Hot-spur.
Well said, my noble Scot, if speaking truth,
In this fine age, were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Dowglas have,
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so gen'ral currant through the World.
By heav'n, I cannot flatter: I defie
The tongues of soothers. But a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than your self.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

Dowg.
Thou art the King of honour:
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him.

Enter a Messenger.

Hot.
Do, and 'tis well—What letters hast thou there?—
I can but thank you.

Mess.
These come from your father.

Hot.
Letters from him? why comes he not himself?

Mess.
He cannot come, my lord, he's grievous sick.

Hot.
Heav'ns! how has he the leisure to be sick
In such a justling time? who leads his Power;
Under whose government come they along?

^{1 note}

Hot.
His mind!

Wor.
I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Mess.
He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth:
And at the time of my departure thence,
He was much fear'd by his physicians.

Wor.
I would, the state of time had first been whole,
Ere he by sickness had been visited;
His health was never better worth than now.

Hot.
Sick now? droop now? this sickness doth infect
The very life-blood of our enterprize;
'Tis catching hither, even to our Camp.
He writes me here, that inward sickness—
And that his friends by deputation
Could not so soon be drawn: nor thought he meet
To lay so dangerous and dear a Trust
On any soul remov'd, but on his own.
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
That with our small conjunction we should on,
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us:

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now;
Because the King is certainly possest
Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

Wor.
Your father's sickness is a maim to us.

Hot.
A perillous gash, a very limb lopt off:
And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want
Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good,
To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one Cast; to set so rich a Main
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
It were not good; for therein should we read
The very bottom, and the soul of hope,
The very list, the very utmost Bound
Of all our fortunes.

Dowg.
Faith, and so we should;
Where now remains a sweet reversion.
We now may boldly spend upon the hope
Of what is to come in:
A comfort of retirement lives in this.

Hot.
A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,
If that the Devil and Mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

Wor.
But yet I would your father had been here:
The quality and hair of our attempt
Brooks no division: it will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and meer dislike
Of our proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.
And think, how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction,
And breed a kind of question in our cause:
For well you know, we of th' offending side
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement;
And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence
The eye of reason may pry in upon us:
This absence of your father draws a curtain,
That shews the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt upon.

Hot.
You strain too far.
I rather of his absence make this use:
It lends a lustre, and more great opinon,
A larger Dare to our great enterprise,
Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,
If we without his help can make a head,
To push against the Kingdom; with his help,
We shall o'erturn it topsie-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

Dowg.
As heart can think; there is not such a word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.

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