352 Revolt our fubjects? That we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us. SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd Like an unfeasonable stormy day, Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores, So high above his limits fwells the rage Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful land With hard bright fteel, and hearts more hard than steel. Thy very And all goes worfe than I have pow'r to tell. K. RICH. Too well, too well, thou tell'ft a tale fo ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bufhy? Where is Green? -No matter where; of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes Write forrow on the bofom of the earth! Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills; And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath, Save our depofed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all, áre Bolingbroke's, I And And nothing can we call our own, but death: That rounds the mortal temples of a King, Keeps Death his court; and there the antic fits, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks: As if this flesh which walls about our life, Bores through his caftle walls, and farewel King! I live on bread like you, feel want like you; Tafte grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus, How can you fay to me I am a King? CHA P. XIV. HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. GLEN. CIT, coufin, Percy;, fit good coufin Hotfpur; Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and with Hor. And you in hell, as often as he hears GLEN. I blame him not: at my nativity, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning creffets: know that, at my birth, The frame and the foundation of the earth Shook like a coward. At the fame feason if your mother's cat GLEN. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hor. O, then the earth shook to fee the heav'ns on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Difeafed nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions: and the teeming earth By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb; which for enlargement ftriving, High tow'rs and mofs-grown fteeples. At your birth, Our Our grandam earth, with this diftemperature, GLEN. Coufin, of many men I do not bear thefe croffings: give me leave I am not in the roll of common men. That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, Or hold me pace in deep experiments. HOT. I think there is no man speaks better Welch. GLEN. I can speak English, Lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being young, I framed to the harp, Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; Hor. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart, I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew ! Than one of these fame metre-ballad mongers! I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree, GLEN. And I can call fpirits from the vasty deep. HOT. Why, fo can I, or so can any man: But will they come when you do call for them? GLEN. Why, I can teach thee to command the devil. HOT. And I can teach thee, coz, to fhame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and fhame the devil. If thou haft pow'r to raife him, bring him hither, And I'll be fworn, I've pow'r to fhame him hence. Oh, while you live, Tell truth and fhame the devil. SHAKESPEAR. CHA P. XV. HOTSPUR READING A LETTER. "BUT UT for mine own part, my Lord, I could be weil contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear your house." He could be contented to be there; why is he not then ? ** In refpect of the love he bears our houfe !" He fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our houfe. Let me fee fome more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous." Why, that is certain: it is dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink: but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower fafety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the "friends you have named uncertain, the time itself anfort ed, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoife of "fo great an oppofition." Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant: à good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excelfent plot, very good friends. What a frofty-spirited rogue |