
Here comes your uncle.
-- 114 --
Enter Worcester.
Hot.
Speak of Mortimer?
Yes, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him.
In his behalf, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in dust,
4 noteBut I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i'th' Air as this unthankful King,
As this ingrate and cankred Bolingbroke.
North.
Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad.
[To Worcester.
Wor.
Who strook this heat up, after I was gone?
Hot.
He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners:
And when I urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale.
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling ev'n 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 murthered.
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 then
Proclaim my brother Mortimer
Heir to the Crown?
North.
He did; my self did hear it.
Hot.
Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd.
-- 115 --
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 murd'rous 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?
(O 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
Ingag'd 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 ye underwent?
No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd Honours, and restore your selves
Into the good thoughts of the world again.
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud King, who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes unto you,
Ev'n with the bloody payments 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 advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
5 noteOn the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
-- 116 --
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 rouze a Lion, than to start a Hare.
North.
Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot.
6 note
By heav'n, methinks, it were an easie leap,
To pluck bright Honour from the pale-fac'd Moon;
-- 117 --
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.
7 noteBut out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
Wor.
8 noteHe apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.
Good Cousin, give me audience for a while.
Hot.
I cry you mercy.
Wor.
Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners—
Hot.
I'll keep them all.
By heav'n, 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.
Wor.
You start away,
And lend no ear unto my purposes;
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Hot.
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 lyes asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla, Mortimer!
Nay, I will have a Starling 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 defie,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,
-- 118 --
(But that, I think, his father loves him not,
And would be glad he met with some mischance,)
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale.
Wor.
Farewel, my kinsman; I will talk to you,
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North.
Why, what a wasp-tongu'd 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 whipt and scourg'd with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician Bolingbroke:
In Richard's time—what do ye call the place?—
A plague upon't!—it is in Glo'stershire—
'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 you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
North.
At Berkley castle.
Hot.
You say true:
Why, what a deal of candied Courtesie
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look, when his infant fortune came to age,—
And gentle Harry Percy—and kind cousin—
The Devil take such cozeners—God forgive me—
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
Wor.
Nay, if you have not, to't again.
We'll stay your leisure.
Hot.
I have done, i'faith.
Wor.
Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
[To Hot-spur.
Deliver them without their ransom straight,
And make the Dowglas' Son your only mean
For Pow'rs in Scotland; which, for divers reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd,
Will easily be granted.—9 noteYou, my lord,
[To North.
-- 119 --
Your Son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble Prelate, well belov'd,
Th' Arch-bishop.
Hot.
York, is't not?
Wor.
True, who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
1 noteI speak not this in estimation,
As what, I think, might be; but what, I know,
Is ruminated, plotted and set down;
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion, that shall bring it on.
Hot.
I smell it: on my life, it will do well.
North.
Before the game's a-foot, thou still lett'st slip.
Hot.
It cannot chuse but be a noble Plot;
And then the Power of Scotland, and of York
To join with Mortimer; ha!
Wor.
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:
For, bear our selves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt;
And think, we deem our selves unsatisfy'd,
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 reveng'd on him.
-- 120 --
Wor.
Cousin, farewel. 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 Dowglas, and our Pow'rs 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.
Farewel, 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.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
