Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him. Was he not pro-

claim'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 deposed, and, shortly, murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we, in the world's

wide 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 wish'd 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 :-
O, pardon me, that I descend so low,
To show 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 farther spoken,
That you are fooľd, discarded, and shook off
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent?
No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honors, and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again;
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd 1 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. Hot. If he fall in, good night!-or sink or 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 Honor from the pale-faced moon ; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned Honor 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 1 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,
Hot.

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.
Wor.

You start away,
And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Hot.

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 Wales. But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd 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 whipp'd 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 Glostershire ;'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept, His uncle York ;—where I first bow'd my knee

i Refuse.
? The term for a turbulent, quarrelsome fellow.

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 candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! Look,— When his infant fortune came to age,'— And,-' gentle Harry Percy,'—and, kind cousin,'O, 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 :
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 employ'd, 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;