I tell thee, He durst as well have met the devil alone, Art not ashanied? But, sirrah, henceforth As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland, [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train. North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile; Here comes your uncle. Re-enter Worcester. Hot. Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, As high i' the air as this unthankful king, mad. North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; And when I urg'd the ransome 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 even at the name of Mortimer. * Ungrateful. 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, murdered. 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 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 starv'd. 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 show the line, and the predicament, Wherein you range under this subtle king.- * Ungrateful. No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 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, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 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, North. Imagination of some great exploit Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!! Wor. He 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. That are your prisoners,— Hot. Disdainful. Those same noble Scots, I'll keep them all; Shapes created by his imagination. By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them: Wor. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes.- Hot. Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Wor. Cousin, a word. Hear you, 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, Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood t; Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear In Richard's time,-What do you call the place?— • Refuse. The term for a blustering quarrelsome fellow. "Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; Hot. You say true: Why, what a candy* deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! me! Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners, Deliver them up without their ransome straight, And make the Douglas' son your only mean For powers in Scotland; which,-for divers reasons, Which I shall send you written, be assur'd, Will easily be granted.-You, my lord, [To Northumberland. Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,- Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 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 estimationt, 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; upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip. |